Colon (ko’-lon): Roughly equivalent to “clause” in English, except that the emphasis is on seeing this part of a sentence as needing completion, either with a second colon (or membrum) or with two others (forming a tricolon). When cola (or membra) are of equal length, they form isocolon.
“I am happy. I am lovin,’ I am Pappy.“ This was Daddy’s favorite saying. He’d sit on a log in front of our two-room shack singing his favorite songs, tipping his little brown jug, and smokin’ hand rolleds out of his special homemade brand of tobacco he called “Whacky Backy.” Daddy didn’t work. He told us God had released him of that responsibility and given him four healthy sons all in one burst outta Ma. We all had jobs, such as they were.
I commuted down to the flat lands seven days a week to muck Mr. Windbark’s horse stalls and brush his horses too. He had 25 thoroughbreds, so I had to get to work at 5:00 am, and work until 10:00 pm every day. I had biceps the size of cinderblocks, and I could imitate all the birds I would hear outside the stalls while I was workin’. Mt favorite was the cardinal.
One day, Mr. Windbark’s brother-in-law was visiting him. He was checking out the horses down at the barn when he heard my bird calls. He invited me up to Mr. Windbark’s mansion. He told me to listen to what he played on the piano, and then, whistle it back at him. He played some French song called “Clear the Loon.” I whistled it back and a couple of Mr. Wingback’s female guests swooned. Even though I smelled like horse shit, a number of them embraced me, kissed my neck, and handed me notes. I’m illiterate, but I think they were invitations of some kind. Mr. Windback’s daughter looked me in the eyes and said “I am yours. I will never leave you.” I was dumbfounded.
Mr. Wingback’s brother-in-law had a traveling vaudeville show. They toured the Northeast and featured entertainers of all kinds—from snake charmers to contortionists. He offered me a job whistling in his show and I took it. I was to be a featured act in “The Wing-Zing Traveling Vaudeville Show.” I was to go on after “Madame Cruncher” who was fed spoonfuls of gravel while she quacked like a duck.
When I told Daddy, all he did was tell me to send him half of my payscheck every month. Ma gave me a pair of mittens, and my three brothers pooled their resources and bought me a used vintage suitcase—the kind with no wheels.
I was billed as “Whistler’s Brother.” I would begin my act with bird calls, followed by a repertoire of well-known songs like “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” The audience favorite was always “Stairway to Heaven.” Then, I would take requests from the audience. A favorite request was Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper.” Then, I’d finish the show with The Village People’s “YMCA.” I’d do a little dance with my fists in the air. The audience always went wild.
I became a wealthy man. Mr. Windback’s daughter was true to her word. We love our life together, especially now, since our first child is due in two months. Unfortunately, Daddy died. His liver exploded when he was competing in a hog calling contest over in Booker’s Hollow. Ma said he should’ve just stayed on his log and not become involved with “them hog callin’ people.”
I gave Ma money to build an addition on our shack and make it into a bed and breakfast. It’s on the main track between Hellbore’s Ridge and Hunchback Mountain, so, Ma is pretty busy. The B&B is called “Whistlers.”
My brothers work in the B&B but spend most of their time sitting on what they affectionately call “Daddy’s Log.” We buried Daddy behind the shack, in the middle of his “Whacky Backy” patch. His headstone is a big flat piece of river rock from Stinky Creek. We had it engraved and his epitaph reads: “I am happy. I am lovin,’ I am Daddy.” Even though he used to say “I am Pappy,” we figured “I am Daddy” is more of a tribute to him. I whistled “Leader of the Pack” at his funeral, while my brothers made motorcycle sounds. It was his favorite song.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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