I have been poking about in my mind about the early years when I was in grade school. I shudder to think about it sometimes because it was not a happy time of my life. By that, I mean my way of looking at things was how it affected me as I had little upbringing by the way of guidance. I was told what to do and never given much instruction. There was no patience shown and very little emotion or appreciation for things done well.
I expect it was that way for all the older kids in our family. The younger ones, I believe, were drawn in more to conversation, ideas and ways to be involved as sources were not as limited when the mouths to feed had mostly left home.
The day to day events were not punctuated with things to remember other than the negative. In fairness though, the work ethic was good for one had no choice but work and it came in hard and disciplined ways. If one did not work to satisfaction, there was a lot of yelling and accusing with short tempers and cutting words that drew down on one until you were stretched like a banjo string ready to break when the pressure got too great.
So it was that life did not have a lot of joy in it. I suppose it was the knee jerk reaction to the sentiments that flew one’s way constantly and the lack of approval for whatever you were doing. If it got done it was what you were supposed to do and if it needed doing and wasn’t done you were a slacker and not much good for anything and told so.
Words like: “Can’t you do anything right?” “How many times must I tell you?” “No you can’t have another piece of bread nor should you ask.” “You have a brain to think with but you seldom use it.” “You make the same mistakes over and over and who has to pick up after you? Me, that’s who, and do I get any time to myself? No!” “It’s one thing after another.” “Sometimes I think you are listening but most of the time you are not.” “I gave you instruction when I left for work and when I got home you still hadn’t completed all I told you to do.” “I don’t know what I am going to do with you. I should ship you off to a home somewhere maybe they could do something with you.” “Why are you crying? Keep it up and I will give you something to cry about.” “Get out of my sight and give me that broom. I could do it in half the time and much better.” “What did I do to deserve this?” “I worked all day and half the night and noone thinks about me.” “I could die and who would care?”
It was a long list that was repeated over and over again and laced with swear words that somehow gave more meaning to all she said. Dad was gone most of the day and when he came home he got a dose of the acid tongue and then fired back with words that were not properly formed and out of order somehow. His education was to write his name and that was it. He was crude and being a laborer on construction jobs, he had little taste to do anything when he got home. At most, he was not interested and when he was he lacked the drive to follow through.
There was plenty of anger to go around and, of course, lots of fights. Most were verbal with things being thrown and accusations spread around like a drill sergeant on a parade. Sometimes the tone changed and it was time to hide as physical abuse and meanness came home to roost.
My father had no ambition to better himself. He spent paychecks buying drinks for his bar friends and often pay days were short. My mother worked two jobs and one could cut the unhappiness with a knife. So it was that school was preferable to home and going to friends’ houses was an escape that was welcome and needed.
Well, that’s the way things were and us kids were either hiding or running away or taking long walks until the fighting subsided. It kept us out of the loop of anger and the pent up emotions of living in a family that was dysfunctional at best and a nightmare at worst.
The open house at school was dreaded for we were to complete an assignment and whatever it was the best of it was shown off at the open house for your parents to see. Drawing, painting, grammar, and other subjects were displayed and the grades were on the work. I tried hard to finish and do it as best as I could but it was, at best, not quite up to par. My parents never came so there was no one to please.
When I did get something really right, my teacher would compliment me and I would stand by my project. However, I could feel the rejection as people walked over to their kids and said great things to them. Sometimes a few kind folks would come by and I drew in their compliments like a pin to a magnet. The hard thing was to stand there every time there was an open house and get passed by even when I begged my mother to come and share some of the things I was doing. I soon learned to work real hard on a painting or a drawing and give it to someone I really liked -- a teacher or someone I admired. They were kind and took it with such warmth and feeling that I felt some satisfaction and drew some strength from being able to please someone.
“No one to please” is a phrase I never let my kids see or hear. "No one to please" still brings me sadness when I feel the winds of rejection but someone to care takes care of me just fine.
When I look at life since I left home I remember the hopes and dreams I worked on and the support that came to me. There is no room for self-pity but there is the remembering which tells me how lucky I was to have friends and finally a family of my own to cherish. There was no
yelling, no constant barrage of "I told you so” nor was there a place I had to run to and hide from to survive. No day dreaming and no wanting to leave. I relished coming home and felt a peace that soothed my battered heart. That peace gave life to an injured soul caught up at last with his childhood. “No one to please” was given a place to go to and found refuge in acceptance and love of being pleased in the places and people around him.
Digby
Monday, December 26, 2011
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
The Other Shoe
Margaret came to Winnipeg from the Province of British Columbia, Canada. When I first saw her, she was clad in a wool coat with buttons that were big and sleeves that were just a little too long. Her father had come to Winnipeg to work with his brother who ran a general store. He had expanded the store and premises to meet a demand for more goods by his customer base. At first glance one would not think of a general store on the outskirts of Winnipeg being a flourishing business, but it was and partly because folks liked the feeling around the store. Jim Whitley, who owned the business, had a way that endeared him to others.
