I wish this episode would read like a Rodney Dangerfield edition and I could finish by saving the day with a perfectly scored and performed Triple Lindy, like this but with horses.
Image Courtesy of PFFK #7; Ceramic horse by Stig Lindberg
We’re in for a different ride this time -- a totally fun and fantabulistic one.
What’s the Rush?
We’re wrapping up August 2026, and with that the college dorm move-ins, sorority rush/recruitment, starting back to school and not to mention the athletic practices like two-a-day football practice. Man, that must be brutal. And all this before the semester even begins.
Except if you are Myron, of course, refusing to go to early practice because he was too good for that.
I have many friends that are great moms. I’m proud to be friends with them and happy that they can call me a friend. Because I have at least one sister(?) who is maybe are not so great. And I can say that, because I have only one sister(?). I think I might have a much older half-sister, but it’s a sad story so I will probably not talk about it here.
Seeing my good mom-friends pack up their daughters, decorate their college rooms -- all of them show stoppingly gorgeous. Seeing them support their girls, now almost fully grown, during sorority recruitment has been refreshing. Each of them has restored my hope in the world that we do have good, nurturing moms. Happiness is what I feel when I see how much they show their love for their kids, their dedication, their willingness to take 2 weeks out of an otherwise busy life to help coach their daughters as they rush the Greek system. It’s real.
I can tell you that the sorority rush system can be a traumatic giant mountain of emotions and hope for acceptance swirled up with unspoken potential rejection. It is also a giant production, with lots of decorations, fresh florals and balloons, all of which must be sprayed -- not a lot of people know that. So many balloons that most balloon factories make their entire annual profit, it seems, in just 2 weeks and then close down for the rest of the year, floating around in pools and bouncing on trampolines. Well deserved!
Recruitment is a highly organized series of events where the soon to be Freshies meet the actives from house to house. Events are themed aroud sisterhood and philanthropy. There are elimination and preference rounds, culminating in the final “pref” round. And that is how the girls and sororities find each other. When it is rush season, I always have a pit in my stomach for any girl that might not get selected. It would break their hearts and mine. Unless I didn’t like a particular mom, like Fat…
Oh yeah, and did I mention there are lots of balloons and philanthropy.
So, that is rush. A giant, highly organized, stressful, but beautiful and full of new bonds event -- especially in Texas and the South. I would not want to go through that alone.
Except I did.
When my parents dropped me off at college, they helped me unload their suburban and my car. Maybe an hour-long process. Then a rain storm hit, so naturally the electricity went out. I remember coming down the stairs seeing them in their suburban. Hannibal smirking at me with her jutting out jutting jaw foisting up that slight but noticeable smirk.
ME
Are y’all leaving? (Eyes all wide, mouth open in disbelief)
HANNIBAL ANNE
Yes, you are all unloaded.
ME
The electricity is out, and I don’t even have a phone set up yet. I don’t even know how to set up a phone.
HANNIBAL ANNE
It will come back on. Happy trails.
With that Fredo waived from the driver’s seat, Hannibal Anne rolled up her window and they pulled out of the parking lot. While drenched from the rain storm, I thought to myself the many times they said I didn’t have a brain and so I couldn’t be dangerous. Like what’s the worst that could happen? Well, there was and still is no Waffle House in Lubbock. So I guess that’s pretty bad.
Anway, I thought maybe I had done something wrong.
Something Smells Fishy
Here’s a REAL Hannibal Anne back-to-school story
It is August 1993. I am 16 -- still adorable, but taller.
We are at Tascosa High (Go Rebels!), where all the students are nicer, smarter and better looking that at the other slacker schools -- like Amarillo High. OK, folks that went to Amarillo High, you may be tempted to send some beat down my way, but you know I’m right. Besides, you should be grateful, I’m just trying to keep the spirit of Hell Week alive.
Tascosa High was set to begin its Fall semester in a couple of weeks. I had spent the summer babysitting and going to evening JV cheerleading practices. At our most recent practice, we were given our schedule along with the correct uniforms to be worn for each event. Very well organized.
The first event was a Back to School Meet & Greet to meet incoming Freshmen.
Not like Freddie the Freshman though.
HANNIBAL ANNE
Let me see your schedule.
ME
Sure, here it is. Right in my Trapper Keeper in my backpack. Wait, where’s my backpack? Oh there it is (retrieving it from the suburban)
HANNIBAL ANNE
You need to lay out your first uniform. I don’t want you running late. Lay it out between now and when you go to bed tonight so it will ready when you are getting ready. Make sure you wear your hair ½ way up.
ME
Can’t I just hang it at the front of my closet, it’s white? I don’t want it to get dirty.
HANNIBAL ANNE
OK. But you have a tight schedule and need to have everything ready to go. Lay it out on your floor, then.
ME
On my floor? That’s even worse.
HANNIBAL ANNE
OK (eyes going all bulgie). Stop being so nervous. Hang it up inside your closet. It will be safe there.
