Vol. XIV
Chapter VII
pp. 34-41
Todd was a good buddy of mine back in grade school. He was the token cool friend on the block that had an Atari 2600 with my favorite game of all time, PITFALL. He also had the Twisted Sister "Stay Hungry" tape and every Weird Al cassette released up to that time which made him even more incredibly awesome (as if the Atari weren't enough.)
I remember riding the bus home from school with Todd on several occasions to sit and play Atari for hours. His dad had a barbershop quartet-style moustache and preposterous amounts of Playboys lying around in his cluttered basement office. The door to his office was always closed, but we snuck in more often than not to have us a looksie. Most of the pics had black bars over the eyes and "good parts" of the girls which I always found a bit peculiar. Is this how Playboy was made? If so, what was the point? Or did he black bar everything on his own? Did his wife do it? Was he one of those guys that read it for the articles, or did he have some sort of black bar fetish?
Todd was my first trouble making partner in crime during those early years. We did a lot of stupid shit together that probably could have killed us, so needless to say it was always the most fun hanging out alone with him. We did all of the fun stuff that kids weren't supposed to do; experimenting with fire became our forte (this in hindsight was my boot camp for the be-all-end-all almost burn down the entire nature preserve incident a few years later with my buddy Troy.)
We somehow learned that WD40 made fire get really big (don't try this at home, kids.) We'd make blow torches by holding a lighter in a steady stream of WD40. We never really took into consideration the fact that if the flame ever entered the can via the stream coming out of the nozzle, it would toadilly explode and we'd be Stop Drop and Roll poster children with missing appendages and complexions not unlike well done pizza when you peel the cheese off of the top. We would spray WD40 on Star Wars guys, records, firecrackers, coins, capgun caps, and just about anything else we could get our meat hooks on. If there was nothing to burn, we'd spray a big puddle of it on the garage floor and light it up.
When not melting things or snooping through his dad's Playboys, we would get a tape recorder and tape ourselves cussing up a storm and saying naughty X-rated things and listen back with the tape on Chipmunk speed and laugh our asses off. I recall one day being summoned to the living room to discover that my mom had just put one of her dubbed Placido Domingo tapes in to play for my dad and Aunt Cookie and instead heard me and Todd who had taped over it speaking in blue tongue. Let me tell you, it was much less amusing when played on normal speed and heard by my owners.
As I learned, all good things eventually come to an end. Our stupidity reached its pinnacle at the beginning of the 6th Grade school year when we stumbled upon a pack of cigarettes. They were KOOLs that we nabbed from a friend's mom's carton in her Frigidaire. Naughty kids with matches + minty cigarettes = Hells yeah, fire 'em up!
We needed to think of an incredibly private, sequestered, top secret pad that no one knew about to spark up our KOOLs in, so started thinking: The vast, enormous field with the giant street drainage tunnel that we would crawl into? Nope. The ball field dugouts way the hell out behind the high school where no one could see us? Nope. Hmm.
Just then I had a moment of divine brilliance and suggested my Pappy's shed in our back yard 50 feet from our house in plain view from nearly every window. Not only that, but Pappy happened to be home that day.
Out we went. I had the KOOLs, Todd had the matches. We left a slight crack open in the shed door for ventilation (certainly an open shed door with smoke burping out of it wouldn't catch anyone's attention) and got down to business. As Todd lit up, I looked at the dry, yellow grass clippings on the floor from the lawn mower. I gazed up at the ancient green and white garden hose hanging from one of the 8,000 ancient gardening tools which were leaned up against roughly a dozen or so ancient 2x4s, scraps of particle board, and pieces of sheet rock with right angles cut out of them.
It was my turn to fire up. I fearlessly held the match to the end of my KOOL and sucked on it like a straw, storing all of the smoke in my mouth. I heard the delicate sound of the KOOL's paper and toe-backy burning. Without knowing I was supposed to inhale, I let out a nice big puff of smoke. It was similar to when I was allowed to have my first teeny sip of beer (from Grampa who let me try it probably because he knew I'd hate it and make a funny face.) I really didn't see what the big deal was and it tasted like minty ass.
Just then the door to the shed swung open and there stood my Pappy with a look on his face that I'll never forget. I think I remember seeing points forming in his forehead as if horns were about to burst out, but am not entirely sure. I don't remember much after that because I was paralyzed in cold white-knuckled terror. He didn't throw us a beatin', 'cause dad wasn't really the spanking type, although I'm sure I deserved it a lot more than I got it. Todd was sent home, his parents were called and informed, although I'd leaned that he'd immediately come clean to his 'rents when he got home before my Pops had called. Pappy sat me down at the kitchen table telling me I was going to smoke every last got-damned cigarette in that pack before I got up. I sat there in fear, but refused to light up. Not because I'd get sick, because thankfully I didn't know enough to inhale. I just felt like a complete dumbass and that was punishment enough.
After about an hour of holding out, I left the table without having to smoke, and I'm sure was grounded for some time. Things weren't the same between Todd and I after that. We grew apart. Throughout the years, occasionally I'd see him in Jr. High and High School and if anything we'd give each other an awkward "Hi" in passing. That's about all there was to say. I became a metalhead, and Todd took a more conservative route, becoming a permanent fixture in the honor roll and student council. Everything happens for a reason, and the way I look at it is this: I was put on this planet solely to straighten Todd out and steer him from a life of evil and in to a path of wealth and success. Job well done. I'm sure he's an accountant or lawyer somewhere now earning a 6 figure salary and living happily ever after. You're welcome, Todd! *clapping dirt off of hands*
It's hard to believe I'd covered that much ground and was only in the 6th grade. And I had a lot more ground to cover over the years (which I definitely did.) I'm sure it makes Mom and Dad proud!
Bill Cosby said that parents will say "Some day you're going to have a kid, and they're going to behave JUST LIKE YOU!" I recall my Dad saying that to me and my sister at times when we were misbehaving, and I listened closely to that. Thinking back on everything I'd done prior to moving out on my own, it clearly explains why I'm 33 and still only have a cat. If I had a kid in my 20s, by now it would be in the prime shenanigan years and I would be well on my way into my paranoid schizophrenic years... Sitting and waiting for the house to blow up, the feds to come seize the family computer, or just from wondering what the other 9 things my sneaky little kid was doing behind my back for every 1 thing was he getting caught for.