His customers were farm folks. His store carried a variety of things that were useful and enough of them so one could pick up a large part of what they needed without running around town to get them. Jim was there during the depression and was a comfort to so many folks because of his kindness and thoughtfulness when the load they carried was almost too much. Jim helped those he could and was able to give enough folks credit from time to time to see them through. It was a strain on his business and yet he was as pleasant as anyone could be and well thought of by the community. Margaret’s Dad, Joe Whitley, joined his brother at the store. World War II was just finishing up so goods were needed and things were starting to get better economically.
That’s when I met Margaret. She was short and had an impish grin that gave you an instant liking of her. She had a way of talking that softened when she spoke about things that were close to her. Her voice had a funny pitch and one often thought, "Gee, Margaret, you said that just right with a touch of Heh!" That’s the way it was feeling.
Margaret was a worker and for a girl of 12 she could get things done. She was helpful around the store and took to it like water on a duck's back. She worked there on weekends and sometimes after school. It wasn’t long before her Uncle Jim was saying: "That Margaret finds time for everyone and has a handle on the inventory and promotes this store almost as good as I do." Did I mention that Uncle Jim and his wife Pat didn’t have any children so Margaret and her brother were welcome as rain on a hot summer day?
Margaret was soon in the swing of things. Her brother Skip, being seven years old, had more carefree time. Harry, his dad, thought the whole experience there was more than suitable and so a new chapter in their life began.
Margaret and I were instant friends and when she could get away we would often just enjoy each other’s company. I was also twelve years old so we were in the same classroom and took a lot of the same classes together. Having a friend like Margaret meant a couple of things. First, she was independent and second, she liked her independence. Sometimes one had to walk around her objections or differences for she could get a hold of an idea, work out the details, and clamp down on the direction with unshakeable determination. My nature was to not run interference but kind of go along and it made our relationship easier. Margaret once said to me, "How come you don’t get pushy or demanding about some things?" I would readily reply: "Because it doesn’t seem all that important, but if it ever does I’ll let you know."
Little did I know that down the road those words would come back to me with an emphasis on “let you know.”
Margaret came to me one day and said she had run into a situation that needed talking out. I listened as she began to relate how this family had come to the store looking like they were in stress and seeming quite nervous. The father needed a few things and Margaret said he was looking around the store until he finally selected a small purchase. Margaret was more attentive as she watched the daughter who looked about fourteen and the son who was Skip’s age. The daughter was very edgy and the mother stood quite still and stared at the floor. When it came time to pay, the Father asked how much, then opened his wallet and looked toward his wife. He said, "All right?" and she nodded. He paid for the goods and then asked a rather unusual question: "Do you have one work boot in the store?" Margaret, thinking she misunderstood, said, “We have several types of work boots." He replied, "No, I just need one work boot." Margaret thought for a moment and said: "You know, a while back a fellow brought in a pair of work boots where one boot had been damaged." They still had the one boot but she couldn’t remember where she had put it. She went and asked her Uncle Jim if he knew where it was and pretty soon they found it. The fellow asked how much and Margaret was just about to ask him, :How come just one boot?" when she got a glance from her uncle that said: "No, do not go there." She said: "Excuse me sir, I will ask my uncle the price." Uncle Jim told her to give it to the man at no charge. She did so and the family left. Uncle Jim came over and said: "I don’t know why I stopped you from asking the fellow about the boot but something told me to not ask questions."
Margaret thought about it and returned to her work. Still, she was really curious about the whole thing. A week later the same family came in and bought a few things and then asked if the store happened to have one woman’s work shoe. Margaret said she would look around and found a work shoe that was still in the box. Her uncle Jim explained he remembered years ago when he bought the store it was part of the inventory. Margaret returned with the shoe and again there was no charge. Margaret again never asked any questions. Some time later, the Mother of that family came in on her own. She asked if they happened to have any work shoes for children that were just one shoe but she needed two of them. Margaret was beside herself. She asked her uncle again if they had any single shoe in the store for children. He looked so surprised but scratched his head and said: "You know, some time ago we had a couple of mismatched children’s shoes and I think we still have them." After some time, he found them and gave them to the lady saying, "There is no charge."
Margaret related all this to me and said she was going to talk to the children to see what it was all about. She said she couldn’t stand not knowing. I said: "No, Margaret, leave it alone." She argued with me and set her chin as if to say: "I am going to do it anyway." This time I looked at her and said: "When it is time for you to know then you can ask. Right now is not the time. Do you understand?" Margaret flashed that impish smile at me and said: "Is this one of those times when you are letting me know how you really feel?" I said: "Yes and I think you should heed my words." She stopped for a moment and said: "OK, Digger, but you should know my curiosity will eventually get the best of me."
Several weeks later, Margaret said she knew the answers to her questions. She then played coy, leaving me in suspense with her silence. I couldn’t stand it. I said, “Are you going to tell me or what?"
