Dumb Moves\Dad's Turn

The first job I remember Dad having was that of a delivery driver for Clover Club Potato Chips. I don't know if he took anyone else on the route with him or if he took me out more than this one particular time. I just remember it being very, very memorable.
Delivery trucks really aren't meant to have passengers. If I wanted to sit, it had to be on one of the steps that led down to the out door to the right side of the truck, much like a school bus. If I sat on any of those steps there was nothing to see , but if I stood up to look out the window there was nothing to hold onto so I became a swaying body trying to keep my balance while standing next to Dad there in the front center of his delivery truck. Things were mostly fine on the open road as we were headed to Durango, but the balancing act got very tricky once we were inside the city with all those stop lights, lane changes, turns, etc. It was becoming a fun challenge to change the position of my feet or the leaning of my body as if I were on a surf board trying to navigate a big wave towards the beach. Unfortunately for me a big wipeout occurred! There is just no planning on an inattentive driver who is trying to make a quick lane change and cuts you off...Dad had to instinctively react as the driver to the right of us started to pull over and cut him off the lane he was in. As Dad slammed on the brakes I took a face smash into the front windshield and as he jerked the steering wheel to the left to avoid a collision I did a twisting feet over head tumble down the stairs and landed against the door on the bottom step upside down and almost unable to move as if I were a square peg pounded into a round hole.
The first words out of Dad's mouth were directed at the incompetent driver and not fit to be listed here. Being at the steering wheel in the middle of traffic he couldn't come to my aid and as I was attempting to aright myself he started driving again which caused my misplaced body to take one more fall so I was now lying flat on that bottom step. This allowed me to be able to jump up in a normal standing position there at the bottom of the truck, so I turned and looked up at Dad who was making quick turns of his head from me to the road, from me to the road, in an effort to avoid any more catastrophes.
All this took place in about two seconds. When Dad saw I had survived my in-flight acrobatics the look on his face changed from anger at the driver to instant relief. I must have had a befuddled look on my face because he broke out into laughter at the situation. This brought sudden anger to me that he would find my plight so amusing so I pushed my head in his direction and yelled out..."What did you do that for?" as if it were all his fault (does this remind you of the war with Vic??). This made Dad laugh even louder at my theatrics. All in all it was a combination of dumb moves on everyones part.

Dumb Moves II

On the east side of the house in which we were living at the time was a tree I loved to climb in. The branches seemed to grow straight out from the trunk, allowing me to climb into the tree as if I were going up a ladder. With my slight build, the branches didn’t bend much even if I got out onto the outer parts of the highest branches. As I got better and faster at climbing the tree, I relished the ability to jump from branch to branch as if I were a monkey or a squirrel. I have seen movie clips where even monkeys can fall from their perches and that is why this particular tree climb sticks in my memory. I was in the upper most part of the tree and I started to fall. Whether it was from me trying to jump from one branch to another I don’t recall. I do remember the fall. As my body flopped downward from branch to branch I tried desperately to grab hold of anything to save myself, but I had no such luck. It was as if I were a pinball and gravity was pulling me to the bottom of the machine. As I hit the lowest of all the branches, I landed on it almost squarely with my face down and I straddled it with my legs and arms. This position only lasted a split second as my body spun there on that last branch and I found myself upside down, still straddling the branch. My arms were the first to let go. Half a moment later my legs parted also and I fell the remaining few feet head first and I landed in the grass squarely on my head. Most all parts of my body had scratches from the fall as I scraped against all the branches I had fallen through. I laid there momentarily, trying to decide if I were alive or not. My neck had such a pain in it from the final landing I knew I was indeed alive. This fall didn't deter me from tree climbing as I had a similar experience several years later while I was trying to showoff my tree climbing abilities for a cute neighborhood girl. They were both truly dumb, painful moments, even for a five year old.

