Childhood Adventure

Perched atop a rocky point, overlooking the northern Atlantic, was the majestic house that he called home every summer. He and his sister were always excited when summer began growing near. They were going to stay with their father, step-mother, uncle, aunt and grandmother, in the ‘castle on the beach.’ This is where he had some of his fondest childhood memories.

The house itself was enormous…but he enjoyed his time outside more than anything else. He’d always climb down the cliff to the beach, as opposed to taking the weathered stairs. It made a great start to his day of exploration. Heading north along the white sandy beach…there was not a house to be seen…it was ‘his beach.’ It took him only about ten minutes to make it the next outlying cliff – his destination. Getting closer, he could see the odd shapes and black holes in and around the upper edges of the cliff. His excitement grew, increasing as he got closer…because this day he was going to explore farther and deeper than he ever had before.

As he began climbing up the steep embankment, his eyes began to hone in on anything and everything that he could add to the little bag that was draped around his neck. Scrambling to the top, he rested for a minute and then did a full 360 to take in his surroundings and gather his bearings. Knowing that he was embarking on a journey that no other 11 year old boys had ever been on, he smiled and took a deep breath, which he held in for a moment, as if to not let his fear or anxiety surface.

Looking inland from the cliff top, he marveled at what lay before him. The old fort, abandoned by the Marines more that a decade ago. He eyed the reinforced trenches, gun turrets, crumbling stairwells that seemed to lead nowhere…he did not know where to start. He’d been there once before with his sister, but she was scared and they did not explore the way he planned to this day. Mentally flipping a coin, he started walking north along the cliff.

When he came to the first of the seemingly endless bunkers, he walked around it, searching high and low for the doorway…he found none. He did, though, find several spend shell casings from a machine gun. The shells quickly went into his bag. Moving on he came to a spot where he would have to cross the trench. It was not deep, but there was still a certain level of fear that began to creep up. He turned and lowered himself into the trench. Once inside he realized that to get out…he’d have to find a fallen rock or a spot where the wall had broken. He began his journey along the trench. Comforted by the ever present sun on his head and the familiar sounds of crashing waves, he proceeded. After a few minutes, he saw his opportunity to climb out of the trench…a large piece of the wall had fallen inside. It was just enough for him to climb up and then pull his way out.

Right there in front of him was another bunker. He had to find a door on this one. Scurrying all the way around the 10’ X 10’ bunker, jumping up onto the earth-covered top and then back down, he still found no way in. He wondered for a moment how the soldiers got in and out. Scratching his head, he walked around it once more. This time more slowly and eyeing everything. About ¾ of the way around, he saw where the 10” window, which encircled the bunker, was broken. It could have broken from decay in the salt air or from a fallen rock…but he was going with a missile blast…yeah, that’s what made the hole.

He first peered inside. Not seeing much of anything, he remembered his difficulty in getting out of the trench. Finding a few large rocks that he could roll, he one by one, rolled them into the bunker to use as a ladder if he could not find a door. Then he dropped to his belly and began descending into the bunker, feet first. Inside the bunker it was dark, the air was still and…he had no flashlight. Walking around the room feeling the walls for a door, he noticed that there was a bunch of stuff on the floor. In the dim light he could not make everything out so he lifted items, one by one into the light from the sliver of window. This room was a gold mine for shell casings…he even found 2 belts of shells…where they were all held together by little metal pieces. These, he knew, were used in the large machine guns.

Finally he found what seemed to be a mini door in the wall that opened to a stairwell. He could see nothing in the stairwell. It was pitch black. He sat there for a moment, contemplating whether he would brave the stairwell or go back the way he came. The internal argument was brief…he’d come back another day with a flashlight for the stairs. Climbing up on the rocks that he’d pushed down into the bunker, he was able to emerge from his first explored room with ease. Once back on solid ground, outside the bunker, he searched for something to mark the bunker with so that he could come back to see where that stairway led. The only thing that he could find was a bunch of rocks. He grabbed them, one by one and piled them on top of the bunker, in a pile that he’d be able to see from a ways off.