She laughed and then began relating the rest of the story.
Several more weeks went by and finally one day the family came into the store and asked to speak with uncle Jim. He,thinking they needed something more unusual, came over and was about to speak when the father said: "Perhaps you have been wondering about our asking for those single shoes. We would like to explain but first we want to thank you for being so generous with us. You see, I have a new friend who has been putting together a tribute to my son, his wife and their two 5-year-old twin daughters. Some time ago my son and his family left to go on a vacation. They were in a 49 Ford sedan and climbing a hill when a car coming from the other direction, left its side of the road, and hit my son's car head on at 50 miles per hour. All of the family was killed. The fellow that hit them was good man who had a heart attack and the results were devastating. Our grief, as you can imagine, was horrendous. It seems nothing could comfort us and it began to take its toll on all of us. We were so wrapped up in our grief that the children were having a hard time coping with every day life. We were unresponsive to help from neighbors and others who went out of their way to be of service. I was very angry and my wife was in a bad state of depression. It was tearing our family apart. The children were having difficulty at school and something had to be done. One day while we were working outside, a young man came by about the same age as my son who was killed. He said he had heard of our experience. He was very good with his hands and could create a memorial for our son if we would let him. We talked about it and finally agreed. He said he would need some unusual things but if we were patient he would make it and he was sure it would help.
After a while he came back with this wonderful piece of work. He had fashioned the boots all in a row from the mother and father to the twins. They were embedded in bronze and had been lacquered and treated.
He carved the words, "Eternally yours" and had put their names on each shoe. Above the shoes was a sculpture of Christ standing with arms outstretched. Behind Christ, he had fashioned some special crystals which picked up the light that then shined through and around Christ. In one corner he had the words “Trust in the Lord.” He then said to the family: "What you have lost will be found again. You have each other. I have found throughout my life that forgetting ourselves and serving others can comfort us. This is my way of serving."
The father then said, looking at the young man: "What you have done is enough." Then, through tears of gratitude, hugged the young man with his family joining in. The mother asked the young man why he needed new work boots. Wouldn’t old work boots have been better, showing the journey they had taken in life? The young man replied: "I wanted them new as to show their journey now was beginning and everything was fresh and new just as our Savior had promised. It is the spirit that quickeneth; the flesh profiteth nothing; the words that I speak unto you, they are spirit. And they are life."
The family related how his words comforted them and his presence brought them joy rather than sorrow.
Margaret then said the family was going to the cemetery this Sunday and they were going to bring along the memorial their friend had made. They would like to show it to us. Would we be willing to share that time with them and be there about 1 pm. We readily agreed and then they thanked us and said our kindness to them was very special. Margaret asked if I would like to come along. I said: "I sure would."
We met at the cemetery as planned that Sunday afternoon. It was a beautiful day and as we met with the family. They began to relate something to us. Apparently the young man was not to be found. They wanted to invite him and they searched the neighborhood but no one had heard of him. They widened their search and had not found him. Just before they were getting ready to come there was a knock on their door. They went to the door and opened it but there was no one there. However, they looked toward the road and there was the young man waving goodbye. He then turned and walked down the road. The Father and mother and kids rushed to the road to call him back but when they got there, there was no sign of him. There was a field on each side of the road and no one could have disappeared without them seeing it. They stood there for a while but to no avail. All of them said when the young man waved good by his countenance changed and there was a glow to him that seemed almost translucent. They will never forget the beautiful expression on his face.
We looked over the artist's sculpture and we found a moment in time that comes once in a lifetime. If there is a picture worth a thousand words, this was it!
We all stood around looking at the tombstones feeling quite private in our own thoughts but I am sure we all felt special somehow and blessed to be there. Margaret finally said for all of us. “I don’t think I will ever feel this good again."
Digby
His customers were farm folks. His store carried a variety of things that were useful and enough of them so one could pick up a large part of what they needed without running around town to get them. Jim was there during the depression and was a comfort to so many folks because of his kindness and thoughtfulness when the load they carried was almost too much. Jim helped those he could and was able to give enough folks credit from time to time to see them through. It was a strain on his business and yet he was as pleasant as anyone could be and well thought of by the community. Margaret’s Dad, Joe Whitley, joined his brother at the store. World War II was just finishing up so goods were needed and things were starting to get better economically.
That’s when I met Margaret. She was short and had an impish grin that gave you an instant liking of her. She had a way of talking that softened when she spoke about things that were close to her. Her voice had a funny pitch and one often thought, "Gee, Margaret, you said that just right with a touch of Heh!" That’s the way it was feeling.
Margaret was a worker and for a girl of 12 she could get things done. She was helpful around the store and took to it like water on a duck's back. She worked there on weekends and sometimes after school. It wasn’t long before her Uncle Jim was saying: "That Margaret finds time for everyone and has a handle on the inventory and promotes this store almost as good as I do." Did I mention that Uncle Jim and his wife Pat didn’t have any children so Margaret and her brother were welcome as rain on a hot summer day?
