Home again, home again, Jiggity-jigg.
I'm back in St. Louis to visit the family. I arrived yesterday just after lunch, and hit the ground running. As the members of my family came home in sequence, each commented on my red-white striped shirt. The shirt was a recent purchase for my 4th of July Holy Experience. All seemed surprised that they'd never seen the shirt on me before. I eagerly awaited my father's opinion, since he's never one to let something new slide without some comment upon it.
Sitting at the dinner table, he made no remarks. I eventually laughed and said to my mom, "Gosh, I guess dad didn't notice my new shirt." My father smiled and said, "Oh, I noticed..." and raised his eyebrows. Curse you, father! Out maneuvered again!
Then my youngest brother said he though I was being stalked by a girl. I felt that contacting me two separate times over six years probably didn't classify as stalking. He said, "Hmph. Maybe she's just really slow."
This morning, reading the hometown news papers, I found myself staring at the man who grew out of a little hellion. Young William was always a strange kid, come from a strange family. I can recall (sometime around 4th grade) being at a friend's house when my friend's mother wanted us to take some books back to a local neighbor. While talking with the neighbor in his driveway, I felt a sharp pain in my thigh.
Looking down, I saw the neighbor's diminutive son grinning like a devil and retreating around the nearby corner of the house. "William," his father said. "Don't do that." Conversation continued, until I was again stabbed: same leg. Kid still laughing. "William!" his father roared. "Do you want me to get the Spanking Stick?!" William started to cry in discomfort and retreated around the house, never to be seen again. At least, that day.
A couple of years later at a local park, during soccer season, I was sitting on a ball watching my brother practice. I heard a scuffling and scraping sound coming from behind me, along with occasional suppressed laughter. Turning, I realized that it was Young William approaching me from behind with a large tree branch about half again as long as his body. He had his mischevious face on, and was clearly planning to hit me. I pretended not to notice until he very close, then I ducked away as he was about to swing. Then his face got angry, as though I had deprived him of the release of all the work of dragging this branch across the field to brain me.
Now that I've assassinated his character as a younger child, imagine my surprise to see him posed amidst some Grecian ruins. Apparently he's studying archeology abroad. The funny thing is, he's still got the same heavy-browed grin. Instead of "poking legs for fun", I guess the grin now means "Poking dirt for fun."
After my dad came in from walking the cat (yes, you read that right), he asked if a particular kid from a perennial Webster Schools family was in my grade. "Yeah, he was." Dad then showed me an announcement indicating he was part of a band who recently performed on David Letterman's show, after returning from a performance in England, and before going on an American tour to places like California and Wisconsin. Solid.
What else will this brief excursion bring, if this is the first 24 hours?
Sitting at the dinner table, he made no remarks. I eventually laughed and said to my mom, "Gosh, I guess dad didn't notice my new shirt." My father smiled and said, "Oh, I noticed..." and raised his eyebrows. Curse you, father! Out maneuvered again!
Then my youngest brother said he though I was being stalked by a girl. I felt that contacting me two separate times over six years probably didn't classify as stalking. He said, "Hmph. Maybe she's just really slow."
This morning, reading the hometown news papers, I found myself staring at the man who grew out of a little hellion. Young William was always a strange kid, come from a strange family. I can recall (sometime around 4th grade) being at a friend's house when my friend's mother wanted us to take some books back to a local neighbor. While talking with the neighbor in his driveway, I felt a sharp pain in my thigh.
Looking down, I saw the neighbor's diminutive son grinning like a devil and retreating around the nearby corner of the house. "William," his father said. "Don't do that." Conversation continued, until I was again stabbed: same leg. Kid still laughing. "William!" his father roared. "Do you want me to get the Spanking Stick?!" William started to cry in discomfort and retreated around the house, never to be seen again. At least, that day.
A couple of years later at a local park, during soccer season, I was sitting on a ball watching my brother practice. I heard a scuffling and scraping sound coming from behind me, along with occasional suppressed laughter. Turning, I realized that it was Young William approaching me from behind with a large tree branch about half again as long as his body. He had his mischevious face on, and was clearly planning to hit me. I pretended not to notice until he very close, then I ducked away as he was about to swing. Then his face got angry, as though I had deprived him of the release of all the work of dragging this branch across the field to brain me.
Now that I've assassinated his character as a younger child, imagine my surprise to see him posed amidst some Grecian ruins. Apparently he's studying archeology abroad. The funny thing is, he's still got the same heavy-browed grin. Instead of "poking legs for fun", I guess the grin now means "Poking dirt for fun."
After my dad came in from walking the cat (yes, you read that right), he asked if a particular kid from a perennial Webster Schools family was in my grade. "Yeah, he was." Dad then showed me an announcement indicating he was part of a band who recently performed on David Letterman's show, after returning from a performance in England, and before going on an American tour to places like California and Wisconsin. Solid.
What else will this brief excursion bring, if this is the first 24 hours?
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