What’s in a rhyme
Something happened last week that gave me a great deal of anxiety.
Just before going to sleep, the words, 鈥淪tep on a crack and break your mother鈥檚 back,鈥� popped into my head.
That set off a flurry of thoughts about the origin of that phrase, and its lack of a meaningful interpretation.
To be honest, there鈥檚 never been any proof that a mother鈥檚 back had been broken because somebody stepped on a crack.
To be even more honest, even though I first heard that teensy-weensy rhyme when I was a small child, I still avoid cracks on sidewalks 鈥� as if they鈥檒l break my mother鈥檚 (who died in the 1980s) back.
Do you?
Having that couplet flood my head at bedtime gave me a late-night obsession for remembering more rhymes we learned over the years that are part of our common, American existence.
That caused a problem.
Since it was bedtime, I didn鈥檛 have a pencil and paper nearby.
So, with each new rhyme I recalled, I felt the anxiety of remembering stuff I鈥檇 surely forget when I woke up in the morning.
Suddenly, I was desperately trying to not think myself to sleep. Have you ever tried that?
Without warning, the words, 鈥淔inders, keepers, losers, weepers,鈥� bubbled to the surface.
For me, that鈥檚 an uneven assessment.
Shouldn鈥檛 the loser weep, before the finder keeps?
Just a thought.
鈥淪leep tight. Don鈥檛 let the bed bugs bite.鈥�
I鈥檝e never seen a bed bug. I wouldn鈥檛 know what to do to prevent one from biting me.
Childhood presented us with what seems to have been endless, and meaningless, rhymes.
鈥淗e鈥檚 a poet, and don鈥檛 know it,鈥� has a certain hollow literary flare to it.
鈥淎n apple a day keeps the doctor away鈥� meant a lot to me when I was a preteen. I鈥檓 a septuagenarian. I鈥檓 not hoping to keep doctors away these days. So, I don鈥檛 eat many apples.
鈥淚 made you look, you dirty crook. You stole your mama鈥檚/mother鈥檚 pocketbook,鈥� was the only part of that rhyme I learned in my youth.
I was unaware there was more to that story of unparalleled thuggery.
The words, 鈥淵ou turned it in. You turned it out. You turned it into sauerkraut,鈥� were new to me.
You live and learn, I suppose.
Moving on.
Tell me, (I know you can鈥檛, but humor me): Did you really scream for ice cream?
You know, 鈥淚 scream. You scream. We all scream for ice cream.鈥�
I鈥檝e never screamed for ice cream. My wife, Terry, knows that I might sit up and cheer for a bowlful of ice cream with pralines in it.
When I first started thinking about these rhymes, I suspected that many of them were colloquial phrases we may have only had in Uniontown. So, I started typing them into Google. I was surprised that all of them would 鈥渁utocomplete鈥� after a couple words, thus lending to their universality.
For instance, with the words, 鈥淚鈥檓 rubber. You鈥檙e glue,鈥� Google would autocomplete, 鈥測our words bounce off me and stick to you.鈥�
There鈥檚 never been any evidence of words bouncing off anything. But that鈥檚 a rather interesting phrase, isn鈥檛 it?
The fact that people in far reaches of the country understand such a meaningless set of words makes it even more interesting.
Of course, there鈥檚 one set of childhood rhymes, I鈥檇 call the 鈥淕randdaddy of Them All.鈥� Here goes: 鈥淥ne, two, buckle my shoe. Three, four, shut the door. Five, six, pick up sticks. Seven, eight, lay them straight. Nine, ten, a big, fat hen,鈥� is etched into the memories of gazillion kids who鈥檝e learned how to count to 10.
(I still can鈥檛 count much past 10.)
None of these have been what is called nursery rhymes like, 鈥淗ickory, Dickory dock. The mouse ran up the clock 鈥︹��
They鈥檙e just things we鈥檝e said, or heard, that, for some reason, kept me up late last week.
And not all couplets appeared in my youth.
One I鈥檝e heard well into my adulthood that puzzles me is 鈥淪hop 鈥檛il you drop.鈥�
Edward A. Owens is a multi-Emmy Award winner, former reporter, and anchor for Entertainment Tonight, and 50-year TV news and newspaper veteran. E-mail him at freedoms@bellatlantic.net.