Fiction: The Tree

I struggled to keep my voice from cracking as I peered through the branches to yell down to my father standing on the ground.

"I didn't mean to. It was an accident."

My father lowered his head and didn't say a word. That was never a good sign. He was not one of those parents who yelled. He never yelled. He always spoke in a calm voice but if he stopped talking I knew I was in a world of trouble.

I climbed higher to see over the house. The ashes from the pig barn were still smoking. Grandpa was raking out the nails and bits that wouldn't burn. My parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles had all run out there when it was still blazing to keep it from spreading to any of the other buildings. My cousin Tony and I used that opportunity to scramble up into the tree. The danger to the barn and sheds was over, but that didn't mean I was safe.

Tony had found Uncle Jerry's Zippo lighter in the window sill on the back porch. Grandma wouldn't let him smoke in the house, so he always stepped out back to have a cigarette. My cousins and I usually followed him to see his lighter tricks. He could flick it open with one hand. He could snap his finger and make the fire start. Sometimes, he would hit it against his leg to start it. We loved those tricks and he had a hundred of them, but he would never let us try. He would say, "A lighter is not a toy" and put it back in his pocket. I never wanted to play with anything more than that lighter.

Earlier that day, Uncle Jerry set the Zippo in the window instead of back in his pocket. I didn't notice, but Tony did. He snatched it and showed it to me later. We didn't want to get caught with it, so we went to the old pig barn. Grandpa hadn't kept pigs for years, but he stored a few things in there. We crouched down behind the hay bales to try some of Jerry's tricks. When I dropped the lighter, it all happened very fast.

The hay on the floor caught immediately. Tony and I looked at each other in horror and ran out of the pig barn. My cousins Samantha and Emily saw the smoke and ran inside to tell the adults. We knew we were in trouble and shimmied up the tree on the other side of the house. When Jerry found his lighter in the ashes, they all knew what had happened. Tony and me cowering in the tree made us the prime suspects.

Our parents came to the tree and angrily demanded we come down. We started down despite knowing we were doomed. As soon as Tony swung his legs down, his dad grabbed him and spanked him all the way to the car. He threw him in the back seat and the family sped off. I could hear his mother screaming at him as they drove off.

I stopped my descent and retreated back to my original branch.

My dad narrowed his eyes and glared at me, "Get your butt down here now."

I knew what awaited me as soon as my feet touched the ground. Maybe even before then. "No. I'm never coming down."

Uncle Jerry showed up with a stepladder and my dad started up the tree. I climbed higher. I was younger and faster. He would not be able to catch me. Jerry called up to my dad, "You're just gonna have to wait him out." That was over three hours ago.

Every member of the family came out to coax me down, but I knew what would happen if I did. I didn't even come down for dinner.

By the time the sun set, everyone had gone home except for my family. My mother had begged me to come down and cried when I refused. Dad didn't even try to bargain. He just warned me to come down and take my punishment like a man. A punishment that was growing bigger and bigger the longer I chose to drag this out.

It had gotten very dark when Grandpa came out and set his hand on my dad's shoulder. "It's getting late. Take your little ones home to bed." My dad shook his head, "Tomorrow is Monday. He has school. I can't leave him here."

Grandpa reminded him of the stalemate we were in. My father agreed, but pointed out how happy it would make me to see him drive away. Grandpa said, "Don't worry about that." He pulled out his pocket knife and ambled over to the fence row. He cut off a long switch and whipped it through the air a few times so I could hear it swish. I have felt those switches before. This was not getting better.

Dad helped Grandpa pull a picnic table under the tree for Grandpa to sit at and he got comfortable with a Louis L'Amour western and a pitcher of lemonade. My dad gathered up my mom and sisters and they pulled out of the driveway.

With dad gone, I called down, "Grandpa, can Grandma bring me some of the chicken and biscuits. I haven't eaten since lunch."

Without looking up, he replied, "You grandmother is not talking to you or even coming outside. And you and I have nothing to discuss unless we are face to face." He poured himself another glass of lemonade and got back to his book.

I looked around for a thick branch to get comfortable on. This was going to be a long night.

---

This is NOT a true story. It was my first attempt at flash fiction. This story is a response to the prompt from the lovely Red at Doesn't Speak Klingon. The prompt was TREE.

Cave Dwellers

When I was a kid, our family vacations often consisted of going camping at Rend Lake in Southern Illinois. Rend Lake is the lake that was a few miles from our house, but to make it feel like we were on a major journey, our parents would always take us to camp on the other side.

Now, we did have some fun times, but I would yearn for the times when we would go further than the next county over. And get to sleep in an actual bed. And didn't have to catch our food if we wanted to eat. And use a real shower.

I don't blame my parents. A trip to the lake was a low-cost vacation and we didn't have a lot of money. Plus, the main purpose for a vacation is to get away from the stress of work. My dad worked hard in a coal mine and just wanted to get away now and then. Planning a big trip often just causes more stress and my father was of the belief that encouraging man's careless eagerness to live indoors just exaggerated that stress.

Despite the desire to stay close to home and eat burnt potatoes dug out of a campfire, sometimes we had to venture further out because my mother's family lived on the other side of Missouri. On one of our trips to visit them, we made an unscheduled stop to visit Onondaga Cave. I don't know how our parents felt about it, but that cave blew my brothers and I away. It was awesome. From that day on, anytime we were in the St. Louis area, we would beg to go back and see the cave.

On one of these trips, as we saw the interstate sign advertising that the cave was 87 MILES AHEAD, we started our usual pleading and my mother pointed out that there other caves beside that one. Now, that may have been true, but we had not seen those other caves and as stupid children (you may have noticed this about your own children), we wanted to see the one we knew we loved.

Despite how adorable we were, my mother denied our request and forced us to go to Meramac Caverns instead. Once we stopped crying about how horrible our mother was being to us, we looked around and noticed that this cave was even better than Onondaga. It was amazing. From then on, we became cave people.

Wait. Not "cave people" like we quit school and started living naked in the caverns while eating the few bats we could knock off the ceiling and using their guano to protect our skin from the sun when we stepped outside, but "cave people" like people who really enjoy caves.

Every time we were on a road trip, we kept our eyes open for cave systems and since Missouri has over 6,000 chartered caves, there were plenty to find. Our vacations started to center around cavern systems instead of the local lake. One of our vacations even took us to Arkansas because of a large system of caverns we were eager to explore.

On one of these trips, Dad heard about a cave we could explore ourselves and we drove out in the middle of BFE to find it. We went down miles of dirt roads and eventually parked in a field and started walking. It was a long walk, but we eventually found the mouth of the cave and ventured in. I was in junior high and my brothers are 3 and 5 years younger than me. This means that we are significantly younger and more nimble than our parents and were able to move through the cave more quickly and easily.  As the ceiling of the cave got lower and lower, my brothers and I pulled further ahead.

