I’ve been thinking a lot lately about all the fun times my house has seen over the years. I’d like to share one in particular.
My part time neighbor here growing up was Bob Berglewicz. Some of you reading this may know him. His grandparents lived across the street from me. He, like me, spent most weekends and summers on Barton Street.
We did a lot of crazy things to pass the time, most of it involved causing trouble, but that’s another story…
This story takes place on a warm Summer day. Bob and I were taking turns riding my scooter down Frederick Street. Those of you who have been to my house know Frederick Street is the steep hill that intersects Barton Street. My house sits square at the intersection of Barton and Frederick.
We were a bunch of wimps so we would’t stand on the scooter as it raced down the hill. Instead we’d sit on it. I swear once that thing got going it seemed as though you were really flying. As we got to the bottom of the hill we’d have to stick our feet to the road to slow down or else we’d end up crashing into a house or something.
It was Bob’s turn to go down. As he aimed the scooter from the top of the hill I noticed a yellow whiffle ball bat in the bushes. I casually picked it up and then watched as little Bob Berglewicz came racing down the hill. As was usually the case when you sped down Frederick Street, his face was a mixture of both excitement and terror.
As soon as Bob passed me I wound up and swung that plastic yellow bat as hard as I could. It connected square on his back – right between his shoulder blades. He immediately let go of the handles on the scooter, instinctively reaching for the pain I had inflicted on his back. He let out a howl that pierced my ear drums and echoed through out the neighborhood.
Needless to say the scooter was now driving Bob. He was an unwilling passenger to God knows where. As most kids do when they know they had done something bad, I ran!
I darted into my house.
I heard a noise coming from my Grandfather’s bedroom. It was laughter. Grampy had a loud rumbling laugh that came from deep within his belly. I peaked into his room and saw him, beer in hand, looking out the window. His shoulders shook as he laughed at something amusing outside.
I walked to another part of the house and peered out the window to see what the old man found so funny. What a sight to behold.
There, upside down in a pricker bush was Bob. His shoulders were the only thing touching the ground. His backside and legs were in the air, twisted inside the bush. The scooter was also upside down next to him. He was both crying and calling for help.
Obviously my grandfather had seen the whole thing and found it utterly hilarious, which was not surprising to me. He didn’t care too much for Bob. He thought he was a bad influence on me. Which, when you think about it, is the funniest part of this whole story.