At that point, he decided to head inland from the cliff to see what was there for him to explore. Passing by several flat cement circles, each with a few sets of holes in them, he noticed huge amounts of spent shell casings and knew that there must have been machine guns mounted there. He took a few minutes to pretend that there were still guns mounted in their positions. With his hands up in front of him, he shook back and forth and turned back and forth, making machine gun noises. With that, he thought to himself what a great vantage point that spot was. He had a great line of sight up and down the beach…as well as the ocean to the east.

Moving on, the boy came to a set of stairs which led down about fifty feet to a large open area. Seemingly an old staging area for the military personnel, to him it looked like an un-kept playground …with no equipment. Reaching the open area and turning to look at the hillside toward the ocean he marveled at the number of stairways, doors and open passageways that riddled the embankment. As if he were a trained soldier, he squinted his eye, peered back and forth and then seemed to KNOW which direction to head.

As he started to the north-East, he noticed something that stood out to him. It was not the shape of all of the other things he was finding…and it looked to be halfway stuck into the ground. Crouching down in front of it and brushing some of the dirt away from the sides…it became clear what he had found.

The tarnished metal sticking out of the ground was making his eyes widen and his heart race. Grasping his hand around his new found treasure, he pulled with all of his might. After a few seconds of pulling he found himself falling backwards, landing on his rear and holding, up in the air, what would be ‘the find on the day.’

Lowering his treasure to eye level, he carefully studied it. Knowing very well that he’d found an old bayonet, he was anxious to get it cleaned up. Vigorously rubbing the handle up and down the leg of his jeans, spitting on it and rubbing some more, he began to clean away the dirt and grime. Holding the weapon by its semi-clean handle, he wondered what to do about cleaning the blade. What if it had blood …or something cool like that on it? He put the blade into his bag to clean up later…when he could take the time to do it right.

Continuing to the north-east, jumping, happily, over pieces of broken cement blocks and mounds of dirt, he came to an incline that would bring him up the slope of the hillside fort. He began up the cement stairs and after a few of the stairs basically crumbled under his feet, he moved to the left and on all fours, continued up the overgrown embankment. Around the midway point there was a small landing where he found a small open doorway. It was pitch black inside and he was a bit scared. Poking his head in, he barely made out that the room was quite small and it had two doorways that he could see. He was frightened, but the excitement of exploring this forgotten fortress was too much to handle. He sat for a minute before it hit him…he would make himself a torch. Backing out of the doorway, he turned and scanned the hillside for a stick that could serve as a good torch. He spotted one, grabbed it and sat on the small landing. Taking his bag off his shoulder, he sunk his hand in, to the bottom and quickly pulled out his pocket knife. Setting it on the ground beside him, he stood and reached into his pocket for the book of matches that he’d stolen from next to the fireplace. Happy that he had all of the tools that he needed, he began to cut a long strip off the bottom of his T-shirt. Carefully wrapping the cloth around one end of the stick (yes, he was an Indiana Jones fan) he slung his pack back onto his shoulder, stood up and stepped into the doorway to the darkness.

Holding the stick between his thighs, with the cloth-wrapped end sticking out in front of him, he struck the first match. Not able to ignite his torch with the first match, he tried again, and then again. Frustrated, he struck two matches at once and held them underneath the torch head. It lit! Smiling to himself, he quickly shoved the matches back into his pocket and proceeded into the room. In the flickering light he decided to head through the door to his left. It was a narrow hallway and he was now surrounded by cement walls and darkness…all except for his circle of safety within the orb of flickering light. The smoke-filled hallway soon opened into a larger room. As he entered the inner room, he noticed that his torch would not be burning for long. He knew that he’d have to keep moving.

The room was seemingly empty, except for a set of stairs on one side of the room. He quickly headed for the stairs. He was about half way up the stairwell when his torch flickered and burnt out.

At first he was consumed by fear. He did not know where the stairway was going to lead him…and he did not know if he’d be able to find his way back the way he came. Suddenly, as if being guided by some supernatural force, he closed his eyes and with an uncanny sense of ease, pushed through any and all of the fear that was lurking in his vulnerable head. While still midway up the uneven staircase, he blindly took off his backpack, removed the rest of his shirt and would it around the charred end of his torch stick. Operating as if he had no need for eyes, he quickly ripped two matches from the book in his pocket and had his torch relit in a matter of seconds.