Before long, it required crawling on our hands and knees to progress further. Our parents checked our lights and told us we could go a few yards up to see if it opened up on the other side. If it did, they would follow us through. We edged forward as the ceiling lowered and lowered and soon had to pull ourselves along on our bellies. We yelled back that we were fine every time we heard our parents voices calling for us and continued forward.

As the ceiling started scraping our backs when we moved forward, we decided to move over into the small stream that was flowing beside us. The water was freezing, but the erosion of flowing water gave a few more inches of space to work with. Unfortunately, the ceiling was still getting lower as we progressed. We eventually had to flip over onto our backs and just keep our faces above the water as we pulled ourselves through. Imagine lying on your back in about a foot of water unable raise your head out of the water because there is a slab of stone about two inches above the surface. This is what we were pulling ourselves through. Of course, now that our ears were underwater, we could no longer hear the cries of our parents screaming for us to answer them.

We slowly pushed forward with no regard as to how we would back out of this if the ceiling got so low we couldn't breathe or what our plan would be if the water started to rise. Remember my earlier statement about children being stupid? We inched along and began to notice that we had a little more space than before. We were soon able to flip back over to our stomachs and move much faster. And then, we found the opening. It opened up into a HUGE room. Stalactites, stalagmites and limestone columns were everywhere. It was beautiful.

As much as we wanted to see everything, we could see that there were several paths out of that room and did not want to get lost, so we needed to head back to let our parents know that there was a room back here and they could come on through. We went back into the hole we just came out of.

Using the same method of lying on our backs to breathe, we inched our way back to our parents and surprisingly found them much sooner than we expected. When they were no longer able to hear us, they had done their best to follow us and prayed we didn't all get lost in there forever. They stopped in one of the little rooms we had found not knowing where we had gone after that. They didn't realize there was a path deeper in if you were willing to submerge yourself in water and pull yourself through on your back. Who was being stupid now?

I think that was the first time I ever got grounded on a subterranean level.

"O" is for Oldest Child

I am the oldest of three boys. A fact that my father reminded me of many times as a child. Today, I completely understand why he would tell me that, but back then, I hated hearing it.

When I was seven and Kyle was four, we were caught jumping on the bed. Kyle was yelled at and told to leave the room. I was spanked.

I remember being mad all night because it was so unfair. It wasn't so bad that I got spanked. That happened all time. It was that Kyle did not get spanked and the only explanation I was given was that I was the oldest and had to set an example for my brothers.

At the time, I didn't consider that dad had already told me three times to stop jumping on the bed and Kyle had just then come in to join me. A seven year old thinks in simpler terms. So, to even out the punishment that I didn't understand, I found Kyle and punched him in the face to share the pain.

I got spanked again.

---

Happily participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge. For the entire month of April, 1,743 bloggers are working their way through the alphabet. One letter every day but Sundays for a total of 26 days.

Click here to visit the website and get more information to see if you might want to join in next year. It's a lot of fun, introduces you to hundreds of new blogs and gives your writing some fantastic exposure.

Stuntman Training #4 - Winter Games

It has steadily been getting cooler over the last few weeks, but this week it took that dip that I just hate to see. The temperature got down below freezing letting me know that winter is almost upon us. I don't say that with any type of anticipation. I have explained many times how much I despise the cold weather, snow, and ice. Click here for a post I wrote two years ago to get a feel for how much I hate it. I get a little depressed every time I step outside and get hit with that cold air. I hate it.

Despite how much I despise winter today, I can remember a time when I didn't mind as much. I don't believe I have ever been a fan of winter, but I was capable of going out and enjoying it from time to time.

We had a big snow one year when I was in high school and classes were cancelled for days due to the bad road conditions. My uncle Kevin drove a four wheel drive and asked if we wanted to go out and enjoy the winter conditions. My brothers and I bundled up and piled in the back of his truck.

The roads were in such bad conditions he never got above 35 MPH. As we were watching the scenery go by, we were amazed at the size of the snow drifts burying the mailboxes and filling the ditches. In several places, if it hadn't been for the tracks of the people that had driven through before us, there would be no way of knowing where the road was. Sometimes the drifts were even over the fence posts extending from the surrounding fields right onto the road.

My brother Kyle, noticing that the road was covered with hard packed snow due to the cars that had previously driven on it, decided to try some body skiing. Once we were sure Kevin wasn't looking, Kyle crawled over the tailgate and stepped out onto the slick road. Trying to counterbalance his weight, he slowly got both feet onto the road as the truck continued to move. On his first attempt, he was standing on the road while holding on to the bumper. He lost his balance every now and then, but as long as he held on to the bumper, he was able to soon regain his footing.

We were so busy watching Kyle that we forgot to keep our eye on Kevin. He had seen what we were doing, but figured since Kyle was already out of the back of the truck, the most dangerous part was already past and just kept driving. However, we quickly became aware that he knew what was going on when he yelled back, "DRY PATCH!"

We were approaching an intersection and the extra traffic on that portion of pavement had worn the snow away causing a 10 foot section of bare asphalt.  The snow and ice on the roads made it impossible for Kevin to stop the truck before getting to it. Since Kevin had been watching us in the back, he hadn't seen it on time. Kyle couldn't hear the warning due to the sound of his boots gliding on the ice and the sound of the truck. He had no time to react. The warning wasn't soon enough.

His feet hit the patch and abruptly stopped sliding. They took traction on the pavement and whipped his legs out from underneath him. The sudden jolt shot his body up into the air. However, due to the conditions and difficulty he had staying on his feet even before the dry patch, Kyle had a firm grip on the bumper and he held tight.

He landed on his knees and immediately fell, but never released his grip. He was being drug behind the truck. Kevin could not see directly behind the truck and did not know what was happening, but hadn't seen Kyle careen off into a ditch, so he knew he was still back there and kept driving. Plus, we weren't flagging him to stop.

Picture this, but with snow...and no rope.

Kyle discovered that it was just as much fun to drag behind the truck as it was to try to stay upright. Plus, now that he had injured his knee, standing was no longer an option. Trevor, not wanting to miss out on the fun, soon crawled out the back and joined Kyle on the bumper. Now when the occasional dry patch came, they just held tight and rode it out. The extra padding was all that was needed to protect their skin from being peeled off by the road.

We soon approached an area that had wide deep ditches, but they couldn't be seen due to the heavy drifting. There was no more room behind the truck on the bumper, but I wanted to have my fun too. I stood up in the bed of the truck, moved to the side, steadied one foot on the rail and launched myself out.

I tucked into a somersault and landed on my back in the middle of a large drift. The snow provided the padding I had expected. However, I had not anticipated how deep it would be in the snow and the difficulty I would face in getting out. It took me a couple of minutes to even get my feet under me and another couple of minutes to fight my way back to the top and back to the road.

The truck was stopped a few hundred feet further up the road. Kevin felt the shake of me jumping out, but hadn't seen it. When he looked back, he found an empty bed. Not knowing where I had gone and also not being aware that Trevor had joined Kyle out the back, he didn't know what had happened. He stopped in investigate, but no one had seen me jump.

