Old Roads, New Stories: A Literary Series
I’ve never heard anyone say they think that origin stories are boring. That’s probably because as toddlers we always asked Why? Jen and I have a granddaughter, Rhyan, and she can say it all day long: “But why?”
“You should put on your shoes before we go outside.”
“But why?”
“Because the grass has a lot of pine needles in it.”
“But why?”
“Because they fall off the tree, and they’re pointy and sharp.”
“But why?”
“Well, it’s sort of like our hair. Sometimes our hair falls out, and sometimes pine needles fall out, too, to make room for new ones.”
“But why?”
“Because a long time ago, the very first tree felt sad that she was alone. She felt sad, and she started to cry a little, only she couldn’t make tears like people do—”
“But why?”
“Because trees don’t have eyes, just branches. So what rolled down her cheeks were needles and pine cones, but that was good because—”
“But why?”
“Because they landed on the ground and then grew into other trees. Like a family. And from then on the first tree knew that she wasn’t alone.”
“Okay, Papa, I wear shoes now.”
And we went outside.
Were there other ways off of this toddler merry-go-round? Not really. Well, I guess there’s the old standby Because I said so, but wielding that gavel comes with downsides. I prefer an origin story. The world’s stuffed full of destruction already, so any chance to focus on the opposite, on an original good, even one you have to invent—any chance to focus on creation instead might be a gift.
In case you feel the same way as I do, here’s an origin story for October. I’ve offered my take on this legend once before, but here it is again in a new way that you can share with kids:
Bad Irish Jack: A Halloween Story
So this is the story of Jack, the worst troublemaker in all of Ireland. When Jack was a kid, he never did his homework. And he stole candy and old people’s money, and threw rocks at the cows just minding their own business eating grass.
And then when Jack was a grown-up, he was always fighting. He was lazy and wouldn’t work. And he swore all the time, more bad words than there are words in a dictionary. So everyone knew Jack could never go to heaven when he died.
Sure enough, one night the devil told Jack that it was time for him to come along to hell. But Jack was smart and clever, and good at talking, and good at tricking everyone. And he always carried a pocketknife because he loved to skip work and whittle sticks, or carve branches into slingshots so he could break windows or whiz dirt clods at the priest and nuns.
Jack said, “Oh, Devil, just give me another chance. I’ll be good. I can change. Just let me have a few more years, and I’ll be the nicest guy in Ireland.”
The devil was impressed by Jack’s promise, so he decided to let Jack go.
But do you think that Jack stopped kicking cats and stealing from people and swearing like a filthy-mouthed pirate? No way. He lived the same mean, rotten life he always did, and when it was time for Jack to die, the devil came back like everyone knew he would.
Jack’s a smart guy though, remember? He said, “Devil, I’m sorry I lied to you. And now I’ll come along nice and quiet. But I’m so-ooooo hungry. Couldn’t I just have one last meal first?”
“There’s no time for that, Jack,” the devil said.
“Please, Devil,” said Jack. “Maybe one last apple? There’s an apple tree right over there.”
So the devil said okay.
“But I’ve got this twisted ankle,” said Jack. “And my right hand can’t grip because my knuckles are sore from punching and fighting. I can’t climb. Please, would you maybe go up the tree and get it for me? I promise I won’t run away.”
Well, the devil was pretty irritated, but he climbed up and did like Jack wanted. He went way out on the tallest branch to reach the biggest, reddest apple, the one that Jack kept pointing at—up, up, up—and while the devil was busy, Jack flashed out his pocketknife and carved a cross, quick and deep, in the tree trunk. The devil was stuck! He couldn’t get down past that cross, and Jack walked off smiling, thinking that he was home free.
Then one day Jack finally died. Of course he couldn’t go to heaven—he was too bad. And he couldn’t go down to hell now, either, because the devil never forgot Jack’s tricks. He said, “I won’t have you, Jack. Go away. You’re doomed to walk forever through the cold and dark of outer space. And it’s your own fault, too, so don’t be feeling sorry for yourself.”
But the devil did feel a bit sorry for Jack, after all. He told Jack to take out the turnip and tricky knife he had in his pocket. He let him carve out the center and carry a candle inside for a little light, and a little warmth, while he walked the Dark Forever all alone.
And that’s how Jack became Jack of the Lantern, and that is where jack-o-lanterns come from.
Now to this day, on All Hallow’s Eve, which is how the Irish say “Halloween,” the dead can come back to visit the living. We put jack-o-lanterns on our doorsteps so our ancestors can find their way home to us. (Those are the ones with friendly faces carved in them.) And the pumpkins carved with scary faces—that’s to scare away any mean ghosts who want to come and do bad tricks. And we use pumpkins instead of turnips because have you seen a turnip? They’re small. They’re hard to hollow out and carve. And the idea comes from the story of Bad Irish Jack who walks alone forever with his cup of light across the cold night sky.
Rob Carney’s first collection of creative nonfiction, Accidental Gardens, is out now from Stormbird Press, and his new book of poems, Call and Response, is available from Black Lawrence Press. Previous books include Facts and Figures, The Last Tiger is Somewhere, The Book of Sharks, and 88 Maps.
Read an interview with Rob Carney appearing in Terrain.org: “The Ocean is Full of Questions.”
Read Rob Carney’s Letter to America in Dear America: Letters of Hope, Habitat, Defiance, and Democracy, published by Terrain.org and Trinity University Press.
Read poetry by Rob Carney appearing in Terrain.org: 6th Annual Contest Finalist, 4th Annual Contest Winner, and Issue 30. And listen to an interview on Montana Public Radio about The Book of Sharks.
Header image by PublicDomainImages, courtesy Pixabay.