As his eyes began to adjust from pitch blackness to the blinding light of his new torch, he began to survey his situation. He decided that he would explore just one more room before heading back. Continuing up the stairs he finally reached the top. Standing on the top landing and using his torch to see, he noticed that there were two ways he could go. There was a closed doorway to his right and a hallway to his left. Looking at the hallway, he noticed that it seemed to be inclined…heading up towards the surface. Thinking for a moment he proceeded up the inclined hallway, sure that it would lead him above ground.

Stumbling over a few loose rocks on the floor and noticing small little doors in the wall which were all locked. His guess was that they were storage areas for food or ammunition. Now he knew that he would have to find a way to map this maze of tunnels and rooms, marking where he had been and the things that he had found. On his next trip, he would undoubtedly bring some supplies such as; bolt cutters, flashlights, a clipboard and paper for his map, etc.

The inclined hallway led him up and around a corner and into yet another room. This room was large and had big wooden doors on the floor of the room. There was obviously something below him. He tried to lift 2 of the doors and he could not budge them. He mentally added a crow bar to his list of items to bring back with him. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a light poking through a small crack in a wall. After examining the wall for a door, he found a small crawl space that seemed to be an exit. Knowing that he only had a minute or two of light left on his torch, he proceeded to crawl through the opening. The opening led him to a very narrow hall that became almost too small for him to get through with his pack on. It got brighter and brighter as he pushed forward. Finally he reached the small opening into the natural sunlight. Looking back at where he had just emerged from, he saw that it was an almost unnoticeable opening between a large tree and a big boulder. He was sure that he’d just found one of the fort’s secret entrances.

Snubbing out his torch in the dirt, he thought it best to leave a few of his things there so that he did not have to carry as much. He left scraps from his T-shirt, his torch stick, and a few other items right next to the base of the tree. After looking around and thinking for a minute, he picked up the T-shirt scraps and hung them over one of the low hanging branches…as an indicator of where his gear and the fort entrance was.

TO BE CONTINUED…

How to send your child to the ER and feel good as a result!

We're on the living room floor, rough-housing and generally being silly. Princess Persistent and Darling Boy are taking turns playing "let's tackle daddy", despite Veronica's entreaties that we stop since it's nearing the kids bedtime and they really need to settle down. PP escapes my grasp, moves to run away, and I gently give her a push on the shoulder.

Forgetting, of course, that gentle to a 195 lb man is a little different than to a 40 lb 3 yr old.

She loses her balance, trips over a throw pillow on the floor, and goes face first into the corner of the coffee table.

Immediately, the crying starts and by the time she stands up and looks at mean old dad, the rivulet of blood has run from the corner of her left eye all the way down to the collar of her pajamas. But facial cuts can bleed pretty bad and I'm not too worried. I pull her close and work on calming her down while heading to the bathroom to assess the damage and staunch the bleeding. I get a close look and turn to Veronica, who has joined us by now, saying "So, who wants to take her to the ER, you or me?" There is a nice, deep split just to the outside edge of her left eye-brow that if it was elsewhere on her body we could probably deal with ourselves. But this is our pretty little princesses face! Veronica says that she'll take her and I can work on getting DB to bed.

You wanna know how much of a trooper my girl is? They get to the ER, decide she'll need 2-3 stitches and apply some lidocaine cream to numb the area. This needs about 30 minutes to take effect, so Veronica cuddles PP in her arms while they wait. And PP falls asleep. And stays asleep with the physician puts in 3 stitches! And continues to sleep for the trip out to the car, the drive home, getting carried into the house and all through the night!

Isn't she cute? [Yes, I took a picture of the damage I caused!]


12 days later, it's time to take her to the pediatrician to have the stitches removed and due to work schedules, I take her. Of course, before we get there I coach PP that "My daddy pushed me" may not be the best answer when the doctor asked what happened. No need to get child protective services involved!

