A God Free Funny Farm

When I was little, my mother kept my older brother and me in line using a method that I’m pretty sure will never be found in any child care manual.

“If y’all don’t quit your nyaah nyaahing,” she’d threaten, “I’m sending you to The Farm, where little children have to work for a living!”

At first, the threat was enough to keep our three and seven-year-old selves in line. I imagined myself scrubbing floors in a barn, clad in little orphan Annie-style rags, and I straightened the hell up. Because my mom was just crazy enough to send us there.

But by the time the time my brother was nine, he was second guessing The Farm’s existence. He’d asked around at school, you see, and no one else had ever heard of it.

“The Farm’s not real!” he whispered angrily on a day when our nyaah nyaahing had been particularly nyaaahy. “She’s making it up!”

“It is, too, real!” I said. “Mommy doesn’t fib!”

My brother considered for a moment.

“Let’s look it up in the phone book,” he suggested. Nyaah nyaahing forgotten, we dashed for the kitchen drawer. My brother opened the phone book to the Fs and ran a finger down one column.

“See! There’s no ‘farm’ here!” he said. But then he stopped. His face blanched. “The Funny Farm,” he read slowly. “532-9420.” We looked at each other in horror. “Let’s call it!” he said quickly. Perhaps it was all an elaborate hoax.

As he dialed the number, I listened in on an extension. It rang once. It rang again. Suddenly, someone picked up.

“Hello, this is The Funny Farm,” a woman said. We slammed our receivers down simultaneously. Our mother had been speaking the truth.

After that, whenever my mom mentioned The Farm, we’d scream and sob, “Not The Funny Farm, Mama! Not the Funny Farm! Please!”

Periodically, my brother and I would call The Funny Farm back, to make sure it was still open. Because the moment The Funny Farm closed its doors, our days of behaving were over. There would be nyaah nyaahing 24-7 and no way of stopping it.

Unfortunately, The Funny Farm stayed open for several more years. Who knew that naughty children would make great farmers? Over time, we grew bored with hanging up on The Funny Farm’s stern mistress and felt a need to branch out. One day, my brother idly looked down at The Funny Farm’s telephone listing for the hundredth time- and noticed something interesting.

“Hey!” he shouted. “There’s a guy in here named God! Free! Funk! Let’s call him!”

We dialed the number. “Hello?” a man said.

“Is this God! Free! Funk?” my brother asked.

“Yes,” he answered. “Who’s this?” We hung up quickly.

I was fascinated by this man. Who would name their child God Free Funk? And why? And what could it mean? Over the next several months, my brother and I would call him periodically, always saying the same thing.

“Is this God! Free! Funk?!” we’d shout in unison.

“Children, stop playing with the phone,” God Free would answer irritatedly before we hung up.

About ten years later, some friends and I were making prank calls on a dull Friday night. I told them about The Funny Farm, which unfortunately had finally run out of naughty children employees and closed its doors. Then I remembered God Free Funk.

“Oh my gosh!” one of my friends said. “What if he still lives here? Let’s call him!”

I looked up “Funk” in the phone book. There was no God Free Funk, but there was a… um.. a Godfrey Funk. Taking a deep breath, I dialed the number. A man answered.

“Hello?” I said, “Is this God! Free! Funk?”

There was a pause on the line. “You again?” Godfrey said incredulously. Then, he chuckled a little. “Stop playing with the phone,” he said sternly. I hung up quickly and we all laughed until our sides hurt.

Today, I looked up Godfrey Funk on the Internet and he’s still kicking around, 17 years later. I have an urge to call and see how he’s doing, maybe rehash old times. Or maybe I’d just ask if he was still God! Free! Funk! But he probably has caller ID now and would have my ass arrested.

Still. I have a real soft spot for my man Godfrey. Because we go waaaaay back.

As for The Funny Farm, I have a feeling I’ll never have to send my Baby there. Although some days, I’m not so sure…