Tag: childhood

The Bounce House

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We rented one of those moonwalk inflatable bounce castle things for Tim’s seventh birthday.
Sally’s busy with the cake. I have to check on something at work.
Looking over my laptop, I saw the kids dragging the castle in between the house and the pool.
Then from above, Tim shouts KOWABUNGA!
He jumps from the roof, lands in the castle, and then sails in an arc into the pool.
Huge splash. Laughter.
By the time I get outside, three more kids have jumped from the roof.
I yell at them. “I was supposed to go first!”
I climb the ladder.

Fern

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The kids all point their fingers at Fern and laugh.
She doesn’t cry. Instead, she reaches into her backpack and pulls out a compass.
There’s no greater sight than the look on a bully’s face when he’s been stabbed in the chest. That change from the purest malice to emasculated shock happens quickly, but time slows down enough to let the moment be savored.
The bully goes down, hands clutched to his chest, blood leaking through his fingers.
Others scream, but Fern just rifles through the bully’s backpack.
She takes the compass, stows it away in her backpack, and leaves.

Father and Son

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Dan taught his son how to ride a bike, how to shave, how to tie a tie, and all the little things that fathers teach sons.
Many years later, after the stroke, Dan’s son taught him to speak, how to shave, and how to tie a tie again.
But instead of teaching him how to ride a bike, he went ahead and tried to teach his dad how to drive again.
Big mistake.
As Dan was loaded into the ambulance, he watched another father teach his young boy how to tie a tourniquet.
They grow up so fast. He smiled.

Boiling Point

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Doctor Odd only received one F grade in his life.
His chemistry teacher asked “What’s the boiling point of mercury?”
So, he built an orbiting doomsday laser and performed experiments on the planet Mercury.
The next day, he presented his results.
“I meant the element, not planet,” she said.
She gave him an F. The class laughed.
Odd vowed revenge and transferred to a different high school.
He didn’t wait long to determine the boiling point of the old teacher, her class, and that entire damn school.
He never again got less than an A, or reason to boil again.

Tell Me A Story

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“Tell me a story,” says the ghost in my bed.
I’m used to it.
So, I pull a book from the shelf, open the pages, and begin to read.
“I’ve heard this before,” says the ghost.
The ghost has heard them all.
I close the book and make up a story about dragons, castles, maidens, and knights.
But this time, the maidens ate dragons and the castles floated in the air.
“What about the knights?” asked the ghost.
“They lived happily ever after,” I said.
The ghost smiled, faded into nothing, and I was finally able to go to sleep.

Calling names

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Every boy in my kindergarten class is named John and every girl is named Joan.
The other five classes are the same.
We check with the other schools in the district and they are reporting the same thing.
You’d think someone would have noticed this with the birth certificates, but nobody noticed a pattern or raised an alarm.
Normal name distribution in the district, normal migration patterns for a developed country.
One boy’s eyes flash blue for a moment.
Then the others. They all smile.
Where did these kids come from?
And where did all of the normal kids go?

No Clue

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From the moment I was called on, it was obvious: I had no clue.
Everybody else has a clue, but when Teacher asked where mine was, I said “I forgot.”
The other kids, with their bloody knives and smoking guns and fingerprints, laughing at me.
Shrinking into my seat, the laughter just gets worse.
I snapped. I went on a murderous rampage with the various weapons in the classroom.
When the smoke cleared, I was the last alive.
That’s when I realized… I had a clue after all.
Many clues.
Sitting there, on the desk.
I give myself an A.

Mr. Fist Around My Throat

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My throat hurts.
It feels like someone clenched a fist around it.
But you can’t see anyone with a fist on my throat.
Maybe it’s my old imaginary friend.
His name was Mr. Fist Around My Throat.
Looking back, he wasn’t much of an imaginary friend. He was more of an imaginary bully. And he beat the crap out of me day and night.
I got even with him, though. I took medicine which stopped my imagining him, and he vanished.
Now he’s back.
Are these the right pills?
I knew I should have drilled a hole in my head.

Brickle Me Elmo

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She goes absolutely everywhere with that Elmo doll.
Those two are inseparable.
Five year-olds do that kind of thing. Clinging to your toys,
But when they’re sixteen, that’s when you should be concerned.
So, am I concerned?
I’m not.
Try not to be surprised.
You see, Staci emptied out the doll’s head and put a brick in it.
So far, she’s brained two rapists and a mugger.
“Self defense” worked for the DA. No charges filed.
That’s my girl.
I wish she’d let me wash it. The dried blood and bits of scalp don’t quite match the red fabric fur.

The Silver Star

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When I was a child, my sister and I had to do our chores.
Each chore meant we got to lick a star and stick it to the calendar for that day.
Red ones were little chores, like doing the dishes.
Blue ones meant more, like vacuuming or walking the dog.
Silver stars were for mowing the lawn.
At the end of the week, add up the stars and get an allowance.
I went to the crafts store and bought a box of silver stars, filling the calendar with them.
The stars added up to me getting spanked and grounded.