The doc and I make small talk while he's looking at how the wound is healing and I'm telling him what happened. And no, I didn't sugarcoat the story!

God bless him, you know what his response was to my story?

"It's not the kids that get the occasional stitches or broken bone that I worry about. It's the kids who go through childhood without those little injuries that worry me. They're not having fun!"

What a wonderful attitude to have. And exactly what I needed to hear!!

Normal Childhood - Military Training (part 2)

Catch up on Part One if you have not read it yet.

By the time morning hit, we could hardly wait to see if we’d caught anything (or anyone) in our traps. We ignored the stealth policy as we bolted through the woods to the location of our creations. One by one, we closely inspected them, noticing nothing but a few random piles of animal scat and a small handful of porcupine quills.

Disappointed with having caught nothing we regrouped for a new strategy. After thoroughly discussing the mater in detail, we thought that the best plan was to lure someone into one of the traps. Yes…I was the one with 3 sisters and it was decided that little sisters make great prey.

Upon returning from my neighbor’s house we approached my middle sister, taunting her with a large bag of Twizlers and candy corn, we told her to count to 100 and then if she could find us at our fort that she could have our bag of sweetness. She began counting and we bolted into the forest snickering at our own genius.

A few minutes later, as we had taken up position in eyesight of each of our traps, we began to hear the crunching and twig snapping of a non-trained civilian tromping through the woods. Excited beyond belief, we all sat completely still, awaiting our catch.

A few seconds later, she appeared on the path…only 20 feet or so from our spring snare. Prancing up the path with thoughts of mouthfuls of candy, she neared the hidden danger. All of the sudden, we heard it. She had kicked the trip wire and *swoosh* the slip knot had tightened around her feet and she was hoisted into the air. Screaming and struggling, head bobbing a few feet off the ground we all emerged from the bushes, laughing and impressed with ourselves.

We stood in a circle around he, patting each other on the back, completely ignoring her cries for help. After a few brief comments and a bit more laughing, we decided that it would be best to leave her there for a while. Backing away and heading out on the path towards our house, we peaked over our shoulders just to see her squirming, and tears streaming from her eyes and landing in the cushion of pine needles that lined the forest floor.

We got back to my house and in an attempt not to tip off my mother, we busied ourselves with our bikes and the construction of a jump at the end of the driveway. About an hour later, after one of my friends launched off the jump and crashed into a tree at the edge of the woods, we all looked at one another with a touch of fear in our eyes and we took off into the woods. We had forgotten about my sister who had been hanging upside down in the middle of the porcupine and fox infested woods for close to an hour.

When we arrived, we saw my sister, still crying, but too tired to struggle. It seemed that she had just enough energy to tilt her head enough to see us approaching. Her sobs were faint, but at least she was still alive. We quickly released the knot at the base of a nearby tree and my sister fell with a thud to the ground. As she got up and began to stumble down the path she yelled to us that MOM was going to kill us and that we were going to be in big trouble. Chasing after her, with the bag of candy held out in front of us, we bribed her with the contents of the bag along with mild threats of further violence if she did tell.

As far as I know, our secret lived on and from that point on we re-adjusted out traps to only catch animals…which we did.

Normal Childhood - Military Training

We gathered at the edge of the woods as the sounds of clanking dishes filled the air. Full from the dinners we had all just finished, we sat and waited for the last two members of our squad.

All dressed in our fatigues (or as close as we could get) we had our briefing. The seven of us agreed that minimal talking/noise …and of course only using our code names would be the only way to keep our top secret mission intact.

We spread out slightly as we entered the woods. For the next ten minutes all we could hear was the faint crackling of pine needles beneath out boots and a random twig snapping as we pushed our way through the trees to our hide-out.

The air was still, breezes blocked by the acres of pine trees on all sides. We entered our 2 story fort one at a time, without making a sound. Once we were all inside, we began planning our day’s activities. In low, but commanding, whispers we discussed the three traps we were going to set along the paths to our hideaway.

*We’d seen enough Vietnam and random other war movies to know the best ones to ensnare the mistaken or intentional intruders.