Margaret was soon in the swing of things. Her brother Skip, being seven years old, had more carefree time. Harry, his dad, thought the whole experience there was more than suitable and so a new chapter in their life began.
Margaret and I were instant friends and when she could get away we would often just enjoy each other’s company. I was also twelve years old so we were in the same classroom and took a lot of the same classes together. Having a friend like Margaret meant a couple of things. First, she was independent and second, she liked her independence. Sometimes one had to walk around her objections or differences for she could get a hold of an idea, work out the details, and clamp down on the direction with unshakeable determination. My nature was to not run interference but kind of go along and it made our relationship easier. Margaret once said to me, "How come you don’t get pushy or demanding about some things?" I would readily reply: "Because it doesn’t seem all that important, but if it ever does I’ll let you know."
Little did I know that down the road those words would come back to me with an emphasis on “let you know.”
Margaret came to me one day and said she had run into a situation that needed talking out. I listened as she began to relate how this family had come to the store looking like they were in stress and seeming quite nervous. The father needed a few things and Margaret said he was looking around the store until he finally selected a small purchase. Margaret was more attentive as she watched the daughter who looked about fourteen and the son who was Skip’s age. The daughter was very edgy and the mother stood quite still and stared at the floor. When it came time to pay, the Father asked how much, then opened his wallet and looked toward his wife. He said, "All right?" and she nodded. He paid for the goods and then asked a rather unusual question: "Do you have one work boot in the store?" Margaret, thinking she misunderstood, said, “We have several types of work boots." He replied, "No, I just need one work boot." Margaret thought for a moment and said: "You know, a while back a fellow brought in a pair of work boots where one boot had been damaged." They still had the one boot but she couldn’t remember where she had put it. She went and asked her Uncle Jim if he knew where it was and pretty soon they found it. The fellow asked how much and Margaret was just about to ask him, :How come just one boot?" when she got a glance from her uncle that said: "No, do not go there." She said: "Excuse me sir, I will ask my uncle the price." Uncle Jim told her to give it to the man at no charge. She did so and the family left. Uncle Jim came over and said: "I don’t know why I stopped you from asking the fellow about the boot but something told me to not ask questions."
Margaret thought about it and returned to her work. Still, she was really curious about the whole thing. A week later the same family came in and bought a few things and then asked if the store happened to have one woman’s work shoe. Margaret said she would look around and found a work shoe that was still in the box. Her uncle Jim explained he remembered years ago when he bought the store it was part of the inventory. Margaret returned with the shoe and again there was no charge. Margaret again never asked any questions. Some time later, the Mother of that family came in on her own. She asked if they happened to have any work shoes for children that were just one shoe but she needed two of them. Margaret was beside herself. She asked her uncle again if they had any single shoe in the store for children. He looked so surprised but scratched his head and said: "You know, some time ago we had a couple of mismatched children’s shoes and I think we still have them." After some time, he found them and gave them to the lady saying, "There is no charge."
Margaret related all this to me and said she was going to talk to the children to see what it was all about. She said she couldn’t stand not knowing. I said: "No, Margaret, leave it alone." She argued with me and set her chin as if to say: "I am going to do it anyway." This time I looked at her and said: "When it is time for you to know then you can ask. Right now is not the time. Do you understand?" Margaret flashed that impish smile at me and said: "Is this one of those times when you are letting me know how you really feel?" I said: "Yes and I think you should heed my words." She stopped for a moment and said: "OK, Digger, but you should know my curiosity will eventually get the best of me."
Several weeks later, Margaret said she knew the answers to her questions. She then played coy, leaving me in suspense with her silence. I couldn’t stand it. I said, “Are you going to tell me or what?"
She laughed and then began relating the rest of the story.
Several more weeks went by and finally one day the family came into the store and asked to speak with uncle Jim. He,thinking they needed something more unusual, came over and was about to speak when the father said: "Perhaps you have been wondering about our asking for those single shoes. We would like to explain but first we want to thank you for being so generous with us. You see, I have a new friend who has been putting together a tribute to my son, his wife and their two 5-year-old twin daughters. Some time ago my son and his family left to go on a vacation. They were in a 49 Ford sedan and climbing a hill when a car coming from the other direction, left its side of the road, and hit my son's car head on at 50 miles per hour. All of the family was killed. The fellow that hit them was good man who had a heart attack and the results were devastating. Our grief, as you can imagine, was horrendous. It seems nothing could comfort us and it began to take its toll on all of us. We were so wrapped up in our grief that the children were having a hard time coping with every day life. We were unresponsive to help from neighbors and others who went out of their way to be of service. I was very angry and my wife was in a bad state of depression. It was tearing our family apart. The children were having difficulty at school and something had to be done. One day while we were working outside, a young man came by about the same age as my son who was killed. He said he had heard of our experience. He was very good with his hands and could create a memorial for our son if we would let him. We talked about it and finally agreed. He said he would need some unusual things but if we were patient he would make it and he was sure it would help.
