Monday, June 16, 2008

Golden Corn For The Old And Worn


Of course, I can’t speak for anyone else, but for me, time’s undaunted and merciless passage spawns memories of innocuous boyhood deeds and misdeeds more often than actual earth-shaking events that others might presume to be important. For example, I can’t remember a single detail about my high school graduation ceremony (I assume I was there, there are photos of me in cap and gown), yet I can still tell you every turn necessary to get from 23rd and Florence to 4th and Chester, while navigating the storm sewer running beneath Aurora, Colorado. Thinking back on it now, with the editorial distance reserved for old people, those adventures might explain some of the mysterious illnesses that three eleven-year-old boys from the same neighborhood contracted in the summer of 1958. Then, by extension, I suppose I owe our neighbor across the street, Mrs. Weaver, an apology for telling the doctor that her dog had licked my face. Yes, they euthanized the poor thing, but it shook most of the time anyway… Sorry, Mrs. Weaver.

Did the house that you grew up in have a basement? Mine did, and metal window wells formed a semi-circle around the basement windows, serving as a boundary against the yard. Not only were these window wells a great place to hide during a twilight game of hide-and-seek, but the rocks dumped at the base to keep the well in place served as a ready source of ammunition, should the urge to toss a few suddenly strike a guy. As I recall, Mrs. Weaver had a few choice words for my father, too, when a stone roughly the size and shape of those sitting at the bottom of our window wells found its way into her yard and took out the undercarriage of her mower when she ran over it. In fact, when he presented me the small sack of rocks she’d removed from her front lawn, no amount of temporary memory loss on my part could have saved me the ass-whipping that I remember to this day.

I suppose it goes without saying that those same basement windows provided a prime location for easy home invasion, too. The details are sketchy, but I seem to recall one such late night excursion into Mrs. Weaver's basement, as well-- after FiFi received her eternal reward, of course. We didn't take anything, that would have been wrong... but I recall seeing equipment that remained unidentified until ten years later when I sat in a crowded room with a dozen or so frat guys and watched an S/M movie from Singapore. No matter, it’s all water under the bridge at this point… or perhaps running through a storm sewer.

20 comments:

paisley said...

oh that is too funny... i do wonder sometimes about some of the neighbors we grew up around... i am sure more than one of them had a dungeon or a skeleton we should have sneaked in thru a window and found out about.......

Anonymous said...

Well, at least you were smart enough to hide...I remember standing right beside the highway and throwing stones at passing cars in an attempt to see who could hit one first but I don't remember getting married! I do have wedding photos that prove I was there though so there's no getting out of it!

Anonymous said...

i was twelve years old... my sister dressed me up in my mother's wedding gown one halloween... blush, rouge, eye makeup, eye liner, white stockings, heels, the whole deal... went trick or treating all over the neighborhood... next day, the neighbors were wondering about that adorable little girl was who was dressed as a bride...

oh the things i've done for the women in my life...

Anonymous said...

you're right, there is a typo in my comment...

Jo Janoski said...

Jeepers, it looks like your post has spawned a wave of True Confessions from the gang. Pretty clever, yours was fiction; theirs are real. And you got them to put their deeds on the world wide web. Heh,heh!

Jo said...

Laughing at chico and then laughing at your next door neighbour......we had a detnist for a neighbour, married to another dentist, three boys......turned out this dude was the local fence (do you have that word in US? Means someone who sells on stolen goods).....while our parents were partying at his places, the gang was out nicking! And a neighbour's daughter held her mother at knifepoint while my mother listened from the downstairs toilet window (the father had already called the police)......all because she'd said she couldn't date the man of her dreams. And they were very middleclass. Oi.

Scot said...

loved this bob--same window wells and ass whipping on my block too

Bubba said...

Paisley-- Yea, basements, at least in those days, held some pretty bizarre secrets.

Shirley-- Ha! That's okay, it'll remain our little secret. I'm sure your hubby can recall certain parts of the 'ceremony'. Heehee!

Fork-- In some states, I think that qualifies as grounds for justifiable homicide. Thank God all my sisters are younger!

Oh, and... I'll let you slide on the typos... this time. Heh heh!

JO (as in Janoski)- Who said this is fiction?

Jo- Sounds like England is about as messed up as everywhere else. Ha!

Scot-- Thanks! I think the late 50's and early 60's were about the same for everyone in their formative years. Dad's didn't take any prisoners in those days. Funniest part is, I don't think it did anything but help me.

Scot said...

as we were saying about Tiger?

Bubba said...

Scot-- Well, I don't know what more can be said about Tiger that hasn't already been said. I have to take my hat off to Rocco... he was 3 down with 8 holes to play, and he had a one-stroke lead as they teed off on the 18th... against Tiger, no less! But, his lack of length cost him on the par 5 18th. (Geez, if I had a dollar for every time I heard that line)

Anyway, Tiger is Tiger... the baddest animal on the planet.

Scot said...

and what happened to the aussie?

Bubba said...

Scot-- Aussie... Aussie...

Nope, don't seem to recall anything about any Aussies...

Jo Janoski said...

Hey guys, Rocco is a home-town guy. We're all still proud of him. Look at this link. Here's some local people earlier. In fact, they're in a bar at the bottom of my hill.
http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/08168/890314-136.stm

Bubba said...

Jo-- Yea, he's one of Arnie's disciples. From all accounts, he's a world-class person if not a world-class golfer. Of course, his finish in The Open just moved him about 100 places up on the money list. I guess it's true that sometimes nice things happen to good people, too. I'll root for him any time...

Anonymous said...

{music notes/Tommy Makem voice} "If it wasna' for the Weavers, wha' would ye do..."

We had window wells too but they were full of spiders so only Cousin Richie dared go in there. HA!

Anonymous said...

PS Imagine that... Golf on TV being spectacular! What a match.

kaylee said...

THis is great
I am glad you are back
I thought may be a tomato
got you down,
or the flood,
klk

Anonymous said...

I always loved our window wells because frogs, toads, salamanders and snakes would get caught in them and then I would fetch them out and stick them in a terrerium in my bedroom . . . and then forget to feed them.

Anonymous said...

Hi, Bob! I'm working my way backwards, since I'm late to the party here. I love this. I love your writing style, too.

I was right there with you. But I'll swear with my last breath that my brother did it, and not me.

Thanks for brightening up my day.

Bubba said...

Julie-- Sure... that's right... blame your poor brother, now that he's not able to defend himself... how typical of a sister-- I know, because I have three of them who humiliated me at every turn and blamed me for *every* breech of social demeanor.

Wait-- I was guilty... never mind.
Ha! Thanks for the read, glad you enjoyed it.