I caught up to them and Kevin was not happy. He warned that the funny business had to stop because our mother would kill him if she found out he was letting us do this stuff. We agreed to be good and got back in the back of the truck.

As we got going down the road, I was telling Kyle and Trevor about what I had done. It was so fun flying through the air and not having to worry about the difficult landing part. They wanted to try it, but knew Kevin wouldn't go for it. We started watching for clear spots and when we saw one coming up that looked good enough, we all jumped out at the same time.

 After another warning from Kevin, we were back on the road again. Kevin had agreed to let us hang on to the back bumper as long as we didn't jump out any more. We agreed, but soon grew bored with this. Kyle flipped onto his back and pulled himself under the moving truck, Indiana Jones style. I hung on to the back bumper to relay messages to Kyle about dry patches from Trevor who was sitting in the bed watching the road ahead for us.

Kyle pulled himself all the way to the front of the truck and grabbed hold of the front bumper. He held there long enough for me to work my way back into the bed of the truck so I could watch the show that was about to happen.

Once seated in the back, Trevor and I watched Kevin as he continued to drive, thinking Kyle was being pulled behind us. After a couple of minutes, Kyle's head popped up over the front of the truck. Kevin jumped and dropped his coffee. Kyle dropped back down and was at the back of the truck again before Kevin could come to a stop.*

*Going to the back is much easier than pulling yourself forward.

Kevin made us get in the cab with him since we couldn't be trusted anymore. We drove to the nearest country bar and had hot chocolate while Kevin had a few stiffer drinks to calm his nerves.

Between each drink, he repeated the phrase that he had uttered hundreds of times in the past, "Please, don't tell your mother."

---

For other stories of times we used less than discerning judgement about basic safety, check out the following posts.
Don't Try This at Home
This Is Why My Body Is Falling Apart Today
Stuntman Training #1
Stuntman Training #2 - Playing with Fire
Stuntman Training #3 - Creative Uses for Living Room Furniture

Silence Speaks Volumes

It has hit that time of the year when the temperature in the evening is perfect. It is beautiful outside. There's a gentle breeze and for some reason, I actually feel like stepping outside of my house. Last night was one of those nights.

I noticed it when I got home and just felt drawn to go out and enjoy it. I ran into the house, changed my clothes and grabbed a good book. I sat in my front yard, planning to enjoy the weather and get lost in a story.

About the time I got settled, one of the neighbor kids yelled a greeting my way. I gave a quick acknowledging wave, but carefully avoided making eye contact or answering back for fear of engaging them in a conversation. To my surprise, they left me alone. The girl had a friend over and they were busy playing with Barbies while lying on the roof of another neighbor's car. The boy was playing in his sandbox.

"Awesome!", I thought. "They're distracted."

Excited at the idea that I might actually get to enjoy this weather and my book, I settled in. I had read about a page, when the girls had a disagreement which required screaming for some reason.

Girl A: That is not true. You're so stupid!
Girl B: Nu-uh! My gramma told me. Cats have 12 lives! That why they live so long.
Girl A: My cat got hit by a car last week and it was just dead!
Girl B: Well, he must have used up the other lives before then.
Girl A: Not HE!!! She was a girl!
Girl B: She must have been a stupid girl for playing in the road!

I almost corrected their mistake about cats and explained that all cats were stupid, but decided against it. They would have just brought the conversation to me and started complaining about each other and wanting me to fix it. I was just about to give up and retreat back to the house when one of them picked up a brick and chased the other down the street to hit her with it. Finally, some peace.

A few minutes later, the boy started wailing from the sandbox. As he cried, he picked up the toy dump truck and threw it against the swing set. Then, he picked it up and did it again. I surrendered my plan and withdrew back to the serenity of my house.

Luckily, I do not have small children any longer, so my house is fairly quiet. However, it hadn't always been that way. I remember once snapping at Christian because his laughing was beginning to grate on my nerves. Unfortunately, he was also old enough to talk.

"Excuse me, Dad. Is my being happy irritating you?" Imagine this being said with the dripping sarcasm of a snotty punk.

"I don't give a crap if you're happy, just do it silently. The same goes for when you sad, angry or bleeding."

Before I get angry comments from parents who "love" their kids and think that I should be ashamed, please note that the above dialogue was a joke. He didn't really have to be silent if he was bleeding. In fact, if he got blood on the carpet or the furniture and didn't say something, he lost his "time-outside-of-the-cellar" privileges.

Sometimes a parent just wants quiet. This is part of the reason why young kids can get into such mischief. When people hear stories of crazy things kids have done, they often ask, "Where were the parents?" The honest truth of the matter is, they were usually right in the next room, but since the kids weren't making any noise, they were just enjoying the temporary bliss. This happened once when I was very young.

My brothers and I were at home alone with our father one evening. I was seven years old. Kyle was four and Trevor was two. After Dad had threatened pleaded with us a few dozen times to quietly play without fighting, we found our way to the basement. It was far enough away, that we didn't have to be as careful about our noise.

After a considerable amount of time, we started finding new things to do and soon discovered how much room there was inside the dryer. One of us would crawl in and lean to one side to get it to turn. We fought over whose turn it was and kept pushing each other out. At one point, we got Trevor in there and we turned the barrel with our hands. We had a great time.

I knew this glorious machine was capable of turning itself, but every time I pushed the button that I had seen my mom pushed to make it work, nothing happened. At the time, I didn't know about the different settings and dials. Plus, the door would have to be shut for it to activate.

Once Kyle and I got bored with not being able to turn the dryer on so Trevor could go for a ride, we decided to just shut him in. Kyle held the door shut and I found a board to prop between one of the basement support beams and the handle of the dryer door. I have no idea why we did this, but I distinctly remember doing it.

Once we were certain he would not be able to get out, Kyle and I headed back up the stairs only to be met by our father at the top.

"Where's your brother?"

(shrugs) "I dunno."

Trevor's shrieks for help drowned out our pleas of false ignorance and he was soon rescued by Dad. That was the end of our night of fun.

The next morning, as Dad finished recalling the events of the previous evening to our mother over the breakfast table, she only had one comment as she glared at us.

"I hoped you spanked their butts."

"Yup. All three of them."

"What?!? You spanked the baby too? Why?"

"For being dumb enough to crawl in there."

With Friends Like These...

Image stolen from the Dude Write site.
I don't know where they stole it from.

The dudes over at Dude Write have a slasher theme happening this week (since it is the 13th week) and it immediately reminded me of this story. However, I feel that I have to offer a disclaimer and a warning with this post. First, the disclaimer: I was not present for the following events. It is a story that my brother Trevor has told many times. I have heard it so many times, I am sure I can piece it together. Next, the warning: This post might get a bit graphic and since I haven't searched for the images to use with it yet, I don't know how bloody it might get. After the post about playing chicken, reader Marianne requested a heads up before subjecting viewers to such violent images. Even though this post is being written to be linked to the tough guys at Dude Write, there will be women reading as well, so I want to be polite. Be forewarned.