Dumb moves

There was a shed to the south side of the house. As a youngster it looked quite large, though considering the activity we used it for, it couldn’t have been very tall. It had a flat top roof and we accessed the roof by climbing a ladder attached to the building on the north side of the shed. We decided it was a perfect place to play “King of the Mountain” All you had to do to be king of the mountain was to be the last one left standing on the shed. One by one we would throw each other off the roof. That’s right! The losers were physically thrown from the roof top to the ground below. I have always been small for my age so it wasn’t uncommon for me to be the first one thrown overboard. Curtis Scott was a husky kid and as I recall, was always the king. You would think there would be some serious injuries from this activity, but the only wound I ever remember anyone receiving was when Dennis slipped off the ladder, gashing his leg in the fall. Maybe we were catlike and always landed perfectly. At any rate, I remember hating to be the loser so I would immediately ascend the ladder once more only to be thrown overboard time and time again. I think maybe that is why my joints are aching right now just reliving this particular activity.

Chocolate Wars/The Pecking Order

Every time Mom would bake a cake or a batch of brownies all of us, her children would line up like ravenous vultures to finish off what batter did not make it into the oven.
Mom knew the pleasure we got from getting a preview taste of the upcoming treat as it was entering the oven so she was always generous in the amount of batter we shared among ourselves. The big spoon she used to scrape the batter into the pans was reserved for Vic. Dennis and I would each get one of the beaters. Roberta got to dab her finger into the the mixture straight from the pan just before it went into the oven.
The first time Ronnie wanted to join in the tradition of batter eating, it had us all scratching our heads. The routine had been set, the pecking order established, still, there he stood with that pathetic look on his face that made us all feel guilty as we wrapped our tongues around the different utensils that the pecking order dictated was ours. Although Mom was generous with what was left on our individual licking spots, she was very thorough in making sure that almost every molecule of batter was taken from the mixing bowl. We pushed the bowl in Ronnie's direction and told him if he wanted any he would just have to stick his head down into the bowl and lick off what ever he could find.
He was thrilled at the blessing of finding his spot in the pecking chain and stuck his little head down inside the bowl and started lapping at the bottom and sides just as a thirsty dog would go after the last drops of water in its water dish. It was amazing to us Ronnie could get so many stains on his t-shirt from such little batter. I don't suppose I need to mention that his hair was quite matted down as well from the chocolate treat. Mom made a quick gasp at the site of the chocolate mess in front of her, but couldn't resist a smile at seeing how overjoyed he was to know he had a spot in the pecking order in the baking cycle.

Chocolate Wars

I remember one of my first sleep outs. I remember it being only Dennis, me and the stars....and our desire for chocolate milk. We flopped a blanket over the branch of a tree and put rocks on each corner to hold it in place. We now had our own little tent. Dennis excused himself so he could go into the house and use the bathroom. When he came back he had a tall glass of chocolate milk he had whipped together by putting chocolate powder into a glass of milk. I thought it looked very tasty and being a chocolate and sugar addict even at that early age, I asked Dennis if I could have a drink. His reply was something in the manner of, “If you want a drink, get it your self. I made this for me.”
I promptly raced into the house and whipped up a big glass of the yummy liquid for myself and went out to join Dennis in a good, long brotherly drink. By the time I got out to our sleeping area, Dennis had already finished off his drink. He asked that I wait a moment longer to drink my quaff while he went inside to get another glass and then we’d enjoy our drinks together. Upon his arrival he boasted he had used up the last of the milk which meant he was going to be able to drink twice as much as I did. Booo!!! No fair!!! What a blow to my sense of justice and equality! I was not one to believe such bad news, so after drinking our drinks I went back inside to see for myself. Sadly, it was true. All the milk was gone. I felt it a travesty I had been cheated of an equal share of a wonderful, chocolate treat, so I did what any creative child would do. I filled up my glass with cold water, added a goodly amount of Nestle's Quick chocolate powder and went out to show Dennis he had nothing to crow about. It tasted terrible (this is probably why I remember this particular sleep out), but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had more than I did.

