Writing is like being able to put life into a snow globe. It takes the things that are too big and scary and reduces them into a form that I can put away when I want and look at from a distance. It also takes all that’s good in life and captures it into something I can take out when I want and look at close up and keep forever. It makes the bad things into something I can hold…and the good things into something I can hold onto. Both help so much that I need that little souvenir of life.

Thursday, July 3, 2014

High Summer High Jinks

         
           I can admit it now that my children are grown: I did horrible things over summer vacation when I was a child. We all did.  We were horrible. We were on our own outside all day long, every day, all summer long, and we entertained ourselves in the most horrible ways. 
I wasn’t the one who stuffed weeds down Jimmy Z.’s pants just because he would let out this little animal snarl and bite people. I didn’t melt Ex Lax on some cookies and wrap them all up nicely and put them in the park with a big sign that said “TREASURE!” and then enact a scheme (which involved really bad fake bird calls as signals) to lure the Mean Kids to eat them. I didn’t try to talk a kid over on the next block into drinking a baby bottle full of mud. My sister did all of those things. None of them worked, by the way—except the weeds in the pants, though I don’t think they curbed that biting any—but it wasn’t my fault. I always thought they were wonderful ideas and went along with them whole-heartedly.
We poked sticks at dead squirrels and then had elaborate squirrel funerals. We found baby birds that had fallen from nests, and somebody would find an old birdcage so we could feed them until they died. Which they always did. Then we’d have a funeral.
We were not-so-benevolent gods who punished armies of ants. We were armed with sticks and rocks and popguns, if someone thought to buy us the ammunition. Which fortunately they usually didn’t, because I think they were onto us.
And Fourth of July? I don’t even want to talk about it. Funny thing, though—I just now remembered how my mom and dad claimed they met as children. They had climbed up on the local clubhouse roof and were throwing cherry bombs at people. So there you go—it’s not my fault. It’s genetic.
Did you do awful things, or was I the only one?
Have a happy and safe 4th of July!



“…this was my sarcastic summer. It was only long after that I recognized sarcasm as the protest of people who are weak.” ~John Knowles, A Separate Peace

12 comments:

  1. No, we all did awful things. There was one creepy dad who a friend and I wrote cryptic notes to, and left them (anonymously, of course) for him to read.

    I once chased a goose, thinking I was slick, but the goose got me back. (It chased me onto the top of a car.)

    Yes, when we were allowed to run wild, we acted in wild ways...

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    1. How true. And I do know how it feels to be chased by a goose. Would that be what's REALLY meant by a wild goose chase?

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  2. Well...there was that lightning bug incident, but we only had an appreciation of fine jewelry, not necessarily an interest in dismembering living creatures.

    Oh, and who woulda thought that a handful of tiny pebbles from Grandpa's driveway, when flung at a passing bicyclist who had smashed our clay pots made from clay dug from the creek bank, shaped, painted with watercolors, and put on the patio to dry, would have caused a tiny scratch that bled like the stuck pig on my other grandpa's farm on butchering day?

    Thank goodness I moved on from my life of violence to my current life of formulating run-on sentences.

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    1. Oh! I forgot about bug-jewelry! We used to pick discarded cicada skins off of trees and WEAR THEM like stick-on brooches. They seem made for it with their grabby little claws. I'm glad you left your life of violence behind. My sense of style hasn't improved much, though I try not to wear insect parts these days.

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  3. I'm remembering Ouija boards, slumber parties, and warm water. Guess I was kind of awful, too.

    Pat
    Critter Alley

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    1. Oh, well indoor awfulness - that's a category all on it's own! Thanks for reminding me about those times, too.

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  4. OMG what a fun read. My worst infraction that could have landed me in Juvie, but I didn't even know what that was back then: we bent antennas in half on cars parked on the block the night Dad played music in a neighborhood bar and said we could play outside at dark. I feel guilty to this day, which may or may not have something to do Karma and with having to replace our mailbox for the umpteenth time yesterday because some hooligan...

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  5. the 4th of July blown-up mailbox, huh? I'm so sorry. But that car antenna story is pretty funny. Enjoy the holiday!

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  6. I know all about the Ex-Lax prank, only mine involved laxative gum given to a neighbor kid named Randy! Too funny post, Tammy. Thanks for the chuckle this morning! Hope you had a great Fourth!

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    1. It's probably a very good thing that I didn't know about such a thing as laxative gum...! Poor Randy. Thanks for stopping by, Theresa!

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  7. Great post - I did the bug jewelry too and I'm mortified to think I did such a thing! ha. I was usually a scaredy-cat to do too much that was really awful... or maybe I've blocked it all! Ha.

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    1. That's funny about the bug jewelry. Maybe the world would consider it a favor if I blocked more of my childhood.

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