The day of our 1st JV cheerleading event arrived. I arrived at #6 Accosted, after babysitting and being at the pool, grabbed the cheerleading uniform and went upstairs to shower and get ready.
After doing my hair and make-up, I quickly put on the fresh uniform. I was rehearsing, in my mind, the different tasks I needed to do once at the park. T hese thoughts continued on as I went downstairs, grabbed my bag and got in my car. It was my first event as a cheerleader in Tascosa High and I wanted to do well for our entire squad.
As I was pulling from Fairway on to Western, I began to smell something and it seemed to be getting stronger. Like sun-ripened Limberger cheese. This uniform was definitely a different kind of “fresh”.
ME
What the hell is this foul smell? This is more like something I would smell while out in a field or possibly a hospital. Or a sulfur mine.
Then I noticed my skirt was wet. Things started clicking.
I turned around and drove back to #6 Accosted in hopes of there being another white skirt I could change into. I found another, it was not an exact match but it was the best I could do. I kept the smelly and wet skirt with me, just case the smell went away, I could change back into it at the event.
As I drove down Western -- once again -- heading for Tascosa, with little time to spare, the wet part of the skirt began to turn into a yellowish color.
I arrived at the event and was told I had on the wrong skirt. I apologized. Thankfully, I was reassured it was OK, just this one time. But don’t repeat. Cheerleading is also a highly organized endeavor -- especially in Texas and the South. We also use balloons sometimes.
The event went well and it seemed everyone enjoyed themselves. After a brief wrap up, we all said our good-byes. I got into my car and the smell was stronger, the heat most likely brought it out. I remember hoping no one else caught a whiff. Nowadays, folks would have probably thought it was marijuana. Not back then.
As I drove to #6 Accosted, crossing the intersection of Plains and Western, it hit me.
Psychopaths Never Confess
Hannibal Anne had urinated on my uniform. No doubt. I was already anticipating the conversation with her. I was going to slow walk a confession if I could.
I walked in the back door and could feel that Hannibal had been waiting for me. She looked excited, grinning. I stared at her across the kitchen.
HANNIBAL
How did everything go?
ME
It was fun! Think it went great for everyone!
HANNIBAL
Who all did you see and talk to?
ME
Everyone who was there.
HANNIBAL
How was your skirt?
ME
It was fine. I wore a different one. But it was fine.
HANNIBAL
Why didn’t you wear the one I was keeping safe for you? (Grin fading and turning upside down).
ME
You mean the one you peed on?
HANNIBAL
What do you mean?
ME
Well, let’s see. I know Myron’s dog -- Bubba Wendell -- did not pee on my skirt. I’ve cleaned up most of his messes, so I would know. And, since you were keeping it safe, who else could have peed on it?
HANNIBAL
Oh, you’re just imagining things. Stop being paranoid. No one peed on your skirt.
ME
Oh, really? Look. Do you want to smell the spot on my skirt? If you do, you will know it is not from Bubba. And we don’t even have cats. Do you think it was the tree frogs?
HANNIBAL
If that is urine, it would have to be from Myron’s dog.
ME
Pretty sure Bubba Wendell can’t open my bedroom door, which I had closed. He’s a good dog, but not that good.
I knew it was Hannibal. I hand washed the skirt at first. Certainly, growing in an ag family, I had dealt with plenty of gross-level clean ups. It didn’t come out. Then I took it to the dry cleaner which worked. No more Hannibal mark on my skirt.
It never got brought up again. Well, not between the two of us anyway. I am bringing it up now. I also told a lot of friends about it over the years. The reaction is usually a polite listen at the open of the story, then a wide open mouth when I reveal the pee portion, then “I’m so sorry. That is gross. What is wrong with her?” Or words to that effect.
But really, I mostly forgot about it until . . .
Anna Bananas
. . . Now it’s 2021
I began reading books I found on psychopaths. One day I was reading The Mask of Sanity by Hervey M. Cleckley -- which is considered the original clinical work on psychopaths. In it, Dr. Cleckely runs through a series of 13 case studies, in quite colorful and flowery language. First published in 1941, there are I think five or six editions, so the page numbers cited below might not be the same from edition to edition. I will do a Book Reporter on The Mask of Sanity at some point. In the meantime, I recommend it for those of you looking to do their own study.
But not like in High School when you could do “Independent Study” -- which was just code for goofing off. You just had to come up with a paper at the end of it. Which you would write the day before it was due. I mean, I’m not saying I did that. But I could have.
Saving the Best for Last
Chapter 12 -- Anna -- is the most juicy and relevant.
When I came across that chapter I thought to myself “hmmmm, Anna. I wonder if she will be anything like Hannibal Anne?”
And boy was I ever right.
The first excerpt that struck me is what many of you could be thinking and what I have often experienced when describing Hannibal Anne.
Page 104
And, no matter told, it could not be believed except by those who have already had experience over years with such patterns of behavior.