---

Guys have certain rituals that may not be understood by the fairer species. Everyone has seen a guy punch a friend, casual acquaintance or even a stranger in the arm. The female equivalent would be to hug or jump up and down while screaming. This is just part of the bonding process that allows men to show affection towards each other without losing any appearance of masculinity.

In some contexts, this practice evolves into other forms. Back in the days when I frequented bars, it was not uncommon for a male to talk to another male while discreetly holding the flame of a lighter to the butt of the man he was talking to. Within a few seconds, the heat would raise the temperature of the denim to a degree that caused the victim to jump. Then, rubbing his seared rear, he would laugh with his friends as he joked that he had been gotten.

Not all men use the lighter to the butt prank, but they are practitioners of some similar practice that is common among their group of friends. This story is about one of these practices that had evolved into something ridiculously stupid a bit less subtle.

Several years ago, the bar that my brother hung out in was filled with men who had developed the practice of poking each other in the back of the knees. The purpose was quite simple. It was supposed to startle the victim and make him jump so everyone could laugh at him. Ladies, please don't judge. Most men are pretty easily entertained. Drunk men even more so.

The practice was fairly simple. Approach a man standing and talking with other men. Place object to poke him with directly behind one of his knees and then wait for him to step back. When he hits the object, the unexpected sensation causes him to jump and laughter ensues.

It didn't take long for the practitioners of this prank to discover that not just any object would deliver the intended result. For instance, a finger would simply cause the victim to turn around and ask, "What are you doing?" It might even get you punched. Using a pool cue wouldn't get you much more than a smirk. However, something sharp generally got the desired effect. A well-secured toothpick could supply hours of entertainment.

Eventually, someone ingeniously used his pocketknife to get the same result. Since most of these guys always had one on them, it quickly became the tool of choice for this favorite prank. That was how the practice of mixing alcohol and sharp objects came to be commonplace at this particular tavern.

One evening, John whips out his knife to steady it behind the knee of Brad to start the festivities. As he approaches the intended area, Brad jumps back in the midst of the story he is telling. The unexpected action causes the freshly sharpened blade to sink over two inches into Brad's flesh immediately severing an artery.

The blood is spraying out of the new wound and the people standing around are stunned silent as Brad is trying to figure out what just happened. John snaps out of his stupor and grabs some napkins. He and Trevor begin trying to stop the bleeding.

The two of them usher Brad into the bathroom to patch him up because everyone knows that the restroom is the most sterile place in a bar. Actually, they needed some privacy since they needed to remove Brad's pants to better access the wound.

Once in the privacy of the restroom and Brad's pants were removed, there was nothing to stop the trajectory of the still-spraying blood. Trevor and John had blood on their faces, shirts and all over their arms and hands. It was flowing freely down Brad's legs and they quickly realized they would not be able to fix this.

When you stab your friends, you should be better prepared.

As Brad is attempting to replace his pants, John and Trevor are using entire rolls of paper towels to clean the excess blood off the floor. The mess is everywhere and there are dozens of blood-soaked rags littering the floor. John slips in the blood, knocking Trevor and Brad both to the floor covering them in even more sticky mess.

They hear a scream and look up to discover a horrified man clawing to get back out of the bathroom. He had walked in to find what appeared to be three blood covered men (one with his pants around his ankles) fighting on the floor of the bathroom. He thought he was witnessing a murder.

As they help Brad out of the bathroom, John admits that Brad really needs to get to the hospital and tells Trevor to take him. Trevor exclaims, "I'm not taking him to the hospital. YOU stabbed him! You take him."

John was really concerned about getting in legal trouble for stabbing his friend in a bar, so they concocted a story about Brad cutting himself on some sheet metal. Due to loss of blood, Brad was losing consciousness, so they threw water in his face so he could wake up long enough to learn the story. Trevor still insisted that John take Brad himself, but did allow John to use his truck since it was older.

John drove off with his pale friend and Trevor returned to the bar for a much-needed drink. However, the bartender handed him a garden hose and sponge while silently pointing toward the bathroom.

(You Gotta) Fight For Your Right (To Party)

In my last post (read about it here), I told a few stories from my teenage years concerning events that happened when my parents were not at home. In that post, I briefly mentioned a party that I would cover in my next post. This is that post.

This was not the first time we had been left home alone. We were plenty old enough to not need constant supervision. Although, that may be debatable after reading this post and the last one. They would occasionally have an overnight somewhere, but this time they would be gone for several days. I don't remember where they were going or why we weren't going with them.

They left in the middle of the week and our small group of friends were at the house almost every night. By small group, I do mean a small group. It was other five guys that we spent most of our waking hours with anyway. Most of the nights that week were spent hanging out in the yard, drinking beer and just goofing off. There were a few mishaps, but that is to be expected with eight unsupervised teenagers.

When the weekend finally came, there was a party about a half mile from our house in an open field. For you folks raised in the city, this is pretty commonplace for country youth wanting to have a party.

There is a reason for the song.
Thank you, Toby Keith.

1. Locate a large open area with little to no traffic and away from any roads.
2. Spread news about location.
3. Buy a keg
4. Buy several hundred SOLO cups (very important)
5. Hire two big guys to stand by keg and charge $5 to drink for the night
6. Make a buttload of money

Since it was so close to our house and we knew that there was a reasonable chance of consuming massive amounts of alcohol, we decided to walk. Normally, when parties were held at this location, walking would be out of the question, because stumbling into the yard when your parents are home rarely ends well. For my brother Trevor, drinking and returning home at all was usually a bad idea. On one occasion, his friends pulled into the driveway, dumped him in the front yard and sped off before their car could be identified. They did their job as friends to get him home safely, but weren't about to personally look my parents in the eyes and hand him over.

Apparently, these kids don't understand the
significance of the red SOLO cups.

We arrived at the party to over a hundred other teens exercising their right to have their rights removed if they caught. It was a great time. Dozens of pick up trucks with their tailgates down to sit on and visit with your friends. Various cars had their doors open and stereos playing. Some cars were parked on the perimeter facing in with their headlights on to give light. It was your typical teenage redneck country party. We were having a blast and were much more carefree than usual because we didn't have to worry about driving or sobering up before heading home.

Things changed about eleven o'clock when it started raining. Since we were out in an open field, there was no shelter. Once everyone realized it wasn't going to let up, that was the end of the party. As everyone was driving out along the lone tractor lane that accessed the field, several cars stopped to offer us rides. A few, realizing the irony of us walking intoxicated back to our house, learned of our parents being out of town. Word spread through the crowd pretty quickly. After accepting one of the offered rides, I was dropped off at my house to discover that about 30 people were already there. Luckily, one of those people was the owner of the keg, so the party continued.

As much fun as we were having, we were very much aware of the fact that this was happening in my parents' home and we did our best to protect it, short of asking everyone to leave.

