Posts Tagged playing

A Glorious Time

We achieve many milestones in our lives, but learning to walk, then moving about the world of our own power, has to be among the most awesome of those “steps”. I wrote the following in story form a couple of years ago, and present it now in a poem. Read the rest of this entry »

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I Growled A Kid

My little brother Billy was a  character; everybody loved him, and he was one of the happiest kids you could  be around. I was often witness to his devious side, though; especially the way he would torment our youngest brother, Ken. You can read about that in my poem, He’s Aggravatin! Some humorous stories about Billy are, Tramp… The Rest of The Story, and Ken: I Had to Go!, and Making Billy Smile. Read the rest of this entry »

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Eeeyeent Eenk!

I can still recall the driving trips with the family, and I have to tell you about this one time where I inadvertently tried to drive the old man crazy. I was young, maybe six or seven, and was riding in the back seat of our Ford Fairlane. This was back when smoking was cool, and not something folks got dirty looks for, like they do these days. At any rate, there were ashtrays on the armrests of both the back doors; little metal jobs, that you could pull out of the armrest to empty. When you opened and closed the ashtray, it made a little squeaking noise kind of like, “eeeyeent” when you opened it, and “eenk” when you closed it. Read the rest of this entry »

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I Growled A Kid

a -brothers (3)My little brother Billy was a  character; everybody loved him, and he was one of the happiest kids you could  be around. I was often witness to his devious side, though; especially the way he would torment our youngest brother, Ken. You can read about that in my poem, He’s Aggravatin! Some humorous stories about Billy are, Tramp… The Rest of The Story, and Ken: I Had to Go!, and Making Billy Smile.

Whenever Billy would get into trouble, he could often grin his way out of it; that cute little grin on his freckled face, combined with his innocent blue eyes, would melt the hardest of hearts. He had it down to an art, the boy did. But one day, he stepped into a pile of trouble his smiling face couldn’t get him out of.

I was a sophomore, so he would have been in the seventh grade, and I got out of school earlier than he did. If there wasn’t practice for one of the many sports I played in, I always got home first. One afternoon, I walked in the front door to find Billy sitting on the couch. He had his arms folded across his chest, and was glaring at something across the room. He gave me a quick glance then went back to his glaring.

“What are you doing home so early?” I asked him.

He didn’t look at me as he answered in a tone that said he’d been unduly punished. “I got suspended,” he said.

My mind did a somersault. Surely, I’d heard him wrong. Sweet Billy of the golden smile; suspended from school? I stared at his profile, waiting for the grin; he had to be joking. When no grin seemed to be forthcoming, I asked, “What did you do?” I expected the usual answer—“nothing”—but was surprised, not to mention confused, by his answer.

“I growled a kid,” he said. He scowled at the wall he’d been staring at.

I’d never heard of this thing called, growling a kid. “What does that mean?” I asked him. “Growling a kid.”

He looked at me with one eyebrow raised; he still wasn’t smiling, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes; probably because he knew about something his big brother didn’t know about.

Still sullen, he lowered the raised eyebrow, and said, “You put a kid’s head in the toilet then you flush it.”

I smiled; not just because it instantly made sense to me why they would call this sordid activity growling—I could imagine the sound it must make in the growlee’s ears when the water in the toilet was swirling, gurgling and flushing—but I was also smiling at the thought of Billy holding the other kids head down, grinning, and hitting the lever.

I laughed and shook my head. “That’s pretty funny,” I said.

He couldn’t stop the grin from spreading on his face. “Yeh,” he said. “It was pretty funny.”

A horrific thought occurred to me. “Was there anything… you know… in it?” I asked.

He smiled real big at the thought of that then said, “No, just water.”

I said, “Still pretty gross, though.”

He shrugged his shoulders then went back to scowling at the wall.

I growled a kid… how funny is that?

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Mowin’ The Greens

I’ve told you about the pasture pool golf course out in Spicewood Beach where we used to live in several of my stories (there will be more golf stories!); The Daily Lie, and Redneck Economics are two examples. But, there was also some work involved in the equation. I mentioned before, it was a self-maintained course, and I was involved in a bit of the voluntary labor. Read the rest of this entry »

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Stay In Your Seat!

I wrote a poem, A Striking Example, based on the story you are about to read. It’s a painful tale about my first day of fifth grade in Mr. Powell’s class; a day that began with me having a very painful tail.

It was common knowledge that Mr. Powell was a feared and respected teacher and those of us who’d drawn him as our fifth grade teacher knew full well we would have to toe the line or suffer the consequences, via his “board” of education. Read the rest of this entry »

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The Daily Lie

Spent the weekend at Lake Travis. It was brutally hot and dry; the wind flet like a giant hair dryer blowing in your face. Played nine holes with Richard in the morning when it was only 85 degrees and rising fast–not too bad. Then played 18 with Jaybird, teeing off at five. It 105, same wind; and we had the whole course to ourselves. Worst thing was, the lake is so low, it was too far to go jump into it to call off like we used to. Long story short, we lived! Read the rest of this entry »

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Don’t Do It Barry

As I mentioned in the story about the Drew twins (two parts), Barry was my best friend all through grade school, and most of high school. We drifted apart somewhere along the way. In any case, I want to tell you one quick “Barry” story to top off the day then I’ll let y’all be until tomorrow. Read the rest of this entry »

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And Then I Saw the Toddler

I wrote about the soccer kids, and about me—at five years of age—playing in the rusty old pipe, but then that same day, on my afternoon walk with the dog, I saw the toddler. My Lord, what a sight he was; two-years-old—I’m guessing—and going to the playground. Read the rest of this entry »

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Chill, Dad; It’s Just Some Rust

I told you about the little soccer players, and ended that story with how little kids are pretty hyper, just flying from thought to thought, action to action; living each moment to the fullest. Life, when you’re four or five years old, is just a series of immediate events, and one must deal with each situation quickly then move to the next one. Read the rest of this entry »

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