After a while he came back with this wonderful piece of work. He had fashioned the boots all in a row from the mother and father to the twins. They were embedded in bronze and had been lacquered and treated.
He carved the words, "Eternally yours" and had put their names on each shoe. Above the shoes was a sculpture of Christ standing with arms outstretched. Behind Christ, he had fashioned some special crystals which picked up the light that then shined through and around Christ. In one corner he had the words “Trust in the Lord.” He then said to the family: "What you have lost will be found again. You have each other. I have found throughout my life that forgetting ourselves and serving others can comfort us. This is my way of serving."
The father then said, looking at the young man: "What you have done is enough." Then, through tears of gratitude, hugged the young man with his family joining in. The mother asked the young man why he needed new work boots. Wouldn’t old work boots have been better, showing the journey they had taken in life? The young man replied: "I wanted them new as to show their journey now was beginning and everything was fresh and new just as our Savior had promised. It is the spirit that quickeneth; the flesh profiteth nothing; the words that I speak unto you, they are spirit. And they are life."
The family related how his words comforted them and his presence brought them joy rather than sorrow.
Margaret then said the family was going to the cemetery this Sunday and they were going to bring along the memorial their friend had made. They would like to show it to us. Would we be willing to share that time with them and be there about 1 pm. We readily agreed and then they thanked us and said our kindness to them was very special. Margaret asked if I would like to come along. I said: "I sure would."
We met at the cemetery as planned that Sunday afternoon. It was a beautiful day and as we met with the family. They began to relate something to us. Apparently the young man was not to be found. They wanted to invite him and they searched the neighborhood but no one had heard of him. They widened their search and had not found him. Just before they were getting ready to come there was a knock on their door. They went to the door and opened it but there was no one there. However, they looked toward the road and there was the young man waving goodbye. He then turned and walked down the road. The Father and mother and kids rushed to the road to call him back but when they got there, there was no sign of him. There was a field on each side of the road and no one could have disappeared without them seeing it. They stood there for a while but to no avail. All of them said when the young man waved good by his countenance changed and there was a glow to him that seemed almost translucent. They will never forget the beautiful expression on his face.
We looked over the artist's sculpture and we found a moment in time that comes once in a lifetime. If there is a picture worth a thousand words, this was it!
We all stood around looking at the tombstones feeling quite private in our own thoughts but I am sure we all felt special somehow and blessed to be there. Margaret finally said for all of us. “I don’t think I will ever feel this good again."
Digby
Saturday, October 22, 2011
The Clever Girl
Years ago when my feet picked up quickly and my legs seemed untouched by the aches and pains of old age, a girl moved into our neighborhood with a name that instantly made you laugh. You just couldn’t help it. Her name was Beatrice Snoobey. She was tall for her age with freckles and light brown hair. She was good looking for a tomboy. She wore her hair in a ponytail and had a way of speaking that caught people’s attention. We just couldn’t get our heads around Beatrice or Snoobey so the guys started calling her BS. At first it made her upset but after awhile she just settled into the idea. BS was very smart and would often prove it by quoting authors and statistics that left you brain dead from the details.
One day Digger got hit pretty hard while playing touch football with the guys. It knocked the wind out of him and he had a hard time coming up for air. He swallowed hard and breathed little for a minute or two. Finally when that racking, sucking sound came down to a shallow rasping, we knew he would be all right. BS looked at him and said: “You got hit in the diaphragm – that’s when a sudden force is applied to the abdomen – which creates a temporary pressure and you can’t take a full breath. It’s helpful to just lie there or put your arms above your head to increase the amount of oxygen. Most of the time it is not dangerous unless you have a heart condition.” We just stared at her and she added: “It is a good way to repel an attacker by giving blows to that area.”
So there she was, full of clever thoughts and although annoying at times, she was real useful at others.
There was a kid in the area that had a bike he had reinforced with metal so that the front tire was protected. It stuck out enough in a square shape, allowing him to bang into other bikes without hurting his own bike. Usually that meant trouble for the other biker and a great deal of amusement for Sturdy. We called him that as he had great stability due to the way he was built. Short, blocky and very little fat. He became quite proficient with his bike at knocking other people over when he chose to. His bike was nicknamed Crasher because of the noise it made when Sturdy hit bikers he was targeting. He had a mean streak in him and got enjoyment from tormenting people. We were out to get him and his bike. We, meaning a bunch of friends who got together to sound out ideas to get the job done. One day while discussing the punishment of Sturdy, BS said: Here’s what we should do.” Here is how she outlined it.
In our area there was a pond made from runoff water, which was starting to dry up during the summer. It was not more than twenty feet across and three feet deep. At certain times in the summer it was just a water hole about 10’ by 10’ and about three feet deep. BS figured that was just enough water to create a stink hole to trick Sturdy into. She had looked it over and had noticed there was a horse operation nearby. They dumped the manure in a pile a short distance from the barn and BS calculated that if we mixed enough of that manure into the pond it would be quite suitable for our purposes. It was decided we would gather up the fresh manure. But, how would we do it without getting caught?
