Halloween Tradition: The Gun and the Girl

Once something becomes a tradition, I have a hard time letting it go.  (Real Christmas tree again this year?  Probably.)  I watch It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown every Halloween and I re-tell the story about the gun and the girl.  If you've read it before, don't feel obligated to slog through it again.  But the rest of you...well, here it is:

I was 14 and too old to trick or treat, but too young to stay in. So after helping my grandma close her store, I headed for the nearby sub-division to meet up with friends. It was a quarter-mile walk in the pitch black on a narrow country road. Perfect for a spooky night.

When I neared the subdivision, I heard voices. As I stepped into the front yard of the house on the corner, I saw a man in his 30s pointing a shiny handgun at four boys who were huddled together. Then he pointed the gun at me.

Without thinking about it, I walked towards him, gestured towards the kids and asked, “What did they do?“ (as if I wasn't a kid myself). He turned the gun back towards them and explained his mom’s house had been egged—and he was tired of her being harassed. I introduced myself as the grandson of the woman who ran the little store (everyone knew her) and told him I knew his mom. Then I turned to the only one of the accused I knew:

Me: Andy, did you and your friends throw the eggs?
Andy: No.
Me: Do you know who did?
Andy: We saw guys running that way just before we got here.
Me: Okay, you two go look for the other guys and try to get names. You two help Mr. Wilson clean the egg off his mom’s house.

Mr. Wilson put his gun away, apologized to me for losing his temper, and then they all did what I told them to do. I was a little shocked.  It all happened so quickly.  That’s when I realized if you act like you know what you're doing, people will cooperate (usually).

I felt a little shaky as I went in search of my friends. "The girl" was with them (I'd been talking with her on the bus and at school). I had just started this new thing where I actually talked with people. It was a conscious decision to change my behavior. I’d been reserved up until then. That night we walked with the group until it was time to head home.  Then she wanted to tell me something in private. Her family was moving out of state that weekend and she wanted to kiss me good-bye. It was quite an experience—my first real kiss. I didn’t have anything to compare it to, but it was nice (my opinion on that would soon change).

Soon, I wasn’t feeling great. By Thanksgiving I had pneumonia, which led to the discovery I also had mononucleosis (and an enlarged spleen). One of the girl's friends confirmed she had mono when she kissed me—she’d snuck out of her house that night. I was VERY sick. Our doctor wanted to put me in the hospital, but my parents were frugal regarding health care (you did not want to be one of our pets). I missed school the entire month of December and there were rumors I'd died, so my first week back was a little strange.

Some might think it sweet she slipped out of her house to kiss me goodbye. Since I got so sick, I decided it was thoughtless she exposed me to mono. Oh well, at least it was a memorable first kiss.  Right?

I closed the original post by wondering who would have ever guessed the girl would end up being more dangerous than the gun. At the time, it never occurred to me a girl could be that dangerous. What a naive boy.  :D

Remembering Bandit (and Tommy)

This was a sad weekend.  Our Border Collie, Bandit, died at 3am Sunday morning.  We were all with him.  He had an "episode" last week that made the vet think his anti-siezure medication dosage needed to be increased.  But in reality he had lung cancer. 

It was clear he out-ranked me in the family, but I didn't mind.  My wife and kids love him like he was our hairy toddler who somehow never learned to talk.  Instead of me writing about Bandit, I'd like to share what my wife posted about him on Facebook:

Bandit was an amazing dog. Always loving. When you had a bad day - you could look at that face and everything seemed ok. The most sweetest temperament of any dog I've ever seen. Loved to cuddle next to you. Still wanted to be held like a baby even though he weighed over 40 pounds and had those long legs. Always willing to share his food and water with visiting dogs. His one Lassie moment came when I was moving boxes in our storage room and tripped. I fell flat on the concrete floor and the box opened and everything landed on top of me. Bandit runs in hearing the commotion. I tell him to go get the kids. All I saw was a blur of black and white fur as he ran from the room. Instead of people he brings in his toy and lays it on my chest. I realized then we didn't have a Lassie. What we had was better. The most loving and gentle dog. Greeting us at the door. Dragging us on his leash when he went for walks. Always happy to meet new friends whether they were people, dogs or cats. He will be missed by all of us and all that knew him. Love you Bandicoop!

PS – My wife called me this morning, hovering on the edge of tears.  We agreed this was a sad, but hopefully useful experience for the kids.  She said she was really, REALLY going to need my help when the time comes that her dad passes away.  I asked who was going to help her when I go.

Wife:  I can count on Suzy (a friend) to help me.  Me:  I’m not out-living Suzy???

Some may think what I said was inappropriate, but she thanked me for helping her laugh.  She needed it.  (We can never share that with Suzy.)


Edit:  Bandit deserves his own post, I'll remember Tommy (the cat) in a later one. 

That Other Bee Story

Recently, I shared an embarrassing encounter with bees.  The MOST embarrassing bee encounter happened on Labor Day when I was 5 (a little younger than my profile picture).  Labor Day was a big deal when I was a kid.  Our church held its annual picnic that day.  It was a fun way to end the summer and helped take the sting (pun intended) out of going back-to-school the next day.

I'd almost forgotten about it.  But a few weeks ago a friend wrote a funny tweet about being stung by a bee.  It had crawled up her pants leg.  That brought back the memory of 5 year-old me having a bee go up my shorts.  Since I was wearing hand-me-downs that were four sizes two big (the leg openings were HUGE), I'm lucky an entire hive didn't accidentally fly up there.  But one was enough--the little bugger stung me...**cough**, um, well, "there"! 