We weren't angels/Getting buzzed

There was one particular day I remember before I was old enough to be in school. I remember getting hold of the hair clippers Mom used to trim us up with and turning them on myself. As many children do, I thought I’d try my hand at being a hair stylist…I failed miserably! I started at my forehead and cut a swath from the top, left side of my head, taking out a goodly amount of hair. I looked as if I had started chemo treatments.
What is a parent to do with such a hair style? You have the choice of leaving it as it is, gathering giggles and the pointing of fingers, or you shave it all off, gathering stares. Mom opted for the giggles and left the wide, bald spot to grow back in as time passed. I looked like such an oddity that Vic decided it was a great time to take me to school as his “show and tell” object. I remember several of the girls giggling and saying I looked soooo cute. They rubbed their fingers on my new bald spot and laughed out loud at the feeling of the stubble. I wasn’t quite sure if I should feel humiliated or honored by all the attention I was receiving. I will tell you this, it did cause such a commotion that the memory of it all is still vivid in my mind after all these years. Just the mention of show and tell makes me quiver. I’ve never tried cutting my own hair since.

We weren't angels/Movie Day

Going to watch a matinee movie was always a special treat. I suppose like many of you, there was a special day in the month when Vic, Dennis and I were allowed to spend an afternoon in the movie house watching an assortment of monster movies, westerns and an occasional mystery movie.
There were a few preliminaries that we always indulged in as we made our preparations for such expeditions. I always have considered myself a normal person so please let me know if you did the same thing I did.
First, I always made sure I had my slingshot in my back pocket.
Secondly, before entering the show house I would stop at the neighborhood store and buy all the chewing gum I could with what little extra money I had.
Third, I'd try to get up into one of the chairs at the front of the theater.
Now we are ready for the fun so let the show begin.
As the lights darkened and the movie came up on the screen I would pop one of the pieces of chewing gum into my mouth. I always loved the first bites of chewing gum. All that sugar separating itself from the gum and making its delicious trip down into my stomach. You know how fast that sugar leaves though and then you are left with this tasteless bullet of gum in your mouth.
Did I say bullet? Of course I did, that is why I would always bring my slingshot along. After much of the sugar was gone from the gum it left a perfect little projectile that fit nicely into the leather tongue of my slingshot. The theater was always dark enough that I could aim the slingshot from my hip and launch my gum wad up at the theater screen and no one was any the wiser that some dastardly deed had just been committed.
Most times I couldn't tell if my gum wad even made it up to the screen. If it arrived, did it stick? If it did stick, was it on a brown tree or the black monster? I usually couldn't tell.
During one western starring, John Wayne I hit right on target. It was one of those close-up scenes where John Wayne's face covered the entire screen. I pulled back the rubber strings on my slingshot and let go with a very fine blob of gooey gum. Suddenly out of no where, John Wayne had a new mole on the left side of his forehead above his eye.
If you had been there that day it wouldn't have been a noticeable addition to his features but, I saw it immediately. That was the day I got the better of John Wayne.

We weren't angels/rubber bands

At an early age I learned the wonder of the rubber band. With a handful of rubber bands you can wage a surprisingly intricate battle with your brothers and friends. If you put a rubber band on the tip of your index finger and pull it back as if you were shooting an arrow, it becomes a formidable projectile that can create an immediate sting. We would wage wars of hide and seek using the rubber bands to take each other out from our hiding places while in seek mode.
A discovery Dennis made was that a rubber band is deadly to a fly. While it might cause a sting for human beings it is right down disaster for a fly. A fly hit dead on by a rubber band becomes quite a squish mark on any window. I can see now as an adult why Mom didn't want us shooting flies off the kitchen counter but you know we would do all the shooting we could while her back was turned. We would roam the house looking for flies in every window and corner. There were times when the windows looked utterly ghastly after a successful hunt. When the flies were all gone for the day we'd simply go back to shooting each other. Yucchhhh. Now I”m having flashbacks of all those contaminated rubber bands hitting me in the face close to my mouth.
I continue the tradition of rubber band shooting still, trying to shoot the grandchildren as they scream and run away from the soft weapon aimed at them. They try to shoot me back, but are still trying to get the proper positioning of a rubber band to the finger.