BS arranged for some of us kids to tour the horse barn with the owner by feigning interest in his operation and especially wanting to tour the riding arena. Meanwhile, the rest of us would gather up the dung in wagons and wheelbarrows. Once the tour was inside the barn we went to work and took enough of the fresh manure to the pond, which was just a short distance away. We dumped the dung into the pond. One of our guys had borrowed his dad’s hip waders he used for fishing to walk through the pond and stir up the crap. BS said it was time to build a ramp so that our fastest biker, Curly, could go up the ramp and jump across the pond. The pond sat in a small hollow and the ground on the opposite side was mostly flat.
Curly practiced before we dumped the manure in while we kept watch, just in case Sturdy rode by. Soon he was coming down the grade at top speed, hitting the ramp, and jumping the pond with enough room to reach beyond the water. When BS was satisfied with the arrangements, she then instructed Curly to go out and taunt Sturdy into following him. She said in the meantime we would stretch a rope across the edge of the ramp long enough so that two guys could hide without being seen.
Curly found Sturdy harassing some kids on their bikes and called him dumb ass. He called Sturdy a chicken who could only peddle a bike like a girl. Curly didn’t leave it there and next called Sturdy a sissy who couldn’t even ride too well. That did it. Sturdy came riding after Curly and Curly took off heading toward the pond. Curly was fast but Sturdy was gaining on him. Sturdy was shouting obscenities at Curly, who concentrated only on getting to the ramp before Sturdy caught him. Down the hill they came with Curly blocking Sturdy’s view. Curly hit the ramp and sailed over. We weren’t sure if Sturdy would take the bait and sail right after him but he did. The reason we thought he would was because he had a big enough ego to think he was a better rider than Curly and he could do anything Curly could do. In the meantime, the kid with the hip waders had stirred up the pond as best he could and then hid out. Then came Sturdy, head down and hands fully gripped on the handlebars. He hit that ramp at top speed and just before he reached it the rope was pulled tight. It was too late and Sturdy and the Crash went flying into the manure pit. It was a pile up. First Sturdy and then the Bike. He just couldn’t help thrashing around as he tried to get control of his equilibrium. There was crap all over him and the hollering and the cussing was music to our ears. He came out of that dung heap limping and falling until we could hardly see through our tears of laughter. His bike was still in the pond but he was almost out until he thought of it and had to go back in and get it.
We gave him the raspberry then. Shouting things like: “You were always full of crap Sturdy; you should feel right at home in there. Your mom is going to have you take your clothes off outside. Better have her take a water hose first for you sure stink. Did you get a mouthful or is that brown spot a bruise?”
BS was beside herself. “Sturdy,” she yelled, “Horsecrap looks great on you! Brown is definitely your color.” That did it. He started after us but he was so wet and laden down with crap he couldn’t get up to speed. He had a limp from the fall and he fell to the ground slamming his fist and yelling: “You SOB’s will pay for this!” BS yelled back: “You’re full of crap!” We all busted our guts laughing and headed for home.
Sturdy took off for home and some of the guys followed to see what would happen. His mother was yelling at him and spraying him with a hose between bouts of laughter. His sister was shouting: “He stinks, Mom. Don’t let him in the house!” Sturdy was yelling at the top of his lungs: “That water is too cold! Shut it off!” His mother yelled back: “We have to get that crap off of you before you go into the house!” His mother yelled for his sister to get a blanket.
Between fits of laughter, his younger sister and brother held the blanket up so Sturdy could remove his clothes then use the blanket to wrap himself.
Meanwhile, Sturdy had become the sight of the year as the neighbors watched this manure dunking play out. When he came home, his hair was matted with dung and he looked like a drowned rat, not to mention what looked like a dark tan on his skin. His face was especially gut busting as two very angry eyes peered out from the new brown skin.
The last thing one of our guys heard was Sturdy yelling: “I’ll kill them!” His sister said: “Kill who?” In his quivering voice, Sturdy said: “Them rotten SOB’s!” to which his mother replied: “Watch your language or I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.” Then she, laughing hysterically, added: “I think I have some brown soap around here.” That did it for Sturdy. He lost it and screamed and hollered but Curly swore it sounded more like wailing and crying.
The best part was what happened the following day. There was a sign on the front fence that read: “Manure bath experience – ask for Sturdy.” We heard later that Sturdy’s dad and mom got to the bottom of it all and then took Sturdy’s bike away. His mom made him apologize to other parents whose kids’ bikes had been damaged from his actions. Oh yeah -- One of the kids said Sturdy stood red faced before his parents and although the words sounded right, his whole demeanor was one of silent defiance. We expect we will hear from Sturdy again?
