Remembering the Punky

During my last couple visits to the gym, I’ve seen a woman who reminds me of my late aunt, Punky.  The ratted, swooped up, and heavily hairsprayed mound of hair resembles Punky’s.  Her facial features are also similar, although Punky would insist that she looks a lot more like Liz Taylor than this woman does.  I miss Punky.  I often think of her and wonder what she would have to say about certain things.  I know she would LOVE the boys and spoil them rotten. 

Besides being a total character, Punky was probably the worst driver on the planet.  She drove big beastly vehicles and kept her right foot on the gas and her left on the brake, often pushing both in unison.  It’s a good thing she drove big cars because she needed the protection – almost as much as those unfortunate enough to share the road with her.  Even the police feared her.  She was known to have accidentally rear-end a squad car.  Twice.  The same day.   

From the time I was in junior high, I cleaned Punky’s bar every Sunday morning.  While she sat mesmerized by Reverend Schuller on the TV, I diligently swept, mopped, waxed, and buffed the floor.  Before I was done buffing, the floor would have a pile of ashes from her chain of Saratogas.  Punky taught me to appreciate job security at a very early age. 

When she and Alvina (that was her car) picked me up to clean, I shared the passenger seat with a month’s worth of mail, mounds of spare change, and a collection of Diet Coke cans.  When the windows were open, Alvina resembled a popcorn popper with all the debris flying around the vehicle.   One might assume that this would be an effective theft deterrent.  It wasn’t.  Late one night Alvina was stolen from her parking spot in front of the post office because Punky had left the car running while she ran in to get her mail.  That must be why I avoid post offices to this day.

Punky believed in buying good supportive bras to keep her girls upright and pointing straight ahead.   The most amazing thing about her bras was the volume of stuff they could hold.   Picture a magician pulling an endless array of surprises from his top hat.  Punky’s bras could out perform any top hat on most days.  At any given time, you could predict with a high degree of certainty that keys, a wad of money, a Bic lighter or a pack of Saratogas could be plucked from her shirt.   She taught me to travel lightly and that my bra could double as a camera case when going to concerts. 

One day, as Punky read through the arrests section in her newspaper, she commented that she was so proud that her nieces and nephews hadn’t gotten into any trouble and were good kids.  She then proceeded to deliver the message:   If I ever got into trouble, she would be the first in line to kick my ass.  I KNEW she would make good on her word.   And I wasn’t willing to take that risk.  I never wanted to disappoint my parents, but I FEARED Punky’s reaction.   She taught me to think about the repercussions of my decisions.   And that fear is a good motivator, or deterrent, depending upon the situation.

Punky taught me to be loyal to my friends and to be trusted with secrets.  She made me swear on my life to not tell anyone what happened to her first car.   But since the statute of limitations has clearly expired, I am now comfortable coughing up the goods.  Apparently, after running down a fire hydrant and flooding a good part of downtown, she had some friends haul the car to a farm and bury it.  Sadly, I think most of her vehicles met the same fate.   Most disappeared under the cover of darkness.

Punky preached being an individual and that looking like everyone else was boring.  As a teen-ager, that was not the kind of advice I appreciated.  I totally get it now.  Punky unfortunately actually demonstrated unique when she mistakenly sprayed her hair with a can of silver metallic paint instead of her Aqua Net.   She was able to laugh at her mistakes and taught me to not take myself too seriously. 

I think the most enduring lesson I learned from Punky was the value of having adults involved in a kid’s life.  Parents, presumably, will always love their kids but when other adults are voluntarily involved in a loving and caring way, the kid will feel valued.  Having a sense of accountability to somebody other than my parents contributed to keeping me in line and out of trouble (or at least from getting caught) during those rebellious years.  

Every kid should have a Punky in their life,  but hopefully with better driving prowess.

~ by karmental on January 17, 2008.