• I recognized the queasy look on a girl's face in time to grab a large mixing bowl and catch the noxious fluids flowing from her stomach, thus saving the carpet.
• We made people pay attention to where they put their drinks to prevent them from spilling. Plus, we didn't need any rogue evidence being left behind to be discovered later.
• A girl decided she needed a bath and passed out in the tub in our only bathroom. Trying to be a gentleman, I declined to go in when she wouldn't answer (most bathers are naked), but was worried she would drown. I finally got one of her friends to check on her. She was out cold and I had to go in anyway to help get her now slippery body out of the tub.
• We kept the vacuum handy to take care of spilled ashtrays and various other messes.

It was a very stressful evening, but we felt we had a handle on it. The sun was just started to peek over the horizon about the time the revelry was coming to an end. People were passed out in various states of undress all over the living room and kitchen. I collapsed in a chair and quickly fell asleep.

A few hours later, I was snapped awake by a knocking on the door. The bright sun stung my eyes and I carefully stepped over the bodies still littering the floor. I tripped over a pair of pants and was wondering what they were doing there. I looked around the room and noticed that a few people had lost a portion of their clothing over the course of the night, including one girl that was clothed in only a sock. There were several other people in their underwear and a few girls that were topless. Whether these people had disrobed voluntarily or been pranked by someone in their drunken stupors was beyond me, but the person at the door knocked again, so I continued my journey across the living room.

I opened the door to two smiling faces who asked if they could have a moment of my time to tell me about Jesus. They were the Jehovah's Witnesses that had been canvasing our area for the last couple of weeks.

Under normal circumstances, I would have turned them away. However, I was suddenly acutely aware of the condition of the room I was standing in and despite my alcohol-induced haze and wanging headache, I love to watch people squirm when uncomfortable, so I invited them in.

I stepped back so they could come inside and waited as their eyes adjusted to the light. The toothy smiles vanished as they scanned the room. One of them started to turn back toward the door and quickly decided against it. He slowly began to smile again while the other one still stood with his mouth hanging open.

The smiling one asked, "Would there be a better time to come back?"

I waved my hand and replied, "No. I'm not doing anything right now. You caught me on a good day. Let's go to the kitchen. Would you like some coffee? Oh, watch your step."

The three of us started working our way through the room stepping over half naked teens. I bent down to pick up a bra, "Sorry. The house is a bit of a mess."

As I held up the bra, the one who still wasn't smiling, but had started to sweat profusely, took a quick step back onto the leg of the naked girl. She shouted an obscenity and punched his foot. "Watch where you're going, idiot!"

He immediately ran out of the house leaving the smiling one behind. As soon he got outside, I could hear him crying.

"Is something wrong with him?" I asked in my best confused, innocent voice.

He grinned bigger than ever and said, "He must have forgotten something in the car." He handed me a copy of the Watchtower and said he would go check on him. He slowly turned and chose his steps very carefully over the sleeping drunks. Once outside, he helped his sobbing partner into the car and they sped off.

I carefully found my way back to the chair and fell asleep smiling, knowing the party was a success.

When The Cat's Away

For the last year, I have spent a substantial amount of time outside of my house. I seems that I have become very busy. A variety of things call me to leave the comfort of my castle. I have a wide array of ways I make money, and most require me to go somewhere else. I am involved with church activities. I leave to go counsel people. I spend as much time as possible with Red. I assume most people have life events that keep them busy as well, but it seems that I am spending more and more time away from the house.

I am not complaining about my schedule and would not even give this a second thought if it weren't for the fact that I have a teenage daughter. Kirsten has a rich social life and is out of the house doing exciting things almost daily, despite her belief (common to many teenagers) that she has no life or friends. However, even with her busy schedule, she does occasionally find herself at home. Since I am always running as well, she sometimes finds herself at home when I am not there.

Myself, Kyle & Trevor

Kirsten is sixteen, so she is old enough that she does not need me there to tend to her every need. However, I remember being a teenager and having the house to myself. Although, in my situation, it wasn't just me. I had two brothers who were just as willing as me to slightly bend the rules when our parents weren't around.

We lived in a big two-story farmhouse and the second floor was all ours. It had our bedrooms and an extra room which we used for our TV, video games and whatever else we wanted to do. A steadfast rule, usually enforced by our mother, was the prohibition of girls from ever going upstairs.

As a parent, I understand the reasoning behind this rule, but as a teenager, I thought it was unreasonable when my friends came over that we couldn't hang out in the game room upstairs if any of our guests were testicle deficient. This was one example of a rule that was not necessarily followed according to my parents' wishes when they were not in the house. We even allowed girls past the game room if they were willing  begged to see the other rooms. 

Sometime during my teenage years, we got our first satellite dish. It was one of those huge 12 foot monsters that made your house look like an outer space communication center. It had to be rotated to point at the specific satellite you wanted to pull a signal from. This was before the days of scrambled channels and subscription fees. If you owned a dish, you had access to every cable channel.

Obviously, there were channels we were not allowed to watch. I don't just mean HBO or late night Cinemax, but the more adult audience specific channels, like Playboy or Spice. These channels only came on late in the evening, but on the rare occasions that Mom and Dad had gone out and left us at home, you could be certain that the dish would be pointed to receive those channels for at least a portion of the night.

 In addition to these and many other violations of the rules, the worst infraction(s) happened one year when my parents left for vacation and left us at home. I don't remember why we didn't go with them. We always had in the past, but this one was just for them. As an adult, I now understand this decision as well.

As Mom and Dad went through the chores that were to be done each day (feed animals, wash dishes, etc.) and warned us to behave ourselves, we honestly didn't have any devious plans to disobey them. After one of the many times that my mother threatened reminded us, once again, that we had the house to ourselves and we were good boys who knew right from wrong, my father, in his infinite wisdom said, "Denise, once we leave, they're going to do whatever they're going to do." My father was much smarter than I gave him credit for at the time.

Within a few hours after they had left, we began to realize the freedom that had been handed to us. The first incident of that freedom happened when I had done something to my brother Kyle, causing him to chase me through the house. As I jumped into the next room, I closed the door behind me to slow his chase, but he came through the door anyway without taking the time to open it. The door was ripped off its hinges and our chase (for the moment) stopped. Luckily, Kyle is pretty handy and was able to repair the damage and we rehung the door.

We hadn't planned on having a party, but as our friends learned that our house was adult free, it happened. I don't want to try to sound like a victim. We welcomed the idea, even if we hadn't thought of it. I will give the details of this party in my next post. Too much happened to try to include it all here.

Now that's
a knife!

Two days before the party, we were playing a game in the front yard. Both of my brothers, Kyle and Trevor were standing with a dozen other teens, beers in hand, playing a game of chicken.

Chicken is a very simple game. Two people stand facing each other about three feet apart. One person throws a bowie knife at the feet of the other, trying to get as close as possible without actually making contact. Extra respect is given to the person who can penetrate the side of the shoe and still not contact the foot. A participant immediately loses if he actually hits the other person or moves his foot when the other person throws. This is called being a 'chicken' and removes you from the game for someone else to take your place.

