We are very lucky to have you, girl!Funny things you did as a kid
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We are very lucky to have you, girl!
Holy cow! That's some scary chit.
Frightening, I know. The older I get the scarier that story is. I can't imagine what my mom must have felt.
My best friend at the time and I decided to wash the city sidewalk in front of my house after Saturday morning cartoons. Soap, water, buckets, brushes, the whole works. We made it four city blocks before our dads came looking for us. I think we ran out of water after the first block, but we were too much in-the-zone to stop.
I don't know about you guys but as a kid if I found something particularly funny I would go into uncontrollable fits of laughter, unable to talk and just able to breathe.
This used to annoy my mother intensely, she was not known for her sense of humour at the best of times, and she never forgave me for finding this incident amusing.
Back then food shopping was not a weekly supermarket event but daily from small local stores. The staples of milk, eggs and bread were delivered to the door and in the winter a crumpet man would tour the neighbourhood on a bike, with a huge wicker basket on the front, ringing a hand bell to alert prospective customers.
On this particular day, there was snow on the ground when we heard his bell. My mum grabbed a plate and went out to buy half a dozen which would be toasted in front of the coal fire for tea. Mum was a little lady, standing five foot nothing, and our front garden was bordered by a four foot six hedge. So having gone through the gate all I could see, as I watched out the window, was the top of her head bobbing up and down as she walked to the crumpet man.
After a moment she started to make her way back, again her head just visible over the hedge.
Suddenly her head disappeared, and was immediately replaced by a flying plate and crumpets.
Minutes later my mother came in rubbing her backside, having slipped on the icy path, to find me rolling on the floor paralysed with laughter.
She was not amused, and there were no crumpets for tea that afternoon!
This used to annoy my mother intensely, she was not known for her sense of humour at the best of times, and she never forgave me for finding this incident amusing.
Back then food shopping was not a weekly supermarket event but daily from small local stores. The staples of milk, eggs and bread were delivered to the door and in the winter a crumpet man would tour the neighbourhood on a bike, with a huge wicker basket on the front, ringing a hand bell to alert prospective customers.
On this particular day, there was snow on the ground when we heard his bell. My mum grabbed a plate and went out to buy half a dozen which would be toasted in front of the coal fire for tea. Mum was a little lady, standing five foot nothing, and our front garden was bordered by a four foot six hedge. So having gone through the gate all I could see, as I watched out the window, was the top of her head bobbing up and down as she walked to the crumpet man.
After a moment she started to make her way back, again her head just visible over the hedge.
Suddenly her head disappeared, and was immediately replaced by a flying plate and crumpets.
Minutes later my mother came in rubbing her backside, having slipped on the icy path, to find me rolling on the floor paralysed with laughter.
She was not amused, and there were no crumpets for tea that afternoon!
I was reminded of another funny thing that happened...this back when I musta been about three, possibly four. Had one of those chest colds, snot running from my nose, small child cough...Ma gets the Vic's Vapor Rub and applies a liberal amount to my chest. Man I hated that stuff. So...I go into the bathroom and unroll about a half mile of toilet paper...okay, maybe only three feet...but I used it to remove most of the rub. Apparently...I say apparently because I'd blocked this memory and only recall it because I was told this happened...so apparently I placed my used toilet paper on the tank or somewhere other than inside the bowl where I could have flushed away the evidence. I hadn't yet evolved to a high-level criminal. Shortly thereafter...you know what's coming, hey? Shortly thereafter Ma uses the bathroom and since we were always dirt-poor, she used this wad of paper that one of her kids left on the tank. I don't know where I was in the house...as I said, I've blocked memory of it...but I imagine I musta heard the scream from behind the closed door and knew, intuitively, that I was in trouble. The rest...well Ma didn't say...or she minimized it maybe...maybe I took a licking but I managed to keep on ticking who knows. Funny?
Yar...
There was this other time...possibly related to the above...I thought it would be funny to disappear. Hide, more or less. Light out for the Territories. (but still close to the house) I have vague recollections of this event, hiding in the doghouse with this old beagle we had...Barney I think his name was...and I musta been three four...we lived at the top of 1st Street at the time...that duplex that is no longer there? I remember watching from the hole in the doghouse, my arm around Barney, he was watching too tail thumping the wood walls and me...and Ma and Pat Woods walked past trailing a line of kids, siblings and Pat's kids, the kids goofing off, not really serious about finding me. After they passed, I crawled out and began to follow them. Peek around the corner of the duplex and see them go around the other corner. I don't know how long I was missing and missing kids weren't the same nationwide concern they are now...but a missing kid still raised all manner of alarm bells. Eventually I was found, captured...but the neighborhood had gotten involved by that time. Over the bank to one side of 1st Street...which is a hill...you could look down on Tunnel Street, could look down on the rooftops there...and I remember approaching the grassy slope, some lady down there spots me and hollers There he is! I think the posse had doubled back on itself, an old trick, and I was caught...but it was fun while it lasted.
...y'all know I'm a gun nut...when I was younger, my buddy and I traipsed down the hill back of his house-where there was always good stuff to "plink" at-this being out in the country and dump piles were still common...he and I both had our .22 pistols...nary a can survived our marksmanship...and we had such an array of targets that day, we just dropped on our butts near a junk heap and commenced to not only "recycling" cans, but milk jugs, bottles etc...unbeknownst to my fellow lead slinger-I had recently purchased a .357 Magnum revolver, which was in a shoulder rig under my coat...as he paused to re-load, I quietly drew that big brute from it's holster and proceeded to pop off a couple of rounds, that combined with a full can of hairspray I'd hidden as a target-raised one HELL of a bang...and I swear his rear end came five feet off the ground from a seated position...oh my, the words that flew after that bit of sneaky hilarity...
I don't know about you guys but as a kid if I found something particularly funny I would go into uncontrollable fits of laughter, unable to talk and just able to breathe.
This used to annoy my mother intensely, she was not known for her sense of humour at the best of times, and she never forgave me for finding this incident amusing.
Back then food shopping was not a weekly supermarket event but daily from small local stores. The staples of milk, eggs and bread were delivered to the door and in the winter a crumpet man would tour the neighbourhood on a bike, with a huge wicker basket on the front, ringing a hand bell to alert prospective customers.
On this particular day, there was snow on the ground when we heard his bell. My mum grabbed a plate and went out to buy half a dozen which would be toasted in front of the coal fire for tea. Mum was a little lady, standing five foot nothing, and our front garden was bordered by a four foot six hedge. So having gone through the gate all I could see, as I watched out the window, was the top of her head bobbing up and down as she walked to the crumpet man.
After a moment she started to make her way back, again her head just visible over the hedge.
Suddenly her head disappeared, and was immediately replaced by a flying plate and crumpets.
Minutes later my mother came in rubbing her backside, having slipped on the icy path, to find me rolling on the floor paralysed with laughter.
She was not amused, and there were no crumpets for tea that afternoon!
Funny how the whole gang of us would disappear from the time we finished out poptarts in the morning until the sun went down. I'd totally flip out if I didn't see my kids in the neighborhood for 8 hours. But we took care of each other.
When I was 12, I took of for Woodstock against my parent’s wishes with a friend and his older brother. My parents didn't buy my tale that it was going to be a Music & Arts festival, and forbid me from going. Yeah, right! I paid the price severely when I got home (and didn’t even make it there as traffic stopped dead in NY and my friends older brother drove us back and dumped us off at my parents house before heading back and hitchhiking the final leg). I never lived it down and heard about it from my mother until her last day.