Adventures little boys never tell their parents about.
I was told by my father never to play with electrical outlets. BECAUSE…that was how Santa watched little kids. He could spy on houses through the electric wires. The proof? When I placed my hand around the outlet, I could feel a cold draft. “That cold air is from the North Pole,” explained Dad.
Consequence : I would try to spy on Santa. I would lay on the floor and try to peep through the little slots. I pressed my face right up to the plate. I felt the artic air through the not so well insulated wall. I actually thought I could see shadows move…workshop activities…elfin fun! ZAP! Who knew Santa had a security system. My nose was numb for a week. I never spied on Santa ever again, and I sure as hell respected that little peep hole when ever I plugged anything in!
Conclusion : Dad was trying to kill me.
I use to think I could pick locks. For months, I carried an old hair pin in my pocket all the time. I practiced on the car doors and even succeeded a few times. My folks thought they were forgetting to lock the car doors and eventually I started to get cocky. Once I started doing it when they were in the car. One night when we came home from the grocery store, I jumped out of the bus before them. It was their brand new Champaign Edition Volkswagen Bus. I proceeded to pick the lock on the back hatch, and…”CLICK!”..but not the satisfying “click” of an open door…but an Oh, SHIT “click “ of a broken hairpin!
OH, SHIT! I never pulled a rabbit out of my ass so fast than right then. Mom and Dad were still in the car, one door open…but talking. With a pounding heart, I ripped up my fingernail and punctured my thumb…but I got that tiny piece of hairpin out of the butt…er…I mean bus at the very last second, just as they both came around the edge of the vehicle.
Consequence : A bloody shirt when I wrapped my finger.
Conclusion : With a little blood and prayer, there is nothing a little boy can’t do!
The girl across the street showed me what a booby was. We were in her yard and she said “Hey, come here.” and we went into the garage. And with out a hint of “what’s going on?” she stretched her David Cassidy T-shirt up and out and flashed me her boobies. And there they were. Olive skin. Smooth.
But she was seven, I was eight. What was the frickin’ big deal? Who cared. My boobies were bigger than hers. But it was kinda cool that she WANTED to show me. About six years too early…but… still cool.
Suddenly, her mom burst through the door and stormed into the garage. She grabbed the arm of my temptress and dragged her into the house. I heard her mom yelling as she begged for mercy , “I told you never to do that again!”
“Again?” I pondered… as I was left in the garage by myself. I stood there a few minutes in the sudden silence, wondering if her mother was going to come back out and yell at me. Eventually, the awkwardness of the situation made me aware I was just hanging out in a dark garage all by myself. So there was only one thing I could do. I went home, got a glass of milk, and proceeded to watch Gilligan’s Island.
Consequence : You can’t rush puberty. It will happen when it happens.
Conclusion : Ginger AND Mary Ann.