After going several rounds and the knife getting closer and closer to their feet, they began to raise the stakes, both to scare the other person and to impress the people watching. Kyle started throwing the knife with an underhand toss rather than throwing it straight down between Trevor's feet. This was especially difficult since the blade has to stick in order to get the scoring point, but he was doing it successfully each time.

Trevor did not appreciate this technique since Kyle had to toss the knife up causing it to come close to Trevor's body and sometimes even his face before it would drop and sink into the dirt. However, that was part of the strategy designed to get the other person to move. After Trevor demanded he change his method several times, Kyle performed a beautifully executed low toss, which caused the blade to come up just under Trevor's groin. Trevor did not move.

Trevor bent down to pull the knife out of the ground. When he stood up, he had a smirk on his face and we all saw the look in his eye. We all knew what was about to happen.

Kyle stared hard at Trevor and through his teeth whispered, "You son of a bitch."

Trevor smiled as he raised his arm. He quickly let it drop and sank the blade in the center of Kyle's foot.

Kyle let out a howl, but stood his ground. He then looked at the crowd and yelled, "Did I move? I stayed still, right?"

Several members of the awestruck crowd agreed that he had not moved. He then pulled out the blade, handed it to Trevor and said, "You lose."

He ran into the house to patch up his new injury and we could already hear the blood sloshing in his boots as he moved. After a few minutes, I went in to check on him and was appalled to discover the trail of blood across the carpet and spray of blood on the bathroom wall from when he had swung his leg up into the sink.

I yelled, "Look at this mess!"

Kyle retorted, "Look at my foot!"

I looked at the bloody mess of the sink and the crimson settling into the carpet. "Uh, yeah. That looks awful...look at this mess!"

While Kyle tended to his foot, Trevor and I started cleaning up the blood before it dried hoping that would keep it from staining the carpet.

Now that I am a parent, every time I come home after my daughter has been home without me, I check the 'recently viewed' list on Netflix, examine the condition of the door jambs and demand to see her feet. I have explained that these inspections are for her own protection and necessary precautions for me to perform as a responsible parent, but she doesn't seem to understand. I don't tell her why I am checking because I don't want to give her any ideas.

So far, all inspections have been to my satisfaction proving that my daughter has never tried anything. Hopefully, she never will.

Stuntman Training #3 - Creative Uses for Living Room Furniture

I mentioned briefly in previous posts that I used to work with a Halloween Haunted Hayride. So many great (or terrible, depends on how you look at it) things happened during these hayrides that I will never run out of posts to write concerning them. Before I tell this story, let me explain how this hayride works.

Let me 'splain.
No, there is too much.
Let me sum up.

Every year, the local Jaycees host a Haunted Hayride for the public. It is a huge money maker for the yearly Jaycees budget. They pull hay wagons through the woods and actors are set up in various scenes throughout the trail to scare the people who paid money to have their dates jump into their arms or see their children cry. It is great fun. However, the real fun was had by the volunteer actors out in the woods.

The Jaycees organize this event by getting local farmers to provide and drive tractors with wagons to pull people. They man a concession stand and sell tickets. They have guys working security to make sure no one wanders into the woods during this time and they have people monitoring the crowd. These tasks use up all of their manpower, so the scary scenes in the woods are provided by locals who volunteer to participate. About 150 people are in the various scenes scattered throughout the trail.

The locals volunteering to build and maintain a scene are not caring benefactors wanting to give back to the community. They are almost always local 15 to 25 year olds who see this as an opportunity to hang out in the woods dressed in crazy costumes, drink insane amounts of alcohol and act like idiots.

The volunteers are assigned their area and given access to it a week before the hayride. That time is used to build their scene, dig fire pits or do whatever needs to be done to have it completed before the following weekend. I have had a scene with my brothers or friends four different years. It was during one of these weekends that I wrote about setting my brother on fire for the amazement of the customers. However, this story does not involve me.

This was just too much fun.

My youngest brother, Trevor, had a scene with his friends on this particular year. After a weekend of debauchery, extreme drunkenness, running naked through the woods and hitting on girls in neighboring scenes, it was now Sunday and time to clean up their area.

After filling in their fire pit, collecting all the empty beer cans and loading everything into their vehicles, they were left with the old couch they had dragged out there. It had worked great for their scene, but no one wanted it now. It was old and moldy, but they couldn't leave it there. However, the vehicles were full, there was no place to put it and no one wanted to come back once they left.

Pay attention, kids!

Still being legally inebriated after the weekend events, they hatched a plan. They strapped a chain around the ends of the couch and decided to drag it out.

Illinois state law prohibits open alcohol containers inside a moving vehicle, so my brother and his friend Chet decided to ride on the couch, which would allow them to continue to drink. We will overlook the fact that they were all underage and the legality of dragging a couch down the road behind a truck. Give them a break, they had been drinking for three whole days.

Maneuvering out of the wooded area proved to be a challenge, but they eventually reached the road. Once on the road, the coach moved rather smoothly. Since the couch was positioned backwards, Trevor and Chet enjoyed the looks they were getting from passing motorists as they continued down the road unaware that the driver was experimenting with how fast the couch could go before there would be a problem.

Trevor first became aware of their high rate of speed when one of the legs came loose as the truck approached 30 mph. Once the leg came off, sparks started flying from the corner. Trevor and Chet turned around to yell to the driver to slow down. He was either unable to hear them or refused to respond, but he continued to accelerate.  They began to yell louder when they saw the railroad tracks quickly approaching.

Most couches are not equipped
with seat belts

Seconds after the truck passed over the tracks, the back of the couch caught the first track. The road had been smooth up to this point, but this small gap caused the couch to flip.

Trevor and Chet were launched into the air as the tumbling couch came apart beneath them. The fold-out bed inside was exposed and Trevor landed on the springs with a shower of sparks. Chet landed on the road and skidded off into a ditch.

Trevor, knowing that he was moving too fast to escape without injury held on to the quickly disintegrating bed frame while blinded by the sparks flying everywhere. This wild ride continued until the drunken driver attempted a sharp curve causing the coach to swing wide, hit the ditch and break loose from the chain. The final resting place was a mess of wires, springs and shredded upholstery with Trevor entangled in it all.

Once the dust cleared and Trevor was removed from the mess, it was discovered that he only had minor scrapes and bruises, but he was pretty shaken up. Once they found Chet, they drank a beer to celebrate what had just been survived.

---

For other failed stuntman stories, check out the following links:
Don't Try This at Home
This Is Why My Body Is Falling Apart Today
Stuntman Training #1
Stuntman Training #2 - Playing with Fire

Grand Theft Auto - Kindergarten Style

Not actual car, but closest I could find.

My brother Kyle drove a 1974 AMC Javelin when he was a teenager. He loved that car.

