The Poopstick

I recently spent a week in Shallote, North Carolina with my family at my great grandparents house. It'd been over ten years since I'd seen this distant land, and had so little recollection of it. However, since I'd seen my great grandparents off and on since I'd been to NC, memories of them were still strong.

In October of 2009 my great grandfather passed away just before he turned eighty-seven. Thankfully it happened surrounded by his wife and children in his daughter's house in Utah, as opposed to in a hospital. If things got bad, he said, he didn't want to be in a hospital or nursing home.

On this earth, my grandfather was an eccentric guy: not quite up to date in political correctness, said anything on his mind, and could make conversation with anyone. Around my hometown and in North Carolina he was very well known and well liked. He was a riot and the family often reminisces about the things he had said.

Similar to him, was his wife-my great grandmother. She too says the priceless things, in her Greek accent. The night we had arrived on our recent visit we were trying to figure out sleeping situations. She told me that I could sleep in her bed with her, to sweeten up the deal she said "I don't fart or anything."

The next evening the family would get into a conversation regarding farting, would lead to a story I had never heard before. This story was about the infamous poopstick.

The "poopstick" was a device used to manipulate excrement down the toilet upon the occurrence of clogging. Every time my uncle would visit North Carolina, my Grampy would remind him of the poopstick-should he ever need it- and would show him where it was. My question was why they didn't just use a plunger, but I suppose the stick was a more effective tool.

On this trip I was the first one to need the poopstick. To my horror, I couldn't flush. And it triggered in my mind. I walked out and said "Mom, I need the poopstick." We were at the door to the garage and my mom, laughing, told the family we needed the poopstick. It seemed we gathered around to the resting spot of the holy wand. It was nestled in a plastic bag, with its wooden 'clean end' sticking out. The tip was metal, for maximum effectiveness.

The poopstick had been put to use for the first time in over a year, and I like to think it was a way to honor my Grampy.