Jake’s 2022 Resolution

Daryl Gay | January 5, 2022

“So, Jake, tell me about your resolutions.”

Five. Four. Three. Two. One…

“Wal, I jes’ ain’t peeved at nobody.”

Five. Four. Three…

“You ain’t peeved? What are you even talking about?”

“Seems lak to me you gotta be at least a little peevish with a body to start one of them revolutions. An’ I jes’ ain’t.”

Oh; so that’s it.

“Res, Jake. RESolution, not REVolution. New Year’s Resolutions. Ain’t you never made one?”

“No so’s you’d notice it I ain’t. While yer a talkin’ at ’em, what is them thangs anyways?”

This shouldn’t take long…

“Why, you just resolve—which means to make up your mind about something—to do better going forward into the new year.”


“Any year! This one, for instance, 2022. All you need to do is think about improvements you’d like to make in your everyday life. Doesn’t have to be big things; whatever is on your agenda.”

“Yer little Ma hears you repeating that word and she’s gonna put whelps on your agenda.”

Quick, what’s another word for agenda? Docket, consensus, manifesto, rota… or how about something he MIGHT understand?

“Agenda means a list, Jake. A plan; which is something you’ve never had in all your days. Might be a good time for one in 2022.”

“Last time I looked, it were 1957. I didn’t have no plan then, and yore little agenda wasn’t even around yet. Why I need a resolution?”

Criminy! I may be a year older and purple in the face when I leave this shack, but before I do we’re going to come up with Jake’s resolution. I ain’t confident enough in my oratorical skills to shoot for two, but one is a done deal.

I hope.

“How about you resolve to clean up just a little?”

“Yep, I knowed it. Figgered that soap would pop up in yer speech afore you took three breaths. Smelt it on you the minute you sidled in. That there ain’t Octygon, is it? That stuff’ll take the hide off’n a bear. You ‘member when yer Ma run me in the crick and tossed them three bars in upstream whilst I was a’flounderin’ near to drown?”

“Yep. You smelled almost human for a whole week. Forget soap; how about cleaning up the shack?”

“What’s wrong with it? Anything ya track in on a dirt floor jes’ kindly sinks right in. An’ if’n I put glass in the winders how could I ever get a summer breeze? That there plaskit works jes’ fine in the winter and peels right off in the sprang.”

“You could always resolve to plug up the holes and cracks in that stovepipe. This place is smokier than a steel mill.”

“Yep; no skeeters.”

Right. Hmmm. Why don’t we focus a bit on personal appearance? After all, I’m dealing with a shaggy-headed ghillie suit…

“When’s the last time you had a haircut, Jake? I mean a real one; you could even go down to the barber shop with me and Pap. They’ll cut your hair up real nice, give you a clean shave and maybe even put some of that lavender water on your face to tone down the stench.”

“I ‘members how they does that. You too young to recall how that Raymond in there come at me with a razor oncest. I was perched all innocent in that cheer and didn’t have no clue what his agenda was. How do ya think he got that limp?”

Oh well; least he’s learned a new word. And it’s time to take a new tack.

“Jake, you remember Flossie Mae Flanders?”

His formerly beady eyes are presently bigger than citrons.

“You mean the Flossie Mae that’s got more curves than the Chattahoochee, a rich Pa and no rang on her fanger? I thank I recall her.”

“That last part is important, Jake. No rang, uh, ring! Maybe if you resolved to make just a LITTLE transformation, you might have a shot.”

“Don’t need no transportation. I can walk thet quick. In fact, heap o’ nights when the moon ain’t up I ease over that way and…”

“OK, OK; I’ve resolved that I don’t need to know what you do after sunset, or whether it involves Flossie Mae or her Pa’s chicken house. And forget transportation and focus on transformation. Do that and Flossie Mae might even slide on over your way on a dark night.”

With that, he’s hooked through both sets of gills; reel him in slow.

“MY way?  Throw some more of them resolutions at me.”

“How about upgrading your wardrobe?”

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

“Buy. New. Clothes. Fix yourself up a little, Jake. ‘Course, you wouldn’t want to don new duds without sprucing up a little…”

“Octygon is out!”

“But you MIGHT agree to a clothing resolution?”

“I hain’t perzactly signed up for that one part of the agreement; seems to me that you might have mentioned something about buy?”

“Not a problem; what sizes do you wear in shirts and pants?”

“They comes in different sizes? I already got two shirts and these overhauls about the same time you was born; they’s good.”

I was absolutely crestfallen. Defeated. And as my head dropped… it happened!

Spotting toes through the top of ancient boots, I asked, “How about new boots, Jake?”

“OK, steer the news Flossie Mae’s way and in 2022, I resolves to wear brand-spankin’ new boots! Providin’, a’course, that you heps me trim my corns…”

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