One night, as he was driving home, the car broke down. He pulled over to the side of the road and discovered he would need a few tools to get it running again. Since it was well after dark, it would have to sit until morning. We lived out in the country and knew the car would be safe until then.

The next morning the trip to get the car was a little delayed because we had family come in from out of town. After visiting with them for a few hours, he enlisted me to drive him out there.

We took Kyle's second vehicle. It was a large flatbed truck used to haul water. Kyle had a water hauling business. At the time, we lived in an area that did not have water lines. Everyone in the area got their water from a well. Using a well for your water supply means that you have a limited amount of water and it is possible to run out. If someone went empty they would pay Kyle to come out and refill their well.

Our visiting family members included our 6 year old cousin, Fred. He was fascinated by the large truck, so we asked him if he wanted to go for a ride. He was thrilled to get to climb up in the cab with us. We were soon on our way.

After driving a few miles, Kyle points at his car and says, "Look at that. Someone left a car on the side of the road."

Fred had never asked us where we were going and had never seen this car before. He didn't know it belonged to Kyle. He looked up over the dashboard and commented on how cool it was. I suggested we pull over to get a better look at it.

Kyle pulled his truck up in front of the Javelin and we all get out. Kyle and I watch Fred admiring the car. As Fred is looking in one of the windows, I open the side door. "Hey, look. It's unlocked."

Fred's eyes opened wide. "You can't do that."

Kyle told him, "Relax. There's no one around."

No one for miles.

We lived in a farming community and this was one of those areas where a house could not be seen in any direction. It was all fields, but Fred stood his ground.

As Kyle climbed into the car, Fred protested again, "Get out of there. The cops will get you."

I open the hood and yell, "Hey, Kyle, I think I see the problem."

Fred yells at both of us, "I want to go back. Let's leave."

Ignoring Fred's pleas, Kyle joins me at the front of the car and says, "I think I can fix this. Hey, Fred, grab those tools under the driver's seat."

Fred: "No."

Me: "Fred, the quicker we get this car going, the faster we can get out of here. Now hurry."

Fred hangs his head and slowly walks to the truck. He retrieves the tools and comes back to stand beside us. He stood there looking at the tools in his hands, contemplating whether he should be an accomplice in this crime he did not want to commit.

Kyle: "Give me the tools and go behind the truck and watch for cars."

Fred: "What?"

Me: "We need you to keep watch in case someone comes."

Fred: "I don't want to. I'll wait in the truck."

Kyle: "Fred, at this point, if someone comes, we will all get busted. Now, help us out and go watch for cars."

Fred, moving slower than ever, shuffled over to the other side of the truck so he could get a clear view of the road. Kyle begins working under the hood. I assist with my limited mechanical abilities (which usually means turning the key when Kyle says to). We soon forgot about Fred out there keeping us safe.

After a few minutes, we hear Fred scream. I look up and see him come running around the corner of the truck yelling, "CAR! CAR! There's a car coming!"

Fred runs by us and dives into the ditch. Kyle and I quickly take our places hiding behind the car as well. Trying not to laugh, I start to say something to Fred, but he cuts me off and puts his finger to his lips, "SHHHHHH!"

Once the car got by us, Kyle and I stood up. Fred yelled, "Not yet, they could still see us. Get down!"

Once he felt it was safe, he stood up, gave us a dirty look and went back to his place behind the truck without any of us saying a word.

Kyle soon had the car started and we yelled for Fred. I hopped in the Javelin to drive it back and told Fred to get in. He said he was not getting anywhere near the car and climbed in with Kyle in the truck.

On the way back to the house, Kyle was explaining to Fred that he couldn't tell anyone about this. He had to keep his mouth shut until he repainted the car. Fred just sat there with his arms crossed and did not talk all the way back.

Back at the house, I parked the Javelin in the garage and closed the door. Kyle parked behind the house and I helped Fred out of the truck. Before going inside, we reminded him once again that he could not tell about what we had just done. He nodded his head.

We walked to the house and as soon as I opened the door, Fred bolted inside. He ran up to his mother and the little narc spilled out the whole story in one breath.

"MOM, I DIDN'T WANT TO, BUT THEY MADE ME. I GOT SCRATCHED AND WET HIDING IN A DITCH AND THE COPS ARE COMING, BUT I DIDN'T DO IT. IT WAS THEM. THEY TOLD ME NOT TO TELL AND THEN PUT IT IN THE GARAGE. I GAVE HIM A WRENCH BUT IT WASN'T MY FAULT. I DIDN'T WANT TO."

When he paused to take a breath, his mother, alarmed by the excited state of her son said, "Wait, what happened?"

Fred hung his head and cried, "We stole a car."

She looked up at us. Kyle and I looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders and went back outside.

Stuntman Training #2 - Playing with Fire

It's all in the wrist.

My Uncle Kevin knew some of the coolest fire tricks. We would be sitting there talking to him and suddenly a big ball of fire would jump out of his hand. As we shouted, "AGAIN! AGAIN! DO IT AGAIN," he would quiet us and nervously look around. "No. I got away with it once. I don't want your mom to see me showing you." He acted like he was worried we would try to imitate it ourselves.

He had every reason for that concern. You can't show a boy something as cool as that and not expect them to try to figure out how to do it. It was actually a pretty simple trick. It only required a standard lighter. We soon figured out how to do with our hands, as well as, with our mouths, on the kitchen table, in our pants pockets or under the shirt of an unsuspecting friend. It was one of the earliest things we learned about how much fun fire can be.

Being fairly stupid adventurous already, we were more than eager to add fire to the things we were willing to play with and experiment on. Since we were determined to be stuntmen when we grew up, it only made sense that we familiarized ourselves with the dynamics of fire. Some of our other stuntmen adventures can be read here and here.

Kyle loved to set his hand on fire to get attention freak people out at parties. If we used the right accelerant, the fuel would burn quickly enough that the flame could be withstood for a few seconds before having to extinguish it. He might be standing in a crowd of people and his hand would burst into flame. He would calmly look at it and say something like, "Well, that's peculiar," and then pat it out and continue with the conversation he was having as though nothing had happened.

One Halloween, we decided to use this for a larger audience. A local Jaycees chapter had a Haunted Hayride and was taking volunteers to man the various scenes. Each group built their own scene and the tractor would pull a hay wagon full of screaming teenagers and families by for them to terrorize. Plus, as teenagers, it was an excuse to sit in the woods and drink beer all night.

The scene we came up with consisted of someone being burned at the stake. The wagon was far enough from the scene, we could put the person being burned behind the fire and make it appear that they were being burned alive. Once the people on the wagon could see us, we could start our scene and toss something in the fire to make the flames shoot up. Various people in our scene took turns being the one to get 'burned alive.' The crowd loved it, but we thought we would take it up a notch the next night.

Stick men shouldn't try this.
Wood burns too fast.

We spent the next day digging a large trench in front of our entire scene and filling it with wood. When the hay wagon would pull up, we would do our quick acting and light the stake while our victim screamed. Now that we had their attention, one guy would run along the length of the trench, pouring a fuel mixture over the burning coals. This created a quick wall of fire blocking out the rest of the scene.