Most of the day is a blur, but I remember the pain.  I remember having to lie on my brother's bed bottomless with a bag of ice "there" (trying to numb the pain).  I remember my brothers leaving the room laughing...then bringing their friends in and all of them leaving the room laughing.  Other people may have come and gone (I may have heard a sister throwing up), but I'm not sure. 

The worst part?  As with the other story, it was the pain (although, now that I've been reminded of that day, I am laughing at the memory).  But it was made worse by having to miss the picnic.  Did I mention it included carnival games, a cake walk, moon bounce, lots of food and fun for kids?  Plus, I was allowed to place actual bets on the spinning wheel game (that's how I discovered 6 is a lucky number for me :).  All in all it was a great way to spend Labor Day.  Just not THAT Labor Day. 


PS - If I can remain calm around bees after that experience...well, do your best.  Panic almost never leads to a positive result.  Although, perhaps the lesson here is to be more careful about what you wear.  If I'd been wearing shorts that fit properly, I probably wouldn't have been walking funny that first week in September.  :D 

The Last (and shortest) Spooky Tale

I have several more spooky stories, but enough is enough...so this is the last one (for now).

Most of my spooky stories are from events that happened before I turned 25.  Since then, I occasionally smell stale cigarette smoke in the house and wonder if my mom is visiting--and that's not scary.

But there are other things going on that ARE scary!

--Some nights as I try to go to sleep, the blanket mysteriously slides off me (sometimes quickly, all at once...sometimes slowly).

--Some mornings I wake up with strange marks or bruises.

--Most nights I hear terrible, frightening noises in the house.

Am I being haunted? 

I wish!  All of these things are simply among the benefits of being married.  LOL! 

My wife does a tuck 'n roll with the blankets in her sleep; apparently she has restless leg (and elbow) syndrome; and recently she's started snoring (we're investigating the cause, hopefully it's nothing serious). 

Thankfully the government shutdown is over.  Now that I'm back at work I can start catching up on my sleep.  :D

Upstairs, Downstairs (The Good Ghost)

In this case, the downstairs was my parent's basement.  Cellar might be a more appropriate word--that's what we called it, the cellar. It was unfinished, with a concrete floor and cinder block walls. It flooded on occasion, so the washer, dryer, furnace and water heater were up off the floor. The cellar was lit by four bare light bulb fixtures--one in each quadrant. One we could turn on from upstairs and the other 3 had pull chains. At night it was a creepy place.

I made frequent trips to the cellar to put clothes in the dryer and to bring clothes up from the dryer. That was a regular chore. During one night time trip to the cellar (to get clothes), it felt more creepy than usual. Nothing strange had ever happened in the cellar, so I had no reason to feel weird. But I did.  It felt like I wasn't alone.  (Not feeling alone is supposed to be a good thing, right?  :)

I hurried a little and tried to show no fear. Did I mention I was 8? Anyway, I filled the clothes basket--which was almost as big as I was--turned off the light and headed for the stairs. In my haste, I slipped when I was halfway up the stairs. I fell backwards with the laundry basket on my chest. I gasped, holding my breath in anticipation of an impact--the impact of my little head on the concrete floor. But instead, I felt something touch both of my shoulder blades...like two hands catching me. Suddenly I was standing up straight again, just a few steps down from where I had fallen. As before, it all happened so quickly I wasn't exactly sure what HAD happened.

Did our ghost save my life? Or at age 8 did I have the reflexes of a cat and catch myself?  I'm happy with either answer.

That was my only odd experience in the cellar.  But when I reached my teen years, odd things started happening in the upstairs bedroom (the pink one).  Spooky odd things.  :)

Birth Month vs Favorite Season

I was born in March .  I don't like Spring--March and April are my least favorite months.

My boss was born in late Fall.  She hates the Fall.

Coincidence?  Or is this a thing???

Is your birthday in your least favorite month or season?  In your favorite?

Spooky Tales (since it's October)

According to family history (my mother), my parent's house was haunted by my dad's mother. The woman didn't get to see the house while she was alive, so she took up residence "later".

I didn't know anything about it, until one late-summer evening.

During summers, we placed a large fan in the window at the top of the stairs leading up to my sisters' bedroom. We put the fan on "exhaust" and it pulled air through the house from the open windows downstairs. I liked to stand in front of the fan and talk "through" it...the fan chopped up my words.  I thought it sounded cool (I was 6).

So one evening I'm standing there on the landing, shouting out through the fan to one of my brothers in the yard, having fun (again, I was 6).  After standing there a few minutes, something caught my eye from the right side. I turned to see a woman floating towards me along the bannister. She had dark hair and a white dress (the official uniform of female ghosts). I'm not 100% sure what happened next. One second I was looking at her, frozen, and the next I was at the bottom of the stairs on my butt. It happened so fast, I think I might have jumped. Anyway, I got out of the house as quickly as I could. I told my brother what I saw and he just laughed at me. All of my siblings did. But not my mom. When I told her, her eyes got big and she told me it was her mother-in-law. She also told me not to mention it to my dad. Apparently he didn't like the idea of his mom haunting us.

For years I thought I was the only one who had seen the ghost. But 20 years later one of my sisters admitted she had seen exactly the same thing in exactly the same spot. She didn't say anything earlier because she was afraid people would think she was crazy (like me :).

When I was almost 12 my brothers and I moved into the bedroom upstairs (yes, the pink one), where the ghost lived!!!

LOL, just kidding....she moved all over the house.  :D