The chapter goes on to explain Anna’s family became aware that she had serious problems by learning that a boy’s club, in the local high school, had been founded around Anna.
The author goes on to say the language used in the boy’s club is unprintable. The boy’s club would detail what they would like to do to Anna or with Anna, describing their achievements.
Another boy fell in love with Anna and later had a nervous breakdown. Psychopaths will do that to people who are too kind or weak. A physician, also a relative of Anna’s mother, was familiar with the boy’s breakdown and some of Anna’s actions.
The relative physician felt he must let her parents know. Her parents tried to avoid rubbing it in by “moralizing reiteration”. Whatever that means.
Her parents decided to send her away to boarding school and “turn with all resolution available to what is ahead, and not to stir what is tragic or hideous, but now past and unmodifiable.”
They seemed to support Anna in focusing on the future.
Needless to say, that worked out great. Just kidding. Anna bounced through many schools. She would show promise and commitment in the beginning and then drop off. Her parents were wealthy and continued to support her in hopes that they had not failed her as parents.
As Anna continued through the numerous schools, she was caught smoking, missed curfew, cheated in lab courses and was questioned for ‘borrowing” things that did not belong to her (referred to as “thieveries”). One incident involved her placing rubber condoms in a sofa where young couples would be sitting. Under the cushions, but just visible enough so others would see them.
Anna once scrawled a lewd statement across an “instructress’s” office door. The statement indicated there was something available and for cheap. I could totally see Hannibal do that.
Next, on page 114, is what put my reading into slow motion.
During an interval in which she had no further trouble with the faculty Anna alienated and outraged several girls in the dormitory with whom she had been very friendly. After a few bottles of beer which the group had shared, she entered the rooms occupied by two of these friends and, in their absence, urinated on several evening dresses which they highly valued. (After the act she refolded the dresses neatly and put them back, sodden and malodorous, in the drawers.) It was a number of days before evidence emerged that unmistakably connected Anna with this deed.
Anna, like Hannibal Anne, had a thing for urinating on clothing that was valued. Or stealing it, like my Cheerleading bloomers which I found in her bedroom drawers only a few years ago.
Also, according the Cleckley, page 114 -115, Anna was “frigid” and did not enjoy normal relations and, while married, would continue to have relations with other men. Not for pleasure but for humiliation, I think.
Sometimes, while having technically satisfactory relations with a husband, she would continue [relations] with other men who, it seems, failed entirely to arouse or to gratify her in the usual sense. As a matter of fact, while living with the husband who, more regularly than any other man she can recall, made her “respond,” she initiated and continued relations with several other men.
Was Hannibal Anne like this? I don’t have any evidence, but just between me and I . . .
Well, let’s just say I would be neither shocked nor surprised. What do all of you alls think?
Texas Color Commentary: Most people not from Texas or the general South don’t understand the nuances and usage of “y’all”. The word “Y’all” itself is singular -- used when speaking to one or two people.
The plural form is “All y’all” -- typically used when addressing several people, often with a question, e.g., “would all y’all like some Texas Tea, with just enough Sweet N’ Low in it?”
And then there is “All y’alls” -- often used with simple statements, e.g., “all y’alls stay out of that closet right there, the one where I am stashing a bunch of quilts I lifted from my non-adoptive grandmother’s house when she died mysteriously.” To be discussed in a future Episode entitled “1982 Was a Very Bad Year“.
Back to Back to School
OK. This story is not about the Anna’s or the Hannibal Anna’s.
This story is about all the good moms out there. Who sacrifice for their girls who then grow up to be bigger girls. Some of them will maybe then go off to college and maybe go into rush or decide not to. Or for the girls who maybe don’t get selected. My heart breaks for those girls. Though I know the moms of those girls comfort and love them, get them through the heart ache and lead them to bigger lives. The biggest job of being a parent is taking the weight of the world off your kids’ shoulders and putting it on your own.
This story is also about all the good moms with little girls that don’t go off to college, that stay back in small or large towns, work on generationsl family farms, and raise their own little girls.
I know you are out there. All you good moms. I know a few of you. I know what it is like to not have a good mom. So I admire you for who you are and what you do.
In this world, the population of good moms is so much greater than the population of bad moms.
That makes me happy.
So, I want to officially call all y’alls out. All of you good moms. Your little girls and your little boys will grow up to be good people, one day with their own good families, who will maybe also send their little girls off to rush. And you will be there every step of the way.
I also know stuff that maybe you don’t at this moment. The good things you do today will live on forever -- in your kids and their own kids, and for all the generations that follow.
Many years from now, you will be the grandmas, baking chocolate chip cookies, watching Home Alone at Christmas, with a fire. Spoiler alert: You won’t actually get to bake the chocolate cookies, because all your grandkids will eat the cookie dough before it can get near the oven.
Just sayin’. From practical experience.
This is the prophecy.
I love you all.
