Most people have heard the story about Grandpa talking his brother Molden into knocking a wasp nest down with a short stick. I heard the story many times, and each time is was as funny as before. Grandpa was a master storyteller. He had a knack of telling it so you could actually visualize what was happening. He would even have sound effects in his stories. The following is the story as I remember it being told to me:

         One time Tilden and his folks were visiting, and we boys were playing around the barn trying to keep entertained. Tilden was a very good friend of mine, and we had many good times growing up together. I was probably about twelve years old at the time, and Tilden was a year older. Molden was tagging along with us. Since he was three years younger we didn't want him tagging around. So we would run away from him and hide in the barn. Molden told Pa. Pa told us to let Molden play with us. We played wildcat for awhile, but we soon tired of that. We started chunking rocks at wasp nests...now that was great sport. That year we had wasp nests everywhere you'd look. We'd get a nice size throwing rock and then choose our target. We'd all throw at the same time and then run like the dickens. We were successful at that game since there was not a single wasp sting among us. We pulled some broomweed and made switches to keep the wasps off us when they got too close for comfort.

        We continued our game most of the afternoon. We were getting pretty brave. Molden was especially getting brave when the wasps flew around him. Tilden and I started to brag on how brave Molden was. As we continued chunking at nests we'd brag more and more on him. After awhile, his courage reached its peak. The more we bragged, the braver he got. As we walked around looking for more nests, I said to Tilden, “See that big ol' nest over there? I bet Molden will walk right up to it and knock it down with just a little ol' stick.” Tilden said, “Awh...I bet he wouldn't!” I said, “Yes, he will too. He's not afraid of those ol' wasps!” Without saying a word, Molden reached down and picked up a stick about three or four feet long and walked up to the nest. The nest was about the size of the crown of your hat, and was just about head high. It was just loaded with black-tail wasp. He fearlessly approached the nest as we continued to brag about how brave he was. He hauled off and hit the nest as hard as he could, and at that instant, we all took off running toward the hog pasture. The wasps followed Molden like a long black tail as he ran and jumped through the tall broomweeds in the hog pasture. Tilden and I were running, too, but the wasps were after Molden. We heard him hollering and crying as the wasps continued to chase and sting him. It was at that moment when I realized what I had done. It didn't take us too long to know that things were really getting serious for Molden as we saw him rolling around in the broomweeds.

        I'll never forget how bad I felt about that. We took Molden to the house. He had stings from his head to his toes. Our folks came out of the house when they heard the excitement. Our dads really got on to us for letting that happen to Molden. What really made me feel terrible was I'm the one who really started the whole thing, but Tilden got the whipping. His dad said since he was the oldest, he should have known better. Our mothers put bluing and baking soda on Molden trying to stop the hurting and swelling. I should have had the whipping instead of Tilden. I'll never forget that as long as I live.

      Many have heard Grandpa tell the story, and I bet a smile comes to their faces when they see a big black-tail wasp nest in the live oaks out by the barn. After telling the story, he would always emphasize how badly he felt about that incident, and how he wished he, too, had got a whipping.

JMW/March 1983

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