One day Digger got hit pretty hard while playing touch football with the guys. It knocked the wind out of him and he had a hard time coming up for air. He swallowed hard and breathed little for a minute or two. Finally when that racking, sucking sound came down to a shallow rasping, we knew he would be all right. BS looked at him and said: “You got hit in the diaphragm – that’s when a sudden force is applied to the abdomen – which creates a temporary pressure and you can’t take a full breath. It’s helpful to just lie there or put your arms above your head to increase the amount of oxygen. Most of the time it is not dangerous unless you have a heart condition.” We just stared at her and she added: “It is a good way to repel an attacker by giving blows to that area.”
So there she was, full of clever thoughts and although annoying at times, she was real useful at others.
There was a kid in the area that had a bike he had reinforced with metal so that the front tire was protected. It stuck out enough in a square shape, allowing him to bang into other bikes without hurting his own bike. Usually that meant trouble for the other biker and a great deal of amusement for Sturdy. We called him that as he had great stability due to the way he was built. Short, blocky and very little fat. He became quite proficient with his bike at knocking other people over when he chose to. His bike was nicknamed Crasher because of the noise it made when Sturdy hit bikers he was targeting. He had a mean streak in him and got enjoyment from tormenting people. We were out to get him and his bike. We, meaning a bunch of friends who got together to sound out ideas to get the job done. One day while discussing the punishment of Sturdy, BS said: Here’s what we should do.” Here is how she outlined it.
In our area there was a pond made from runoff water, which was starting to dry up during the summer. It was not more than twenty feet across and three feet deep. At certain times in the summer it was just a water hole about 10’ by 10’ and about three feet deep. BS figured that was just enough water to create a stink hole to trick Sturdy into. She had looked it over and had noticed there was a horse operation nearby. They dumped the manure in a pile a short distance from the barn and BS calculated that if we mixed enough of that manure into the pond it would be quite suitable for our purposes. It was decided we would gather up the fresh manure. But, how would we do it without getting caught?
BS arranged for some of us kids to tour the horse barn with the owner by feigning interest in his operation and especially wanting to tour the riding arena. Meanwhile, the rest of us would gather up the dung in wagons and wheelbarrows. Once the tour was inside the barn we went to work and took enough of the fresh manure to the pond, which was just a short distance away. We dumped the dung into the pond. One of our guys had borrowed his dad’s hip waders he used for fishing to walk through the pond and stir up the crap. BS said it was time to build a ramp so that our fastest biker, Curly, could go up the ramp and jump across the pond. The pond sat in a small hollow and the ground on the opposite side was mostly flat.
Curly practiced before we dumped the manure in while we kept watch, just in case Sturdy rode by. Soon he was coming down the grade at top speed, hitting the ramp, and jumping the pond with enough room to reach beyond the water. When BS was satisfied with the arrangements, she then instructed Curly to go out and taunt Sturdy into following him. She said in the meantime we would stretch a rope across the edge of the ramp long enough so that two guys could hide without being seen.
Curly found Sturdy harassing some kids on their bikes and called him dumb ass. He called Sturdy a chicken who could only peddle a bike like a girl. Curly didn’t leave it there and next called Sturdy a sissy who couldn’t even ride too well. That did it. Sturdy came riding after Curly and Curly took off heading toward the pond. Curly was fast but Sturdy was gaining on him. Sturdy was shouting obscenities at Curly, who concentrated only on getting to the ramp before Sturdy caught him. Down the hill they came with Curly blocking Sturdy’s view. Curly hit the ramp and sailed over. We weren’t sure if Sturdy would take the bait and sail right after him but he did. The reason we thought he would was because he had a big enough ego to think he was a better rider than Curly and he could do anything Curly could do. In the meantime, the kid with the hip waders had stirred up the pond as best he could and then hid out. Then came Sturdy, head down and hands fully gripped on the handlebars. He hit that ramp at top speed and just before he reached it the rope was pulled tight. It was too late and Sturdy and the Crash went flying into the manure pit. It was a pile up. First Sturdy and then the Bike. He just couldn’t help thrashing around as he tried to get control of his equilibrium. There was crap all over him and the hollering and the cussing was music to our ears. He came out of that dung heap limping and falling until we could hardly see through our tears of laughter. His bike was still in the pond but he was almost out until he thought of it and had to go back in and get it.
We gave him the raspberry then. Shouting things like: “You were always full of crap Sturdy; you should feel right at home in there. Your mom is going to have you take your clothes off outside. Better have her take a water hose first for you sure stink. Did you get a mouthful or is that brown spot a bruise?”
BS was beside herself. “Sturdy,” she yelled, “Horsecrap looks great on you! Brown is definitely your color.” That did it. He started after us but he was so wet and laden down with crap he couldn’t get up to speed. He had a limp from the fall and he fell to the ground slamming his fist and yelling: “You SOB’s will pay for this!” BS yelled back: “You’re full of crap!” We all busted our guts laughing and headed for home.
