Greetings all. I abandoned Steve for a few days to go back and visit Stulie – that’s Steve and Julie, my folks. I like to refer to them as Stulie because it makes me laugh every time. Anyway, the goal of the visit was to iron out more details for our party. If there is a theme, then we are going for CHEZ PICNIC. I love the lake and celebrating at one of the coves is perfect. Putting out the positive vibes early for a clear day!
I also got a crash course, thanks to my mom’s friend, on how to read a pattern. Good thing too because turns out, I’m worse off than I thought in my rudimentary sewing skills. I have the pattern cut out now and the fabric ready to go…now to lay the pattern on the fabric the right way and cut that out – daunting, really.
Ok, enough about my day to day, it really isn’t exciting to anyone but me so I thought I’d tell you a story about an experience I had as a kid living out at the old navy ammunition depot. My grandpa bought around 90 acres of the depot land, including 4 buildings and meadows. In one of the meadows was a blown up shell of a building that reminded me of a miniature grain elevator made entirely out of thick cement. I’d tool out there and fart around in that building, called it my playhouse and had great make believe sessions.
One night my mom warned me that the National Guard was coming out to practice war games on our property the next day and I had to stay inside. I asked what they were doing and mom told me that terrorists were going to take over my playhouse and the National Guard was going to take it back. Well, my 8 year old self did not heed any “I had to stay inside” directive and I hatched my breakout that would begin first thing in the morning.
When I woke up I peaked outside my blinds and could see the cedar tree row to the east and could make out army guys sneaking around, big guns in hand. The playhouse was a good half mile away to the west. So I snuck out of my bedroom and crept out our apartment undetected. I went to the door that led down to a basement area where the entrance to one of the tunnels were – I didn’t go in the tunnel, ogres lived in there (which was actually my dad going in there and making ogre sounds that echoed in the building) it worked, I never went in them with the exception of one time – which is another story entirely. Anyway, in this basement resided a box that had my dad’s fatigues from Vietnam. I opened the box and put on one of his camouflage shirts and a pair of camouflage pants – naturally way too big for me, but I rolled up the pants and tied them with a bit of rope, rolled up the sleeves and I was good to go. I made my way to the warehouse where my water pistol was, it was a bright green classic water pistol model. I filled it up and put it in my pants pocket. I was going to survey this whole terrorist situation and now I was a soldier, too. I successfully made it out of the building and made my way to the back road that led to our factory, if I could make it there then I’d sneak around it, enter into the junk yard, and work my way to a clear view of the playhouse and the terrorists.
Along the back road (which my parents called Cherry Tree Lane) I ducked and rolled behind every evergreen tree progressing to the factory. I could hear gun fire and directives, I blended and moved swiftly. I was very close to the factory, hiding, I needed to make a break across the paved area that surrounded the factory to get to the junkyard behind the factory. I could hear army guys, but I couldn’t see them, so I took a deep breath and made a break for it.
“HOLD IT RIGHT THERE SOLDIER!” a voice yelled. It took only a second to realize I had been caught. I put my hands up and looked up at the sky in shame, noticing my sister? Sunbathing on top of the factory?! Perfect view of everything? Of me getting busted! How the heck was she allowed to be half naked on a roof top and I wasn’t allowed out of the house?! I saw her stand up and disappear. She would tattle. I was going to be in major trouble.
“WHERE’S YOUR WEAPON SOLDIER?” the voice yelled as two army men approached me. I reached in my pocked and pulled out my water pistol, which had leaked out all the water in my fatigues…pretty embarrassing. I handed it over. The next thing I knew I was clapped on my shoulder and the army guys said, “Come with us.” I figured this was a good thing, because being captured by them was going to be far easier than what might happen to me when I got home. They led me to the meadow, where the playhouse stood in the distance. I could see men dressed in black inside the playhouse. I could also see the good guys splayed out in grassy camo and as we passed by some of them I’d wave and say “Hi”. In retrospect, I was giving up everyone’s position, oh well.
My captors brought me to the head army guy. I don’t remember the conversation with him in the beginning. But eventually I got to shoot an M16 rifle and throw a grenade. The rifle shot blanks and an army guy had to brace my back so I didn’t get blown backward. The grenade smoked and hissed sparks – pretty freaking cool. I spent all afternoon with them, I didn’t even go home to fess up, I figured that what I was doing was worth the trouble I was going to be in. Then the head army guy asked if I wanted to eat dinner with them. I said I’d have to ask my folks, but pleaded with him to go with me. So, little me in my dad’s fatigues, head army guy and another army guy walked back to the apartment.
I wonder what my folks thought at that moment when they saw me. It was so awesome to be flanked by army guys, protected. I think shocked would cover my parents reaction, then proud as the head army guy gave me accolades and said he would be honored if I could eat dinner with them. My folks said YES! How could they resist! Crisis averted, hopefully. So, all the army guys gathered together on our property, each with a ration of food, including me. All I remember of the food was it looked bad and there was a small piece of carrot cake.
Before they left, the head army guy wrote on a piece of notebook paper deeming me an honorary Corporal and gave me a hard shell army hat. My folks framed that piece of paper, I wish I knew where that was. About the only proof I have of that whole experience is a photo of myself on Halloween. I went as an army guy, in my dad’s fatigues, with my green water pistol, proudly wearing my hard shell army hat.
All I can say is WOW!