The Case of the 21-Butt Salute

Ready... Aim... Drop your drawers? Didn't see that one coming, did ya? Well, frankly, neither did we! Let me back up a second, ladies (and all of you gents too), and ask you what comes to mind when you think of a twenty-one gun salute. Your wettest and wildest fantasies of the naked bum of a ninety-year-old man... right? Um, yeah, sure. That's what all the young women like me are dreaming of these days. Hey! Don't get me wrong... I'm sure a ninety-year-old behind is nice. I'll probably like it very much when I'm that age. However, since I'm not even thirty yet, and I am certainly no gold-digging hussy, well, the nonagenarian backside just doesn't quite leave me swooning in my shoes. No offense intended to the oldsters!

My great-uncle passed away when he was 84 years old. After years of suffering with diabetes, he landed in the hospital with a heart attack and subsequently had a leg amputated. He never woke up. It was one of those bittersweet moments in life that you can't quite wrap your mind around. Sure, Uncle John lived long and well. He was so set in his ways by the time he was diagnosed with diabetes that he refused to make any changes to his habits. He preferred to continue living on his own terms while he still had a few good years left. This man seemed larger than life to those of us who knew and loved him, so it was hard to imagine his never coming back. He was a man full of love, humor and wisdom... and a bit of an enigma.

Uncle John lived his entire life as a bachelor. He never married; never had any children. I would venture to guess he even lived a life of chastity because there was never a woman in his life that I recall nor did I ever hear mention of one, not here in the States anyway. Apparently, he had fallen for a Japanese woman during World War II and had carried a torch for her ever since. Her photo, like that of a beautiful porcelain-faced Geisha, held a prominent place on top of his bureau all those years; a sad but sweet story.

There, I've given you background, but I digress... Being quite the character himself, it's only fitting that this event occurred at his funeral. I am sure that somewhere in his transition between here and the spirit world, he paused a moment to take in this scene, having himself a good laugh and appreciating every second of it.

"Ready! Aim! Fire!" The first shot rings out. Having served his country, my great-uncle was honored with a twenty-one gun salute. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my cousin snickering; just trying not to burst. My first thought? "What the hell's so bloody funny? This is a funeral for crying out loud!" Then I noticed that Michael wasn't the only one laughing. Laughter was spreading through the crowd faster than the plague! Even my father, who is known for his consistently somber state and rarely expresses a sense of humor, was laughing so hard his face and balding head was redder than a cherry.

I looked up and finally caught on. This spontaneous experiment proved that those rifles really do carry quite a kick. At least enough to effectively rid you of your knickers! I looked up and well, I had a front row seat for the lunar landing. Staring me in the face was a full-moon, craters and all. In a way, I felt a tad bit sorry for the old man, as he bent over, naked-hiney-in-air, struggling to make his pants and suspenders cooperate... while the rest of us pointed and laughed. Unfortunately, I couldn't help myself. Had I been an older woman myself, it might very well have been an "Oh my!" moment. Instead, I busted up laughing with everyone else. I mean, it's not like one expects to see a bare butt staring them in the face... in public... at a funeral.

The elderly gentleman continued to struggle for a bit longer, trying to get those britches back up; his rear end just wiggling in the wind. The compassionate side of me wanted to go help him and end his embarrassment. In retrospect. I am glad I didn't. That man may have been ninety-years-old, but he was one heck of a practical joker! As it turns out, he and my great-uncle went way back. They'd served in the Army together during World War II and had remained friends, even serving on the drill team (the guys who give the twenty-one gun salute at funerals) together for many years.

As he stood upright, his fanny finally covered, his was not a look of mortification. He was grinning ear to ear. At first, I thought maybe he just had such good humor about it and was laughing along with all of us. Nope. He knew Uncle John and as a final act of friendship, he cleverly planned the twenty-one butt salute!