Streching My Leggs, Testing My Boundries

For a kid in 1959, Logan was just another sleepy town just waiting for something, OR SOMEONE to start the excitement. I suppose that Someonewas me. My earliest memories were of me and my older brother going to the park and playing with other kids. One of the best attractions was the swings. Because I was such a short kid I couldn't get into the wooden swings without a boost, so it became my job to be "the Pusher". Being pusher meant I had to start everybody by giving them a shove and running underneath the other side. After the "Push" they pumped their legs to get "big air". The wooden seats were bolted to chains and under those seats were the ends of the bolts. Now days those swings would never be allowed, but in 1959 kids were allowed to play on anything. One afternoon I was pushing my brother and he was having a hard time getting going so I ran underneath him a second time but I was out of sync, and one of those bolts hit me in the face ripping my nose from lip to eyebrow and knocking me out cold. I came to and I was alone and I brought my arm to wipe my nose and all I saw on my arm was blood- lots of blood! I thought I broke my arm, but I also had a bad headache and was dizzy. Next thing I remember was my mother holding a rag to my face and rushing me to the doctor. By then I couldn't see out of one eye and I thought maybe I would end up with a cool glass eye to show off! As it ended up, all I had was a black eye and a face full of stitches, which was close enough. For a week or so there was talk around town of a kid who got his head cut off, brains bashed out, and was near dead, I became an instant celebrity. When I was allowed visitors I loved it when kids were sickened or girls screamed when I took off my bandages to show them the gash. I quickly became famous, and every summer after that I always has a gash or scab on the first day of school for picture day. My mom threatened to stop paying for them, but I wore my disfigurements with pride. Every Halloween I wanted to be Frankenstein or a Ghoul because it was so easy to make my face look authentic. Summer vacation from school also meant that I could take off my shoes and go barefoot till the fall. I went through bandaids by "bulk" many times wearing one on each toe. June also brought out the root beer. We made a huge batch in a big metal washtub and added yeast and sugar and bottled our own. We put them in the cool dark basement to age. We kids would check them daily, and could tell when one was ready by holding the bottle to our ear and listening for the "hiss". Sometimes we got one with extra kick, and had lots of laughs pretending to be drunken pirates. We most likely were, and even hid a few bottles so they could ripen. I remember one time walking with my brother and sisters to A&W to buy a gallon and the hot road across Main Street melted the tar. We hopped and danced across the road to the ditch and cooled our feet and picked off the tar and rocks. By the end of the summer we had "moccasin feet" and could walk over fire and glass without even a wince. Root beer ruled our every thought-we couldn't get enough. One summer we kids were allowed to clean out the chicken coup and make it into a club house. Parents - please don't ever let your kids have a club house. They are nothing but trouble. We boys named ours the "Tiger Sharks" and underneath the name we wrote in red nail polish " Girls Stay Out!" and tried to make it look like dripping blood. The rest of the summer was a war between boys and girls, and the first one out the door and into the club house determined who got to rule for the day. I quit eating breakfast to beat my sister, and I became even scrawniner, but it was for a good cause. If the cops - or our parents knew what we did in there they would have torn it down, but they needn't worry because by the end of the summer it was in ashes. All of us kids hated grasshoppers. When we caught one we tore the Leggs off and impaled it on a stick and roasted it crisp. We played games of dice, sorry, trouble, poker, 21, and truth or dare- the loser had to eat the crispy bug. I ate lots of bugs. One August day my brother and I took a can of Mom's hairspray and some matches to the overgrown weeds in the middle of the block and used the hairspray to cost the grasshoppers and then "lite em up". We had fun untill we saw a wall of flames next to the club house, and panicked when we couldn't stop them from spreading. My brother grabbed the hose but in my excitement forgot to turn on the water. I ran into the house and yelled for Mom to bring buckets and glasses of water. She took one look out the door and did the stupidest thing ever, she called the Fire Department on her two boys! We heard the sirens screaming and saw a cop car so we ran and hid. Hours later when our club house was gone along with a couple of fences and the entire center of the block blackened, Mom came out on the front porch and yelled " boys- give yourself up, you can't hide forever". The next day we were terrified as we got tearfully marched to the police station for what we thought would be a long stay in Juvinile Hall. I had visions of a chaing gang in my head as we were chewed out by an angry Fire Chief. In the end we had to promise to stop playing with our favorite toys- matches- and had to wash all the fire trucks and white wash the burnt wall of a car dealership, not too bad as we still had fun hanging with the firemen and playing with paint. We kept our pledge to not play with matches and switched to lighters instead. The summer I turned 8 I started to finally grow, and as my legs got longer, so did my desire to wander - and make plans to run away like Huck Finn. That's a story for another day.....