If you have been with my blog
for a while you know that I came from a big family; mostly boys and in most part, completely out
of control. You can bet that every day was sure to be an event where someone ended up in
emergency room or we had a good story to tell – often both. If it ended up in the emergency room THEN, to the Wolf Pack - IT WAS A GOOD STORY.
Erick, Me and Tommy Blaser - see how I wasn't touching a fish.
My dad was a fisherman and so
were all my bothers – I wasn’t! Being the youngest boy, they just made me clean
the fish – and I grew up not liking the taste of fish. It was probably a
mental thing – like most of my problems… (i.e. my vomit superpowers).
We tormented each other – and pestered our poor neighbors. The house directly to the east of us, lived a
little old lady (and her husband that we only saw from time to time). I think everyone
has a neighbor like this in their neighborhood.
(On Bewitched - it was Gladys Kravitz).
( Behind St Marks - it was Mr. Schneider, - thanks Theresa)
Being the youngest boy I was
their first and favorite choice for all of their sinister and creative outlets. Don’t worry, I’m going to tell you some of
those stories about the times I was shocked in the pool, tied up and throw over cliffs
(come to think about it - I actually
invented bungee jumping... Well, actually my brothers invented it. I was just the guy on
the end of the rope they kept throwing over the cliffs on Tuna Canyon road in Malibu).
Besides me, their second victim
of choice was the little old lady next door.
She didn’t want us around her
car; she didn’t want us stepping on her lawn. Every single time a ball accidentally
went over onto her lawn…
SCREECH
went her screen door flying open, as this
ancient women would leap from the porch like an Olympic long jumper, grab the
ball with a triumphal look of utter disdain - staring down all the kids in the neighborhood.
We figured, she must have had
several hundred balls locked up somewhere in her house. They were mere children’s
toys, how could she do it?
So the WOLF PACK conspired to
get back at her for stealing all of balls that accidentally rolled onto her lawn over the years.
They got out a fishing pole
and tied one end to a whiffle ball. Then two brothers pretended to play catch
with it – one brother with his heels imperceptibly crossing the boundary of our
driveway - likely touching a blade of grass to get her attention.
This went on for several
minutes – a spy saw Edna looking through the screen and then the ball was "over-thrown"
and landed smack-dab in the middle of her front lawn. The LAWN OF THE
NEIGHBOR-BALL-THIEF.
In anticipation, the screen burst open and Edna
took a flying leap off the porch. Bending down to pick up the ball, she looked at the Wolf Pack with the Grinch's grin, but before she could clutch her prize, the ball mysteriously moved away. Creeping forward she bent down to steal away the elusive ball as it moved just out of reach again.
One brother was reeling in the ball with the fishing pole
and over and over she crept closer to our driveway. He kept reeling - she kept creeping and as he wound that line up on his little reel, she chased that ball until her toes crossed over onto our cement driveway. Horror struck, she looked up to see about 23
ornery kids all laughing at her.
We were ornery and cantankerous and so was the poor little old lady next door. (Now that I look back on it - we probably made her that way).
We have to be careful don't we? All of us could be resentful like the Wolf Pack and bitter like my neighbor. "Bitterness is the poison we drink hoping it will do harm to the other person."
As trite or cliché as it sounds... I guess the moral of the story is that we can stop drinking the poison, blaming others and solve lots problems by just trying to love someone more than ourselves.
CRAZY RIGHT?
But modern American psychology would have us think that it is always someone else's fault - when indeed we just might be surprised to find that we are the "architect of our own misery" if not at least participants.
Mr Schneider who took our ball's when they went over the fence at St. Marks play ground by 4th grade remembered. Some one went with me once to get them back from him. Some how I got on his good side. Mrs Dextry who lived across the street on Garfield and would turn the sprinkler's on if you parked in front of her house.
ReplyDeleteI guess the world is full of Mr. Schneiders and Mrs. Dextrys... kids are young and don't know a lot better, but both of those people have a story to tell that may have shaped them! I've learned it's better not to hold on to things - it become like a cancerous root that eats you from the inside.. so it's better to repay in kindness and to learn how to forgive. That, besides laughter, is also good medicine.
DeleteI think everyone, had a Mr. Wilson and many Dennis the mennis' in their area...I find myself now having a soft spot for the elderly especially the ornery ones.. Maybe it is my way of paying it forward ... Jonsey
ReplyDeleteAmen Jonsey we should all be kind to old folks.. because we're getting closer and closer to being old folks.
DeleteOh my goodness, Theresa, MR. SCHNEIDER! A name I thought I would never forget....but I did till you just mentioned it.
ReplyDeleteMe too, me too, me too... I totally forgot about Mr. Schneider.. Theresa what a memory!
DeleteI remember you boys used to kick the balls into Mr. Schneider's yard all the time. The way the land was, those houses were sloped down so the fence on their side was 12 feet or so high and throwing back was difficult for them. You had to ask permission to go out of the yard to ask for them back. One time Freddie Dispirito got up in front of class to say he and Danny Halacis had been given permission to go and ask Mr. Schneider for the ball. They were kinda scared because he used to yell at us kids now and then, saying he was going to throw the ball away i the trash. He rarely threw it back over that high fence. Anyway, Freddie said he and Danny got up to the front door to ask for the ball, kinda shaking and scared. Mr. Schenider opened the door and it was obvious who the boys were with their St. Marks uniforms on. As bad a troublemaker as both those boys could be, they were exceedingly polite in asking for the ball. So Mr. Schneider opened his wallet and said he was short cash and maybe the boys could buy it from him! They musta put on a sad/scary Catholic boy face, because he relented and went and got the ball for them. I remember someone saying he had died not long after, and all the boys could say was that maybe the new owners would just be nicer and throw the ball back over.
ReplyDeleteJulie youi have a great memory for details.... Both Freddie and Danny were names that had forgotten... and Mr. Schneider... boy mother time has been kind to your brain.. mine is...well, pretty much gone. maybe from the Templates karl gave me in the 5th grade haha
Deletelove ya