It's a B.D. story! (before David)
I have told this story a million times, but I don't believe I have blogged it. A patient came in today and asked if someone was buried next door, thus the story crept back into my head. Let me 'splain.
My office building is located between an empty bakery (East End Bakery) and an empty lot, which was the site of Palmer's Barber Shop, where my brother Jerry would always get his hair cut, and shellacked when we were kids. I don't know what kind of of goop Mr. Palmer used, but it stunk to high heaven. At the edge of the sidewalk there is a foot stone. Wait, let me show you. (ah technology)
Apparently Mr. Palmer was known as the "Mayor of East End", and no, he isn't buried there.
So let us return to the good ol' seventies. I'm going to guess it was '75 because I wasn't in school full time yet, and I know it was fall because of the cookie later in the story. I would have just turned five. It was an Indian summer afternoon, and conditions were very dry. Dry enough for a train to start a wildfire on the other side of the big highway, and that's where the trouble began.
Oh, and I guess it's important to know that I was in no way, shape, or form allowed to be next to, let alone cross highway two. Period.
I was playing down the block at Vicki's house, and her older sister Paula (Vicki's Mom was at work.) wanted to take the two of us across the highway to see the fire. I guess in my five year old mind it was alright to go along, because Paula was older and was with us. Then again, my Mom was home, I should have asked her, but I knew she'd say no, so......la di da.
On this particular day my brother Jerry was going to Palmer's for a hair cut, then we were picking up Dad from work. Way back in the day we were a one car house, like most folks, so if Mom had things to do we would all have to bring Dad to work and pick him up. I will assume I was supposed to be home at a particular time, and when I didn't show up my Mom would have had to go looking. Some neighbor must have seen us cross the highway, because she found me. (insert scary music)
I have no memory of crossing the street. I recall the smell of fire, but not the fire itself. I was more interested in the frogs hopping away from it, and dancing around in the tall grass. It was very windy out, and there I was with my lil freckled face, dancing and twirling, pony tails bouncing, and I VIVIDLY remember whirling around to see the car pull up, and my Mother getting out. Things are a little sketchy after that. I'm fairly certain I got a swat. We went to the haircut, then to the bakery and each got a cookie. It's the cookie that always stands out for me, and usually triggers my memory of the story. It was a hard, pumpkin shaped sugar cookie, that had those big sugar granules (orange) on it, with a raised outline of the triangle eyes, nose, and mouth. Then off to get Dad, and I'm sure we discussed it the whole way home, while I ate my cookie, which is probably why seeing those cookies always unnerves me a little. :)
You can imagine how peeved my Mother was. First I wasn't home on time, then I disobeyed, crossed a dangerous highway, to go to see a fire...... lets just say that Tater comes by some of her ways honestly.
When my Mother would talk about the incident she would say "Paula got spanked, Joanie got grounded for two weeks, and I got Vicki, because her Mother felt bad." I didn't get off the hook because I was five and led astray, I knew the rules, the end. Ah, life with a Mother who was a former nun.
I have told this story a million times, but I don't believe I have blogged it. A patient came in today and asked if someone was buried next door, thus the story crept back into my head. Let me 'splain.
My office building is located between an empty bakery (East End Bakery) and an empty lot, which was the site of Palmer's Barber Shop, where my brother Jerry would always get his hair cut, and shellacked when we were kids. I don't know what kind of of goop Mr. Palmer used, but it stunk to high heaven. At the edge of the sidewalk there is a foot stone. Wait, let me show you. (ah technology)
Apparently Mr. Palmer was known as the "Mayor of East End", and no, he isn't buried there.
So let us return to the good ol' seventies. I'm going to guess it was '75 because I wasn't in school full time yet, and I know it was fall because of the cookie later in the story. I would have just turned five. It was an Indian summer afternoon, and conditions were very dry. Dry enough for a train to start a wildfire on the other side of the big highway, and that's where the trouble began.
Oh, and I guess it's important to know that I was in no way, shape, or form allowed to be next to, let alone cross highway two. Period.
I was playing down the block at Vicki's house, and her older sister Paula (Vicki's Mom was at work.) wanted to take the two of us across the highway to see the fire. I guess in my five year old mind it was alright to go along, because Paula was older and was with us. Then again, my Mom was home, I should have asked her, but I knew she'd say no, so......la di da.
On this particular day my brother Jerry was going to Palmer's for a hair cut, then we were picking up Dad from work. Way back in the day we were a one car house, like most folks, so if Mom had things to do we would all have to bring Dad to work and pick him up. I will assume I was supposed to be home at a particular time, and when I didn't show up my Mom would have had to go looking. Some neighbor must have seen us cross the highway, because she found me. (insert scary music)
I have no memory of crossing the street. I recall the smell of fire, but not the fire itself. I was more interested in the frogs hopping away from it, and dancing around in the tall grass. It was very windy out, and there I was with my lil freckled face, dancing and twirling, pony tails bouncing, and I VIVIDLY remember whirling around to see the car pull up, and my Mother getting out. Things are a little sketchy after that. I'm fairly certain I got a swat. We went to the haircut, then to the bakery and each got a cookie. It's the cookie that always stands out for me, and usually triggers my memory of the story. It was a hard, pumpkin shaped sugar cookie, that had those big sugar granules (orange) on it, with a raised outline of the triangle eyes, nose, and mouth. Then off to get Dad, and I'm sure we discussed it the whole way home, while I ate my cookie, which is probably why seeing those cookies always unnerves me a little. :)
You can imagine how peeved my Mother was. First I wasn't home on time, then I disobeyed, crossed a dangerous highway, to go to see a fire...... lets just say that Tater comes by some of her ways honestly.
When my Mother would talk about the incident she would say "Paula got spanked, Joanie got grounded for two weeks, and I got Vicki, because her Mother felt bad." I didn't get off the hook because I was five and led astray, I knew the rules, the end. Ah, life with a Mother who was a former nun.