Sturdy took off for home and some of the guys followed to see what would happen. His mother was yelling at him and spraying him with a hose between bouts of laughter. His sister was shouting: “He stinks, Mom. Don’t let him in the house!” Sturdy was yelling at the top of his lungs: “That water is too cold! Shut it off!” His mother yelled back: “We have to get that crap off of you before you go into the house!” His mother yelled for his sister to get a blanket.
Between fits of laughter, his younger sister and brother held the blanket up so Sturdy could remove his clothes then use the blanket to wrap himself.
Meanwhile, Sturdy had become the sight of the year as the neighbors watched this manure dunking play out. When he came home, his hair was matted with dung and he looked like a drowned rat, not to mention what looked like a dark tan on his skin. His face was especially gut busting as two very angry eyes peered out from the new brown skin.
The last thing one of our guys heard was Sturdy yelling: “I’ll kill them!” His sister said: “Kill who?” In his quivering voice, Sturdy said: “Them rotten SOB’s!” to which his mother replied: “Watch your language or I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.” Then she, laughing hysterically, added: “I think I have some brown soap around here.” That did it for Sturdy. He lost it and screamed and hollered but Curly swore it sounded more like wailing and crying.
The best part was what happened the following day. There was a sign on the front fence that read: “Manure bath experience – ask for Sturdy.” We heard later that Sturdy’s dad and mom got to the bottom of it all and then took Sturdy’s bike away. His mom made him apologize to other parents whose kids’ bikes had been damaged from his actions. Oh yeah -- One of the kids said Sturdy stood red faced before his parents and although the words sounded right, his whole demeanor was one of silent defiance. We expect we will hear from Sturdy again?
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Where Have I Been?
Have you just noticed that I'm back?
I finally finished up the projects around the house and inside. We have a new Greenhouse 8' wide and 29' feet long. There is also a pond with waterfall plus a new metal building 10' x12'. Busy me.
A couple of years ago we replaced our deck surfaces with new lumber. This year we removed the peeling stain, sanded, then refinished. Next we added on a little to the wood shed next to our storage building, then spent a long time cleaning up the dead wood and tree branches where the blackberries lurk and spring out at you as you whip by on your riding lawn mower.
Bonnie has planted things everywhere. The ground around here is hard pan with a touch of cement so planting anything requires a pick, a shovel, lots of water and a strong back. There are dozens of little projects and larger projects like cleaning the moss off the roof, checking the gutters and adding screens and fixing the leaks in hopes that the gutters will last a few more years. We have painted everything that stood still and saluted anything moving just like in the military. I have poured cement from a small cement mixer and limbed trees until my arms ached and then went further by laying block and finding a numbness in my fingers and hands when I did too much. Here is the bottom line: Now I just have to maintain what we have. I look at Bonnie when she has a project and hope she will forget about it. But alas, I could never say no to her. She is so generous with all of her time and putting me on a guilt trip is great fun for her. I worked in the rain and didn't seem to mind too much. I have this to say about all of it. Hard work never killed anybody but it sure wore them out. Nevertheless, we are grateful at our age to be able to still work. So now I am turning my hand to writing. E-gads! Watch out all you out there because "something different this way comes." Shakespeare said: "First we shoot all the lawyers." I say we should make the economists stand in front of them. I just said that for fun so you can see we are off to a good start.
Stay tuned.
Digby
I finally finished up the projects around the house and inside. We have a new Greenhouse 8' wide and 29' feet long. There is also a pond with waterfall plus a new metal building 10' x12'. Busy me.
A couple of years ago we replaced our deck surfaces with new lumber. This year we removed the peeling stain, sanded, then refinished. Next we added on a little to the wood shed next to our storage building, then spent a long time cleaning up the dead wood and tree branches where the blackberries lurk and spring out at you as you whip by on your riding lawn mower.
Bonnie has planted things everywhere. The ground around here is hard pan with a touch of cement so planting anything requires a pick, a shovel, lots of water and a strong back. There are dozens of little projects and larger projects like cleaning the moss off the roof, checking the gutters and adding screens and fixing the leaks in hopes that the gutters will last a few more years. We have painted everything that stood still and saluted anything moving just like in the military. I have poured cement from a small cement mixer and limbed trees until my arms ached and then went further by laying block and finding a numbness in my fingers and hands when I did too much. Here is the bottom line: Now I just have to maintain what we have. I look at Bonnie when she has a project and hope she will forget about it. But alas, I could never say no to her. She is so generous with all of her time and putting me on a guilt trip is great fun for her. I worked in the rain and didn't seem to mind too much. I have this to say about all of it. Hard work never killed anybody but it sure wore them out. Nevertheless, we are grateful at our age to be able to still work. So now I am turning my hand to writing. E-gads! Watch out all you out there because "something different this way comes." Shakespeare said: "First we shoot all the lawyers." I say we should make the economists stand in front of them. I just said that for fun so you can see we are off to a good start.
Stay tuned.
Digby
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