Jerky Baccy, Anyone?

There are certain significant moments in life where you know that your life has completely, irrevocably changed. Strangely enough, my most recent You-Are-No-Longer-in-Kansas-Anymore Moment came while tutoring this week.

I decided to tutor at a reading center part-time to have some extra money and to keep my resume from growing cobwebs while being a full-time mommy. And it is a perfect fit for me right now. Plus I get to tell stories to you like the following:

A student of mine, a cute little second grader I will call Country Boy, has been coming to me for months now. Country Boy has absolutely no interest in being near a classroom at any time unless you count him perhaps taking his dad’s John Deer Tractor and mowing one down. He regularly comes to tutoring with grubby fingernails, bruises, camouflage, and whopper stories about catching snakes or shooting rifles at animals. Surprisingly, he is a good sport about taking time out of his busy schedule of riding four-wheelers to come and see me. I am never bored when he comes in, and this week was no exception.

As is our custom, I give Country Boy a snack and a cup of water before our lesson. He asks, “May I have another cup?”

“Sure!” I say. “For what?”

“To spit in.”

“Huh?”

Country Boy then proceeds to take out a small round can that looks exactly like chewing tobacco. Oh, crap. I think. I have visions of Country Boy’s entire family sitting around a dinner table all spitting into their personal tobacco cups. I ask if I can see it. After a closer look, I am relieved to discover that it isn’t tobacco at all—it is beef jerky, finely ground to look and feel just like the real stuff. Seriously? This stuff exists? For who????

“It’s my Jerky Baccy.”

“Jerky Baccy? Oh, okay…well, here is your cup. Let’s get started.”

We sit down, and Country Boy carefully arranges his cups and pretzels on the table, takes a pinch of the Jerky Baccy, and puts the whole wad in his lip like some seasoned pro. He then takes a sip of water and spits it out into his empty cup. It was an odd scene, me coaching him on his vowel sounds, the seven year old happily spitting in his cup like some old man on a porch somewhere in a mountain holler.

Okay, so it’s not exactly orthodox classroom behavior, but I go with it. He is still able to tell me all of words on his cards and spell on the magnet board. Why rock the boat? But the prudish teacher in me kept on wanting to say something about his Jerky Baccy. Is he just pushing his luck with me, or is it really that normal of an activity for him? Finally, at the end of lesson, I decide to ask him.

“May I ask you a question about your…?” I point to his can of jerky.
“My Jerky Baccy?”

“Yes, your Jerky Baccy.”

“Want some?”

“No, I’m good for now. I wanted to ask you—did you know that it looks a lot like real tobacco?”

“Yeah!”

“Oh. Do you know anyone that uses real tobacco?”

“Yeah, my daddy. His jaw is probably going to rot right off.” He thoughtfully spits into his cup. “That stuff is BAD for you.”

“Yes, you’re right. Good thing you have your Jerky Baccy, right?”

“Yup.”

It was at that moment I knew that I was DEFINITELY not in my hometown anymore. Not that no kid ever had play tobacco products. And not that every kid here does. But still…I am not sure what to think about this one.