Sounds like a reality TV show. I remember being young, afraid and some-what impressionable. There were a few things I was afraid off: My dad's belt was a big one. Not that it was literally a big belt but the fear of get whacked with it was big enough. He never used it; he just had to snap it. My mother was a different story. She had "the look" and if that didn't work, her spring-loaded wrist would've surprised anyone who stumbled into the house drunk in the middle of the night. I remember one night seeing my mother hiding in the darkness. The only light in the room was glowing red; the end of her cigarette. My brother Mike liked to push the envelope. He was a teenager sowing oats and enjoyed drinking them at the same time. He found that out just how fast my mothers’ wrist was. Whack!!! It was just the back of the hand, but it would sober a drunk kid up quick. "The look" was her weapon of choice but she had others: a wooden spoon and a yardstick. The grandkids feared the spoon and their parents feared the yardstick. Especially, while playing (guys against the girls) Skip-Bo. The guys, oblivious to the no table talking rule, would say two words," look around" My mother would say five words "Wouldn't that just frost you" and off to the broom closet she went. The yard stick had seen better days, was held together in a few places with black electrical tape.
The academy award goes to…
I don't want to sound too innocent; there was one night when I did come home drunk. I pretended I was tired and like usual, I fooled my mom. Her little boy couldn’t be drunk and I wasn’t drunk; I was wasted. I don’t know why I decided to take a cold bath. Maybe to sober up. So, there I was soaking away the effects of the evening. I wasn't afraid of getting caught or even getting caught naked in the tub. That fear never crossed my until I could hear the muffled sounds of someone pounding on the bathroom door. My ears were submerged in water. Fear enters quickly when someone yells your name. There was my mother looking down at her son. I jumped out of the water hiding my shriveled manhood. She hadn't seen my naked front since I was baby. She was happy I was alive and jokingly said -I'm paraphrasing here- Looks like my little boy has grown up.
The Saint Jules massacre
Flash back to grade school. There was a legend that the boogie man lived on the roof of our school. The Saint Jules ghost or mass murderer: I forget what we called him. One day we were playing when we heard a strange moaning from above. There was guy walking like Frankenstein on the roof. He was wearing janitors’ clothes. He was the janitor. You'd think we would have seen the clue. Nope. We didn't; we ran for cover. It would have been nice if at least after scaring the crap out off us, he'd throw down all the balls we lost playing strike out.
Boys in the attic
I had a friend who lived two blocks down. I remember few things about the house. One was his father's coffee cup: It was shaped like a boob. Then there was a figurine of a drunk guy leaning against a lamppost with backward numbered clock. My friend’s bedroom was in the attic. Who puts a kid in the attic? I guess that’s where all the toys were. The only way to get up to the attic was with a pull-down spring-loaded ladder. There were only a couple of lights hanging from the slanted ceiling. The only other light came through a little window at the end. We spent our time in the boy-cave reading cartoon magazines and I seem to recall a playboy or two. I guess the apple didn't fall far from his fathers' tree. This behavior was taboo and we didn’t stay friends long. I knew if my mom found out I'd be fearing more than the look. God would release his rath on me.
The straw that broke the camels back. One night he convinced me that the Martians were coming. I ran home in a panic. I used to race down the sidewalk to beat cars to the next light pole. Now, I was running for my life.
I could go on and bore you with all the fearful moments of my life. How my father and I watched a beaking news newscast about how the world was about to end. I don't remember fear at that moment. Strangely, it was a feeling of acceptance and fate. We both said "thank you, I love you and goodbye" When the newscast broke for commercials, we saw the dramatization disclaimer. No Martians, no Meteor no nuclear bomb. Just a couple guidable guys scared to death.
I am older know; my biggest fear is bodily functions
and if I’m going making it to the can in time.
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