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From: 5lee
Date: Friday, September 02, 2005
Time: 05:33 AM
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From: Michael B
Date: Saturday, July 20, 2002
Time: 09:29 PM
When I was Three
The night was dark and full of creatures hiding behind shadows. I felt safe in my mothers arms--I was three. Just beyond the reach of the boogs, as I called them, I would sit, staring into the dark, waiting to see their eyes peering into the light from my open, kitchen door. Should they decide to enter, the screen served as a first line of defense that would afford me time enough to run to my mothers arms and safety. The boogs would leave with the arrival of the light from the morning sun, and the world outside would become my playground. My grandmother would be my playmate, and together we explored the towers and the dungeons. In the dungeons, which were really the many nooks and crannies beneath my house on piers, we would dig trenches and play war games. The soldiers were ants that were collected from their mounds beneath the towers. There was the black army, and there was the red army. At opposite ends of the trench we would place our armies and follow them until they converged and sometimes fought until the death. In the light, my grandmother would ascend to the tops of the towers (which were really pecan trees)and descend again with their treasures in her pockets. We would feast on the spoils and bask in the sun. I was three, and the world belonged to me. At night, however, it belonged to the boogs.
michael
In the late summer, when the days were long and hot, my grandmother and I would take refuge beneath the mulberry and fig trees where we would sit and clean the spoils obtained from the towers. The branches of the fig trees were ladders that led to deposits of golden-brown sweetness. The branches were sometimes so laden with fruit that they were close to breaking. It was time to harvest what God had so freely provided. Some would get eaten where we stood, and we would laugh as the sweet nectar ran from the corners of my mouth. I was three, and I was free. "What are you doing now," my grandmother would ask. "I'm setting traps for those theives from the sky." I would reply. "They fly down and steal our figs, and I need to teach them a lesson. Do you see these pecans? I'm putting them with the figs so that when the birds make a mistake and peck the pecans instead of the figs they'll break their beaks. Then they'll go away and leave our figs alone. I was three, and it made sense to me.
michael
The afternoon sun was hot on my face as I watched my daddy struggle with the last few nuts and bolts that would be the final touches on my brand new, bright and shiny, fire engine-red swing set. There we stood in the front yard, my momma, my little sister, my daddy and I. We were motionless for a while as we wondered at its beauty and approaching adventure. I knew my daddy loved me. I could tell by the sweat on his nose and his hand that rested on my shoulder. He was as proud of that swing as I was of him. He was a giant at 5'6". That was big to me, for I was only three.
michael
His name was Teddy. He loved to run and play. He would run in the yard with me nearly every day. It was lots of fun when my daddy was there, too. Except when he would cuss when he stepped in the poo.
One day he came home with a funny looking thing. He said, "I'll hold the kite. You hold the string. When the wind blew, that kite just... took to the air. Before too long it was flying way up there. I stood there wondering how it would be, If I could be up there looking down at me.
All of a sudden, my mamma screamed, "NO!" And I looked to see why she carried on so. At the same time Teddy let out a loud yelp. It almost sounded like he screamed, "Help!"
She ran to him and put her hand on his side. I knew she was sad, because she cried and cried. After a while, I heard mamma say, "He's dead." I asked, "Why Mamma?" "'That car hit him," she said.
My daddy dug a big hole in the back yard that day. I stood there and watched, but I had nothing to say. I do remember that it all seemed very sad to me, but I guess that was normal, for I was only three.
michael
He had a little grin on his face when I walked into the room. He tried to hide it, but it was too late. I climbed up the side of the big chair in my usual fashion, and I noticed that my glass of kool aide was sitting next to my plate. Mamma usually brought my drink to me, so I knew something was up. I looked straight into my daddy's smiling Irish eyes and said right out, "What did you put in my glass?" "It's grape kool aide." he said. Then his smile got a little bit bigger. Those weren't his smiling Irish eyes. Those were his smiling Drinking eyes. "You better not be lying." I said with my stearnest glare. "Would I lie to you?" his query came. He never had before. "Well, if you are, I'm going to throw it at you." I threatened. I took a swallow..... He ducked just in time. That wine was NOT for me, for I was ONLY three.
michael
About 2 years ago I drove my kids by that house where I had spent 2 of the first 4 years of my life on this earth. Somehow, my memories were much different from the sight before me. The fig trees and pecan trees were still there, but they were lacking liveliness. Perhaps they missed that little boy who once played beneath their branches. The house lacked luster and had sunk to a lower position as though it were saying, "Sorry, no one else is allowed to play beneath my frame." The swing set was gone, and only emptiness took its place. I think that it all needed a little boy to run and laugh on the playground and wonder at the adventures and mysteries that he found. It was sad to see, but alas....., I'm no longer three.
michael
My Little, Red Wagon I cannot remember when or under what cirumstances my little, red wagon came to be MY little, red wagon. I do recall, however, that it was with me often. I loved my little red wagon, but I was not always nice to it. When a little boy is three, his imagination is not always that of a rational person. I cannot say, now, what my rationale was then, but for some reason, my little, red wagon seemed to spend a lot of time in the canal that meandered through my property. It began just on the other side of the cane break where it disappeared into the forbidden woods where I was not allowed to go. After making a small curve, it proceeded on until it mysteriously hid itself beneath the recently blacktopped road, beyond which I was not allowed. Perhaps I was looking for adventure, or perhaps I merely wanted to look at my canal from my canal’s point of view. For whatever reason, I continued to toss my little, red wagon over the abyss and watch as it descended into the mysterious waters below. I know that I had every intention of retrieving it. I loved my litttle, red wagon, and I would have never left it there intentionally. But what about the boogs that lived under the road and just beyond the cane break....wouldn’t they be waiting for me just under the water’s surface? When I reached out for my little, red wagon, waouldn’t a little, slimy, gnarly, bony hand shoot out and grab me and take me away forever to live or die beneath the road or just beyond the cane break? I was certain of it. Now, my daddy, on the other hand, seemed certain of something else. “If you throw your wagon into the ditch one more time, I’m going to spank you!” Notice the exclamation mark. That meant that he was serious. “Well, if you do, I’m not going to cry.” The defiant reply burst from my mouth before I could stop it. Why did I say that? Honestly, I really tried to obey my daddy’s words, but the mystery, the desire to know, was overpowering. Into the canal went my little red wagon one more time. Daddy’s face said it all, but still it came out of his mouth. “What did I say was going to happen to you if you did that again?!!!! Notice how many exclamation marks there are. “You said that you were going to spank me, and I said that I was not going to cry.” Once again, those words defied their captivity within my mouth, and once again they broke free to wreak havoc. Well, I lived up to my end of the bargain, as did my daddy. Needless to say, after all was said and done, two little, red wagons were hauled away from the canal’s edge that day, and one of them was a bit worn out.
michael