In this Season 4 finale, Aaron takes a nostalgic journey back to the early '90s. Join him as he pretends to be a priest, watches his grandmother order an unthinkable dish at Friendly's restaurant, and helps track down a mysterious soccer coach named Mr. Sheep.
Thanks to my daughter Lu for the original art on this episode!
Original Art by my daughter aka Luci’s Vibe
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Story created & performed by: Aaron Calafato
Senior Audio Engineer: Ken Wendt
Additional vocals: Cori Birce
Art: Pete Whitehead
Original Music: thomas j. duke
Transcript
The Legend of Mr. Sheep
Aaron Calafato:
Hey, everybody. You're about to hear a story about wrong names and mistaken identity. It's one of those hilarious stories that has become legendary in my family, one that we tell every time we get together on a Sunday dinner. I'm always sharing it, probably annoying everybody in my family with it, but I wanted to share it with you. But before we do, I wanted to tell you, Hey, this is the season finale of 7 Minute Stories Season 4. Thank you so much for 4 amazing seasons, unbelievable growth around the globe, listenership, and your feedback. It's been awesome. So thank you for that. Here's the thing. I mentioned it a few weeks ago, but this summer, we're not going dark. So we will be curating the best of season 1 for you every Thursday this summer. That way, you get your 7-minute stories every week. And I know a lot of you are going through the archives. In fact, I was looking at the analytics just the other day, and one of our stories from season 3, "The Forty-Year-Old Train Ride," has the most downloads this month. There are so many new listeners and current listeners who are just going back into the archives. I think we're at over 267 minute extemporaneous stories. So it's crazy. We're gonna do our best to curate a list for you for the best of season 1 throughout the summer, and then we're back at it this September for season 5 with all new episodes, all new stories. Alright. Time to get to the story.
I loved when my grandma T, my mom's mom, would visit us during the year. She would help out my mom, a single mom working her tail off, trying to take care of 2 kids, myself, and my brother. Grandma T was a legend, drove a beat-up Ford Taurus all the way from Ashtabula to Medina, where we lived at the time, 20 minutes south of Cleveland. She would stay with us in the wintertime or the summertime, and she would stay for extended periods of time, weeks sometimes. I remember one Sunday, my mom was really trying to get all of us to go to church together. My brother and I were dragging our feet, being total goons. My mom's like, "Please hurry. I want to get to church. We haven't gone to church in a couple of weeks." We're like, "Who cares about church? What does it matter anyways?" We're being total dicks. So we end up being late and not going. My mom is furious. She's so pissed. I can hear her banging dishes down in the kitchen, and I felt guilty, which I probably should. I did. My brother and I felt guilty. My grandmother was trying to calm my mom down, saying, "They're just kids." "No. It's not okay." I heard them hashing it out in the kitchen. I go to my brother and said, "We gotta do something about this, man. We gotta atone for our mistake."
Here's what we did. My brother and I decided to put on our own church service for my mom and my grandma in the kitchen. So I dressed up and became the priest. My brother was an acolyte. We had candles, and I walked downstairs in a robe. My brother held up the good book, and I said, "The gospel according to Luke, a reading." I read it, and I did a sermon. The sermon, by the way, I remember, was about the importance of being on time when God and the universe call you. Man, it was good. Some of my best work to this day. My mom finally cracked a smile. That meant she forgave us. And I remember the look on my grandmother's face. She was so content watching all of us go through that fight, that conflict, and figure out a way to just get along. I think she admired my attempt to put on the church service. I remember her looking and smiling at me because she always said, "I just wish you would all get along." And we did. She was with part of her family, and we were all getting along in that moment.
Now my mom had something to do that Sunday night. So my grandmother had to feed us and get my brother to soccer practice. We convinced my grandmother to take us to a restaurant, one of our favorites called Friendly's. I think it's out of business. I don't know if there are any more because I remember driving around the US, and they've had a few of them, far and few between. But man, at its height, Friendly's was unbelievable. I think they still have the ice cream in a lot of the stores. Amazing diner food and ice cream. When I say amazing, I'm saying for what it is. Okay? But it was a huge nostalgic comfort place for us to go. So my brother, my grandmother, and I went in the Ford Taurus to Friendly's. We got chicken fingers, grilled cheese, fries, but what my brother and I were waiting for was the cone head. Vanilla ice cream, silver dish, hot fudge on the top, a cone that looks like a head, Reese's pieces for eyes, a nose, and a smile. And inside the silver dish underneath all the incredible vanilla ice cream was more candy, more Reese's pieces, more M&Ms. It was an unbelievable surprise. We would eat anything just to get to that part of the meal. A great Friendly's has these things: a cranky server and a suspicious cook. If you don't have that, you're not at a good Friendly's.
My grandmother orders liver and onions. We were like, "Oh, liver and onions." She said, "I grew up on a farm. Got used to it. I love the taste of liver and onions." I said, "Grandma, at Friendly's?" She goes, "You can't mess it up." And I'm pretty sure you can. But when it came out, oh my god. I could smell all of it. She ate all of that up. She said it's good for your body and good for your soul. By that time, we were already late for my brother's soccer practice. So we jumped in the Ford Taurus. My grandmother was trying to get around town. She's not familiar with it. I'm trying to give her directions. My brother's in the back, trying to get on his soccer uniform. We get to the fields in the suburbs of Cleveland, or any suburb, really. Everyone's playing soccer. There's hundreds of kids, thousands of colors. We're going through this parking lot, looking for my brother's soccer team. He had a light blue jersey. I can't see anybody. Grandma can't see anybody. My brother can't see anybody. "Do you see anybody?" She opens the window. She goes, "I can't see any of your team." We do a couple of circles, and she goes, "Well, what's your coach's name?" My brother goes, "My coach's name is Mister Sheep." She goes, "Okay." And so she starts calling out the window, "Mister Sheep. Mister Sheep, is there a Mister Sheep there?" People are turning around, kind of looking at us funny. We finally park the car. My brother thinks he sees his team way out in the field. So he runs out there looking for Mister Sheep and his soccer team. My grandma and I are stumbling around all the different fields, tapping people on the shoulders going, "Do you know Mister Sheep? He's got a light blue jersey. Mister Sheep." This goes on for 15 minutes.
My grandmother finally sees a coach who is coaching a team with light blue jerseys. She taps his shoulder. She goes, "Mister Sheep?" He turns around and looks at her and goes, "What did you say?" She goes, "Mister Sheep, are you Mister Sheep? My grandson, he's on your team." He goes, "My name is not Mister Sheep. My name's Mister Lamb." My grandmother's face almost turns white. She starts laughing, "I'm so sorry." And right at that moment, you can hear my brother in the background running through the soccer field saying, "Grandma, I was wrong. Grandma, I got the name wrong. His name is Mr. Lamb. It's Mr. Lamb."
