Every day one of the first items of business on my computer agenda is to check out the UK Daily mail. They have become so popular they now have their own reporters covering the United States. This news source covers the gamut of stories; sports, politics, crime, human interest, etc.
On a daily basis I'll read of a tragedy involving a child. They might fall out of a fifty story window or have a car run over them by a grandpa while playing in the yard. It's a sad a part of our lives but with the twenty-four hour news cycle and the millions of people populating the world crap happens.
And, naturally, this brought back memories of the shenanigans I did in my life which made me wonder: How in God's name did I survive to the ripe old age of sixty-nine? I should have died ten times over, mostly due to my inexperience and stupidity. In other words, I was your normal kid.
I don't remember an event from 1949 but my parents related it to me later on. We lived on fourth street in Boone, Iowa. Okay, I'll blame this one on my mom and dad because of their irresponsibility. Fourth street also happened to be called Highway 30 which was also know as the Lincoln Highway. Today it would be called Interstate 80. Highway 30 ran from New York City to Los Angeles. Can you imagine the traffic? I was in our car, by myself, which was parked in our driveway. Somehow, I released the brake and our 1948 green Studebaker rolled out onto the Lincoln Highway missing by inches the semi rolling down the street. Whew!
Don't ask me how, but when I was four, I found a can of gasoline along with a box of matches and proceeded to light a fire on the side of our garage. As Houdini might say, "He did it with mirrors".
When I was six we moved in with my grandfather on the north side of town. He lived on the corner of 11th and Green street in a gray shingle home he built in 1911. I always thought it was haunted. It was impossible to commit a sin in that home. Every wall was covered with holy pictures and not one but two crucifixes.
If I needed night crawlers to go fishing I didn't have to leave at night. The basement floor was composed of Iowa loam.
Anyway, on a July day in 1951 the City tarred Green Street on the west side of the house. Never seeing tar before I didn't realize its chemical composition. Since I needed to go to the neighborhood grocery story to buy baseball cards I took off across the tarred road. Halfway there I realized I was in my socks and my shoes were left behind. I wonder who got them.
One of my grandsons received five stitches on his chin last week. I called him to cheer him up but he was so embarrassed he didn't want to talk about how the 'accident' happened. I know how it occurred. He was goofing off. How else does a kid get hurt?
Since I just heard from my Milwaukee cousin I should relate our story together. I think the year was 1967 but it makes no difference. I pulled out of a gas station onto Howell Ave. In those days there was no such thing as a seat belt. My cousin was nine years old and seated on the passenger side but his door was not shut. As I peeled onto the street he went flying out onto Howell sliding across the busiest street in Milwaukee. He slid about twenty feet on the pavement then jumped up and got back in the car. I've never see a kid so calm. I drove to his house and in the course of twenty minutes drank a case of beer without taking a breath.
If someone shaved my head they would see so many scars it would look like a road map to nowhere. I wore these marks on my skull as a badge of honor. One day my neighbor, Jeff Johnson and I, decided to build a tree house in our mulberry tree. Forget we had no idea how it was going to get done. All we knew it was going to happen. Jeffy climbed up first carrying a brick and a large crowbar. I told him to drop the crowbar but he let go of both and they hit home at the same time. The Boone County Hospital knew me so well I had my own private room. They always kept a doctor on call knowing I'd be back.
One very wonderful aspect of being a kid was when a new home was built in the neighborhood. In would come a bulldozer and the basement would be dug out. Kids from all around immediately flocked to the site like buzzards to a carcass. Then the fun began. We'd choose up sides and play war.
Our weapons were dirt clods and rocks. It was a recipe to visit Boone County but we relished the challenge of defeating those rotten Nazis and Japs. Ah! Those were the days. The war ended in 1945 but we were still taking names and kicking ass in 1954.
It was another July, this time in 1956. My buddy, Dick Musser and I decided to play 'Cave'. We crawled into the truck of my dad's 1956 Pontiac on this 100 degree day and shut the truck door. How cool was that? Not very actually especially when we couldn't breathe. Panic set in and we started screaming and kicking not knowing that the back seat, if given a monstrous shove, could be pushed out. Lucky for us one of our feet, or both, found it's way to safety. Who knows what would have happened. That's why refrigerator companies finally put release latches on the inside. Once again, MJ survived a disastrous demise.
I wrote this piece in response to a recent proclamation from the Boy Scouts of America. They have now said scouts will no longer be able to use water guns and water balloons while in their care. What an embarrassment to anyone who participated, from Tenderfoot to Eagle.
I recall my Boy Scout days. We'd have overnights at the Ledges State Park five miles south of town. Our group would build a campfire, eat horrid hot dogs and open a can of Campbell's Pork and Beans. We'd try and catch a couple hours of sleep in our bags then wake up and with BB guns in hand pick sides and have a real war, winner take all. How sad I feel for kids today. They're restricted by bike riding boundaries. Heck, out parents let us out of the house in the morning with one admonition, "Be home by dinner or you'll hear about it from you Dad". Those sure were good times.
As I wrote to some of my closest friends, love him or hate him, the legendary basketball coach, Bob Knight stated, " The demise of America will come about because of political correctness". No one has ever been more correct.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment