Submitted by: aka.attrition
This picture above was featured on “The Good Old Days” here on the TBP. It reminded me of the following story. Now, believe it or not but I was actually young once, it’s true; I was not always a curmudgeon. I also have a brother (actually several but that’s another story) who is a few years older than me. In our first house in a foreign land far, far away (actually the second house but that’s also another story) we had quite a large garden with a kidney shaped pool. I was around 8 at the time.
In the garden we found an old, discarded pram, much like the one in this picture. Boys will be boys and this photo captures one of the games my brother and I played. We called it “speed dare” or some made up nonsense to that effect. Of course the pram had a name like “Flash” or “Lightening”. One of us would sit in “the Lightening” while the other pushed it as fast as possible straight down the garden path towards … a solid brick wall. The wall also had a name which was “the Wall”. The dare was who would scream “stop” last, nearest to becoming intimately familiar with the aforementioned “the Wall”.
After sufficient pain and suffering and learning all about Newton’s laws of motion and momentum that game became too childish for us and we discarded it in favor of a far more mature endeavor which we called “Houdini”.
In this new game, suitable for all children 5 and older but batteries not included, one of us tied the other into the pram (loosely of course – we’re not idiots after all) and pushed it into the deep-end of the pool. Then the pram-sitter (or pram-shitter as the case would soon turn out to be) would pretend to be Houdini and untangle the ropes and rise triumphantly to the surface to the applause of no one; older brothers are not your cheerleaders. Your turn next. And so it went, on a beautiful summer day until, as you already guessed, I could not untie the rope and escape triumphantly after all.
Now, this may come as a surprise to some of you but I did manage to escape, how else would you be reading this? Try and keep up. But how was this miraculous feat achieved, you ask, and I will tell you although it is not normal for those in my past profession (escape artists) to reveal their secrets.
Soon after descending to the bottom and watching my brother above stand idly around watching me below it dawns on him that the escape is not going to plan. It’s possible that the stream of bubbles escaping from my lungs while trying to gurgle to him the problem with the rope might have given him a clue. He dives in and lifts me and the pram (now spontaneously renamed “the Anchor”) above the water line for a breath and then furiously works on the knots as we sink down again. Another lift up for another breath and some more work on the knots on the way back down. I can’t recall how long this all took or how many times we had to alternate between gulping air, sinking, and untying knots but I do recall a total lack of panic. It all just seemed like part of the whole Houdini escape act.
Well, in the end, we both got out of it unscathed and lay laughing and panting on the warm tiles by the pool. Shortly thereafter the pram mysteriously disappeared for good, never to be seen or driven again. I wonder where ol’Lightening the Anchor is racing now but, even more so, I wonder where the heck our parents were or indeed any supervising adult for that matter? We were literally left alone to our own devices and craziness; with a pool … and a pram … and a friggin rope.
I think those were the days where boys would be boys and girls would be girls and our parents, survivors of the great depression and fighters in WWII, just let their kids grow up and figure it out, at least to a far greater degree than the over-pampered, participation-trophy generation of today, some of who, sadly, will become our future Glorious Exalted Leaders.
There were many moments like this in my youth and, looking back with the eyes of a much older man, I realize how fortunate I have been and how such experiences can take a turn for the very much worse. It brings on a moment of reflection and contemplation and the old saying “there but for the grace of God …” comes to mind and I know its truth deeply. I’m not sure if every dark cloud has a silver lining but I know there are no silver linings without dark clouds. Grace, luck, karma, fate … I think sometimes we all need someone or something to help us get through the crazy.
Now Reader, your turn; tell us a crazy story from your youth. You’re on the TBP website so I know you have one …
Yes, well, I’m VERY fortunate/lucky to be alive/not paralyzed from the eye balls down, but, without an adult beverage, I’ll leave it at that. Better that you just think I’m an idiot.
My buddies and I played tag with pub darts.
When you were “it” you were hit.
One pal stood on the balcony and stuck one in the top of his brother’s head.
He wouldn’t pull it out until he could show their mom.
I should have the t-shirt. I too escaped my youth.
There are so many….I was one girl of only two in my neighborhood of my brother and all boys!
My knees were covered in scabs from the day school let out through the entire summer. We built ramps and jumped our bikes, some times we made it, most of the time we didn’t.
Climbed trees, higher and higher, until one day I was too high and the branch broke and I was left hanging there until a very tall neighbor managed to get me.
Rolled down a steep hill behind my house into a huge mass of raspberry bushes. My mother had to come with scissors and actually CUT my ass out of the pickers there were so many.
Rode my bike to the store with my brother first thing in the morning on an empty stomach, woke up laying on the bike on the ground with a bunch of people standing over me and my brother super embarrassed because I ‘fell asleep’ on the ground.
Took my German Shepherd dog into the woods to go rescue my other idiot Black and Tan Coonhound who we could hear barking but was stuck out there. Tracked her to a super swampy area which the mucky mud and water came up to my neck and was pretty cold (April) to get her untangled from some swamp tussocks. Almost lost both my shoes and almost drowned. Managed to wangle her and the Shepherd back to the house via a kindly neighbor who had horses and when we came out on their property miles away she lent me a horse lead for the Coonhound. My parents were nonplussed by my dirty, muddy, wet bedraggled ass bringing home 2 dogs from god knows where.
Jumped on our bikes to go race down to watch a tenement building burn down the street, wiped out and almost got run over by a car, it was literally right over me, I have a big scar on my elbow to this day.
This was a pretty typical childhood for all of us. We were banged up, bruised up, scabs everywhere, but we were happy kids.
Pain (physical and emotional) is a necessary part of growing up.
The ongoing pursuit of eliminating all forms of pain, as much as possible, in the formative years has given us the culture we have today.
So very true Anonymous. Children NEED to test the boundaries of life. Adults need to protect them from as many fool hardy decisions as possible. I only wish I had done more in my childhood. It was one of the best times of my life.
Stiches and casts were common in my childhood.
Outstanding!
Pup,
I’m shocked no one called you out on this…
“I was one girl of only two in my neighborhood of my brother and all boys!
My knees were covered in scabs from the day school let out through the entire summer.”
This place has gone soft. Stucky would have skewered you on this. 🙂
Love ya girl, you’re one of the best here.
“I’m shocked no one called you out on this…”
“Climbed trees, higher and higher, until one day I was too high and the branch broke and I was left hanging there until a very tall neighbor managed to get me.”
Not sure. Maybe out on a limb? ‘green’ wouldn’t snap off and maybe just got very lucky and rode it down to standard human reach height.
Flashback to days of Yore. ‘member bein’ purty high up, always clung to the main trunk. Suppose “higher & higher'” is somewhat subjective.
But then again, she maya dun growed up in the Green Valley™ of Minnesota…and it was the Green Giant who rescued her.
I absolutely lament the loss of childhood. Of all the social crimes, stealing childhood away from our children is the most egregious of all. I never see children outside playing anymore. I never see a group of kids out for an adventure.
That said, I do fight back with an idealized Mid-Century world that my gal and I have created and have done so at great expense. It is a world of children being children because the traditions that are not practiced are forgotten and I refuse to forget.
https://www.instagram.com/the_hills_have_dolls/
Happy to report that in my rural corner of the world, my grandchildren (8, 7, 4 and also my next-door-neighbors) are “children being children” playing outdoors, taking care of farm animals and pets, enjoying a world quite common in this neck of the woods.
Kudos to you and your gal for your fine efforts. I live on another continent, so deliveries are impossible, but if my granddaughter were to see any number of your finely crafted dolls, well, I’d have a heap of explaining to do to a four-year-old about international deliveries, customs inspectors, etc.
“It’s for the children!” In the case of your endeavor, truer words were never spoken. Thanks for all your efforts!
You do where I live now. It almost reminds me of my youth in the 60s. Kids here can actually make their way to and from school by the means of their (and of course, parents) choosing. They run, play, and ride bikes in the street. I don’t know about other activities, but it was on of the first things I noticed when we moved here in August 2018.
My nearest death experience(OK,one of) was as a young teen on a dirt bike(Hercules GS 250/7 speed gear box!),going down the railroad track at 80mph(VDO speedo/acurate),as I came around slow curve hit a 12″ or so diameter 6 foot pine log.I guess someone thought they could derail a train(would not work)but certainly airborned a 250 dirt bike!
I actually got up relatively unscathed beyond some bruises/scratches but the only thing holding front forks of bike to frame was a clutch cable!
I have many tales of youthful stupidity and makes me wonder/ponder how the fuck I am even alive now!
My brother got broken bones and I got stiches several times. So many times did we boys get hurt that my mother told me one time she was scared CPS would think we were being abused.
It got to the point when I was kid that my mother would not let me wear shorts and ride a bike from about the time I was in the 2nd grade.
There were always houses being built in the neighborhood, and we would collect the scraps for treehouses etc. I remember stepping on a board with a nail in it and it came through the top of my shoe. Tried to hide it from her but the limp gave it away. She was pissed because she had told me to quit messing around those places. Off to the doc for a tetanus shot again. Her grandmother that raised her had a portion of her arm amputated because of getting a splinter in her hand that got infected.
Ha ha, I must have stepped on a nail five or six times by the time I was 6; only one went through to the top foot though.
Played the game “Sniper” with my buds. One would hide with a BB gun while the other boy with a BB gun would stalk him. The rest of us watched until it was our turn as we only had two guns. No eyes were out out. You were labeled as a poor sport if you went for head shots.
When the weather was bad we threw darts in the basement. It didn’t takes us long to come up with a game akin to mortaring a soldier in a trench. One boy laid on the steps behind a solid banister while one of use would lob darts over the banister. Again no eyes were lost, just a few small puncture wounds.
That was your choice on purpose. I may have mentioned this before related to a prior post. When I was in grammar school, not far outside the back of the school ground, we (a group of us) walked home every day. Some little snot, who probably wasn’t even in school yet and inside a fenced-in yard had a BB gun and shot at us. I don’t know if anyone ever hopped that fence and gave the little fucker the beating he deserved, but I hope so. I don’t know what Airsoft® feels like without the armor that most of those people wear, but those damn Daisy® metal BBs hurt like a sonofabitch.
Everybody’s Superman until they fall off their horse.
Too soon?
That was an awesome read.
And to think that I get the evil eye from other parents when I let our children climb UP the slide, not down, let alone climbing on the very top on the roof of the slide. Surely, I must be a very, very bad parent.
Where WERE the parents back then? We played games much like the one described. I remember being home alone with my just barely older brother, when I must have been around 6 or so, and he got a really badly scraped knee from biking over obstacles in the driveway and I took care of him by fetching a bandaid. It is a miracle we all survived to tell these stories.
You’re only responsibility in actuality is to keep them from killing themselves, or any innocent bystander and finally you. But all kids have to experience all these things. Pain works pretty well. Except 🤕 for my wife. Most kids learn not to touch the hot burner on the stove at some stage when they’re little, but my wife at close to retirement age seems to have to burn a hand about once per month.
Oops, “your “only responsibility. I’ll take the hit on that one. I can’t blame it on my tablet.
“Oops, “your “only responsibility.”
IF all a person has in response to the occasional VERY Human grammar, spelling, or syntax errors is pointing them out?
Well. Yinz will have to be the judge of them/that.
Well, considering it was my typo and I waited too long to notice so I could no longer edit it, the least I could do was to let TBP people know I’d recognized it.
Or ‘conditioned’ Shame, personal humiliation & embarrassment, Etc*?
Noun
A painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior
A loss of respect or esteem resulting from a shameful act
A regrettable or unfortunate situation or action
… more ▼
Noun ▲
A painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior
embarrassment humiliation ignominy indignity abasement abashment chagrin compunction discomfiture disgrace mortification shamefacedness discomfort discomposure humbling loss of face loss of pride dishonourUK dishonorUS disesteem degradation blow to one’s pride put down egg on one’s face affront condescension resignation self-consciousness smarting red face more ❯
WHAT about the rest of the egregious grammar, spelling, and syntax errors contained in Your original post, and subsequent post?
…And Ur looking for ’em…🤣
* OD,agmnag (figured i may as well create my own acronym while i’m making a complete and unabridged FOOL of myself)*One Day, a great man named algore will invent something called a Thesaurus. Too.
P.S. So there is No possibility of misunderstanding my intent?
Felt same. Many, Many, X’s, “here” and “abroad”.
my point? If one can read something well enough to form an opinion and venture a response…IF all you/they got is critiquing Your spelling, grammar, & syntax errors?
It’s ALL they got.
Not my place to judge. Anybody.
i meant: ‘And You’re looking for them…🤣’
Admit it! 😀
My apologies.
Most of my quasi near-death experiences were in my teen years, downhill skiing stunts gone wrong and that sort of thing. Too many to elaborate; I escaped most without anything more serious than a few sprains, bruises and being rendered unconscious. But there were two during my twenties that were not a product of misadventure but rather circumstance or bad choices. One was being hit as a pedestrian, by a VW Scirocco doing about 50 mph. Neither of us saw the other and luckily it was only a sideswipe but it still knocked me about 20 feet through the air. It took the antenna and sideview mirror clean off his car and left a huge dent in his fender and took my watch right off my wrist. Luckily I was able to walk away, bruised and shaken but no broken bones. Another involved a biker party, and an Outlaw (notice the capital “O”) who disapproved of my presence and my Japanese motorbike, both of which he thought would be funny to dispose of in the bonfire. Put me in a headlock until I passed out. Luckily nothing escalated much past that, as later this same individual would be convicted and jailed for a gangland style assassination and later still, managed to break out of the local prison. Fun times! I still own and operate that very same bike many decades later
My parents were far wiser than I imagined. For Christmas when I was about 15, I begged for snow skis, the old sled getting a bit boring by then. My mom wouldn’t get me skis and apparently told my dad as well since they divorced when I was 5 that he’d better not buy me skis. They knew at best I’d be permanently disabled.
Summer between 2 and 3rd grade. I’m blaming this on my cousin because it was her idea which I went along with. Parents were next door and thought we were just playing outside in my backyard, when we were actually in the outside stairwell to the basement trying to set some concoction in a dixie cup on fire. When it wouldn’t light and before I could stop her she got the gas can for the lawn mower and poured some gas on it.
Well she spilled some on her legs and you can guess what happened next. 😱 I was not close enough to get any on me so I was ok but she was running around the yard with her legs on fire. Parents and neighbors come running out and their daughter had just had some first aid training. She shoved her on the ground and put out the fire. She spent 2 weeks in the burn unit and had to have some skin grafts. Carries the scars on her legs to this day.
Hitchhiked with a friend on several occasions before we had our drivers licenses. One time some guys took us to a party. We had no idea where we were. Fortunately nothing bad happened but we had to beg them to take us back to a drive-in restaurant in our area.
Another time this old guy picked us up and we got in the car in the front which had a bench seat. I got stuck in the middle and he kept putting his hand on my thigh. I nudged my friend and we jumped out at the first stop light he came to. Boy were we dumb.
I just told a pair of boys, 9 & 12 some crazy stories from my youth. Their mother went Uhmmmm. And I told them if they weren’t doing stuff that would later make mom go Hmm they were missing childhood.
Raise your children to ask forgiveness instead of permission.