Once the fire jumped up, a flaming man would come running out of the fire toward the wagon and disappear into the woods. The part of the flaming man was played by my brother Trevor. He played that part dozens of times for the next two nights. However, just like many of our other ideas, this didn't always happen the way we planned.

 Before starting that night, we experimented to get the perfect concoction of flammable material for the effect we wanted. After spraying our solution on his outer clothing, when he jumped through the wall of fire, he would ignite. The flames were big, but not so hot that he needed much extra protection. His head was exposed, so the crowd could see his face, but we had one problem. The fumes, flames and smoke made it impossible for him to see once he was lit.

Our solution? We discovered that about 30 feet past the wagon path was a creek. As long as Trevor ran straight, he would eventually fall into the creek, putting out the flames. From beginning to end, he would not be on fire for more than 8-10 seconds.

When the first wagon went through, we got exactly the reaction we wanted. People were so scared some of them tried to jump out of the wagon. It was a huge success. However, we had four more hours until the end of the night with a wagon coming every 10 minutes.

As the night wore on and our alcohol consumption excitement increased, we kept making the effect bigger and bigger. Trevor screamed louder and would stop and flail his arms more before proceeding past the wagon to the creek. After a couple of hours, one of the other members of our group decided he wanted to be a second flaming person as well. We figured two flaming people would be even scarier than one, so we agreed. Since Trevor's stunt required several costume changes (you can only burn clothes so many times before they fall apart), we had the extra clothing.

We only had 10 minutes between wagons, so we had to move fast. We covered them both in solution and Trevor quickly reminded him that he would not be able to see once he ignited. "Run straight and you will be fine." He assured himself and us that he could do it.

When the next wagon came around, we started our scene. The stake was lit and the screaming started. The pit was ignited with the wall of flame and our two human torches ran toward it to jump through. At the last second, the new guy changed direction as he jumped because he was concerned he would hit the wagon when he ran out the other side. In doing so, he collided with Trevor, knocking him into the pit and directly onto the burning coals.

As drunken teenagers,
we weren't adequately prepared

Although the new guy landed on the other side, he was sprawled on the ground. Still in flames, he jumped up and started running, but in his blinded state, was not headed toward the creek. Kyle quickly assisted Trevor, who was out of the pit, but still burning, while I chased down the runner. I knocked him down and started throwing dirt on him while he rolled around. We got the fire out, but not without the loss of some skin.

Trevor, who got the worst of it, had fabric burned into his skin, lost a good portion of his hair and was already starting to blister on his forearms. For the rest of the night, he had to use long sleeves to prevent further burning. Plus, with the new bald patches, he was much more frightening.

We won the prize for scariest scene.

Stuntman Training #1

After my last post about how my brothers and I wanted to be stuntmen when we were kids, I thought I would share one of our less than spectacular moments. While it was very true that we were very daring and willing to push the limits of safety and sanity, things did not always pan out the way they looked in our heads. In our heads, the stunts were fantastic and always without flaws.

There is only one reason I never attempted this.
We didn't have one!

Many of our stunts involved the use of bicycles. We never really got into the BMX freestyling that was becoming popular at the time, but we did like to jump things. It was because of this love for big air that I got to see a back flip for the first time.

In Waltonville, where we grew up, there is a street (Knob St.) that has been closed and re-opened at least a dozen times that I can remember. The street goes down Knob Hill, which is supposedly the highest point in the county, and the street is fairly steep.

One weekend, we were out on our bikes with some friends and noticed that Knob Street had been closed off again. Being the curious types, we went around the barriers and discovered that there was a large dirt pile in the middle of the road about halfway down the hill. This pile was about four feet tall with plenty of road left on the other side for an easy landing.

The side facing the top of the hill had a perfect smooth side that was destined for jumping. Since some thoughtful road crew person had taken the time to build this wonderful toy for us, it would have been rude to not take advantage of it.

I was the first to take a run at it. The steep grade of the hill made it very easy to gain speed quickly. Lined up for a beautiful shot, I rapidly approached the jump. As I neared the top, I noticed how drastic the drop off on the other side would be. I locked up the brakes and rode smoothly over the mound. Everyone ran up to see what the issue was. I showed them my concerns.

This type of landing is much more difficult.

I was not scared of heights or crashes (I had experienced enough of them), but realized we needed a strategy. The problem was the grade of the hill. Had this mound been on flat ground it would have a different dynamic to the jump. The landing area would have been at the same elevation as the jumping point. However, on a steep grade, much more speed is gained and as the jumper is going up through the air, the ground is dropping away at an alarming rate. We were not intimidated by this type of jump. After all, we had jumped our bikes off the neighbor's roof. You just want to know what you are getting into since the landing will be rougher.

While we were scanning the road for possible hazards (holes, unusual bumps, extra gravel, dead bodies from previous attempts, etc.), my younger brother Kyle, decides to just go for it. He yells from the top of the hill for everyone to clear out of the way. Knowing that he wouldn't warn us again, we scattered to the edges of the road.

These are not exactly built for leaving the ground.

As he comes flying down the hill, I mentally question why he didn't trade bikes with someone. Kyle was on a ten-speed. However, he did something I had never seen before and still have not seen done on a ten-speed.

Using my best guess, he approached the ramp at approximately the speed of sound and shot off into the sky with the gap between him and the ground growing at an exponential rate.

Kyle was very aware that the bike he was using was not ideal for jumping, so as he approached the top he pulled up hard on the handlebars to ensure he didn't land on his front wheel. It was immediately evident that he had overcompensated.

As he sailed past me, I could tell he was flipping backwards. Kyle, never wanting to be accused of not seeing something through to the end refused to leave the bike and stayed in the seat. It was an amazing thing to see as the bike and rider continued to spin until he was right side up again. It would have been more amazing had he landed at that point, but he didn't. He kept rotating until the tires were skyward again. That was when he met the pavement.

At his current velocity, he did not just land. He skidded. Much like a rock skipping across water, but without the skipping part. Toppling and rolling over his bike, taking hits from the pedals and going through the spokes, he came to a bloody, grinding stop. He made a generous skin contribution to the road commissioner that day. He wouldn't donate that much skin at one time again until he hits a dog 15 years later while riding his motorcycle.

We packed his wounds with dirt to stop the bleeding, pulled out the most mangled spokes and attempted to straighten the front wheel (unsuccessfully). We then drug him to the ditch to clear the road so we could try to do better than him. Because Kyle's left side bike was out of commission, he watched from the sidelines as we each took our turns on the now-acclaimed ramp of potential death. Since Kyle has demonstrated what not to do so successfully, our attempts were much more productive.

Once we all had our share of excitement, we decided to venture home. It then occurred to us that the sun was quickly setting, we were about 5 miles from home, short one bike and Kyle could barely move. It was going to be a looooong trek home.