Now, here’s the story. My daughter went to the same grade school as I did. K-3 was in outbuildings and 4-6 was in the big old brick two storey monument. First day of fourth grade I am walking her into the building and she notices the brass bumps on the beautiful banisters. What are these she asks? Why those are Steve bumps. What’s that she asks, so I tell her that I would slide down the banisters instead of running the stairs. Every time a teacher caught me I would profusely apologize and swear to Never do it again. Eventually they put these bumps on the banisters. So what are the bumps doing on the hand railings, she asks.
You didn’t expect me to stop sliding down just because they put bumps on the banisters did you?
Great to hear I wasn’t the only one who went through childhood stitched and casted up.
I’ve been run over by cars, fallen out of trees, driven into them with a car, been bitten by cats and dogs, stung by hornets, nearly drowned twice, fallen through ice, been burnt, dragged along concrete, tumbled down stairs, fallen out of a window, cut with knives, been half scalped, lost teeth, broke my nose a few times, and a host of other abrasions, contusions, fractures, and lacerations that have left my body looking like a flesh colored road map.
Wouldn’t trade a moment.
When we were 12 or 13 a friend of mine had a full sized pool table in their rec room. We played a game called Smasho Fingo where you’d keep on hand on the table with your four fingertips on the felt and the thumb behind the rail. You could slide it back and forth but you couldn’t let go. Your opponent stood at the other end and did the same while with your free hand you would rocket the balls at each others fingers as fast you could. If you let go you had to put both hands on the rail and could move while the other kid took a free shot. I remember having four purple nails for most of the Summer of 1973 and probably broke the tip of each finger at least once.
Man that was fun.
The important thing was to play outside as much as possible. We had forest, creeks, culverts, and meadows right around our houses, so the possibilities were vast. A medical protocol developed among our little neighborhood gang, which was this – If you got cut, scratched, or scraped to the point of bleeding, you did Not go home to get it taken care of. You sprinkled dirt on it because ‘dirt helped make a scab’.
If one of us got a minor puncture wound, we still would Not go home, or tell our parents, because it meant a possible tetanus shot! The adults got suspicious when we asked Mrs. McConkey, who had been a nurse, “how long does it take to get lockjaw?” And we would check out our jaw mobility daily just in case we needed to come clean. I remember doing this as a group exercise, all of us flexing our jaws. Everyone OK? Let’s play!
My own parents got suspicious when I asked how long it takes to get rabies. I had been told not to play with (or try to take care) of any rodent rescued from the cat or otherwise. But I did, and I got bitten hard enough to break the skin. For the next couple of weeks, I included a plea to God in my nightly prayers to save me from rabies. The only symptom I knew to look for was fear of water, and that never happened, so I felt that God had saved me, and I became more careful after that.
Ah, those blue skies and sunny days of childhood…
“Azules y este sol de infancia.” Antonio Machado
🤣
‘dirt helped make a scab’
“how long does it take to get lockjaw?
“when I asked how long it takes to get rabies”
In my youth, I did fun and sometimes stupid things. Even growing up in Miami, it was possible to have some chance to be a kid.
At age 14 a date (yes, dated at that age) often consisted of ‘riding the tracks’. We would head to a particular dirt road out in the middle of nowhere that was pretty even with the top of the RR tracks, line up the tires with the tracks, put the car in drive and off we’d go-no steering necessary.
On one occasion, we were in a Corvair (LOL). The guys were outside, getting things lined up while us girls were inside. I turned around to talk with the girl in the back seat. Next thing we knew, my bf was jumping behind the wheel with a terrified look on his face, slamming the brakes, throwing into gear and zooming forward. We hadn’t even noticed, but the car was drifting backwards toward the canal that bordered the road. There were no guard rails, just dirt, and we were right on the edge, about to tip.
This particular vehicle had a gearshift that was on the dash that was a sort of lever that one slid up/down to change gears. We never really determined whether I somehow hit that with my foot when turning to chat, or if the car just slipped out of gear. But it was a close call and a trip into the drink-possibly joined by a large reptile with lots of teeth-would not have been much fun.
Easy to laugh about 50+ years later.