Over the next 5 hours all seven of us worked diligently to perfect our military works of art. We split up into 3 groups; Pain, Sniper and Grunt worked on the bungee pit, Hammer, Red and Cap worked on the spring snare while Gunny, Top, Nuke and Camo perfected the suspended log (or mace trap).

**I will not tell you which of the above my code name was.

We regrouped as it began to get late in the day and began rounds to check out all of the work that had been done. All of the traps were set…satisfied with our ingenious success, we all headed home for dinner.

Around 8PM, we got back together, armed with flashlights to inspect our newly crafted traps…and to make sure that they were still in place.

The bungee pit was the first that we got to. It was just fine…a 4 foot deep ditch, which spanned the width of the path, covered with branches, twigs and leaves – hiding the bounty of sharpened wooden spikes that were positioned at the bottom, awaiting their first prey.


The spring snare was next. It was set with a young white birch tree, pulled back with a very sensitive network of ropes, a large slip knot and trip wire. We had high hopes for this one. We tripped it a few times and were thoroughly impressed.


Lastly we came to the mace trap. This was the hardest to set as the log, suspended 20 feet in the air, had to have weighed at least 100 pounds. Held in place only by a small stick attached to the rope acting as the trip wire…this was a sensitive one and we were all very careful not to trip it by accident.


Stay tuned to the ending of this story…in my next post.

(until then...go read the first, second and third installments about my childhood)

‘Normal’ childhood? - Part Three - The Bat and the Broom

Be sure to read part one and part two before this one

At the ripe age of about 9, and after causing some sort of stink at the dinner table, I was sent to my room while everyone else finished their dinner and had their ice cream.

Now, we lived in an old Victorian house and my room, the one that I shared with B1 was on the top floor …the converted attic.

Sitting up there sulking on the edge of my bed, wondering if I could coerce B2 to sneak me up some ice cream after dinner, I was startled by a freaking bird flying right through my open window. As it zipped back and forth around my room, spinning in circles, seemingly very disoriented, this ‘bird’ swooped down and got its feet caught in my hair.

Pause for image of said hair. (and maybe a bit of laughter)




Completely freaking out, running in circles, yelling for my mother and flinging my arms up to try to dislodge this hair intruder….I hear my mother yelling up the stairs, “I told you to be quiet up there…or you’ll stay up there all night!”

Continuing my cries for help, my mother stormed her way up to my room, cursing me enough so that I did not know who to be more scared of…this beast clawing at my head…or the one about to bust through my bedroom door with a belt.

A second later my mother burst though my door, with belt in hand and a lung full of air to scream at me. Upon seeing the flapping, tangled mess that was once my head, she screamed, “BAT!” and swiftly ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Shocked that A. It was a bat in my hair and not a bird…and B. that my mother would run out and just leave me there. I continued screaming and running around the room. A minute or so later she barged back into my room…armed with a broom. She march straight at me and began bashing me on the head with the broom…worried more so about hitting the bat than the structural integrity of my cranium. Once she successfully knocked the bat loose from my hair she dragged my whimpering body out of the room (as if I were a wounded soldier being saved by a war hero) and slammed the door once again.

After pleading with the man that lived next door, the bat was evicted from my room. The story ends with a haircut appointment for me early the next morning.

As the stories are seemingly endless…I’ll continue with another next time – Military Training

‘Normal’ childhood? – Part Two - Fork Dinner

Be sure to read part one before this one

We were all sitting around our gi-freaking-normous dinner table one night and B1 and S2 were sitting at the head and the foot of the table. It was the usual banter, bickering and chaos that it had always been and our parents had grown fond of eating their dinner at the kitchen bar.

At the table, something B1 said to S2 made her pissed. I, to this day do not know what it was but she was furious. The tone between them became more like Carrie and Freddy Kruger going at it and the rest of us just sat there staring at the two of them…it was actually getting pretty good….until, out of nowhere, S2 picked up her fork and (as if she’d been secretly studying with Ninjas) threw her fork across the table with such precision that it stuck, squarely in my brother’s forehead. (The fork mind you, sticking straight out of his head, was about an inch above but directly between his eyebrows)…held there by the 3 prongs that neatly wedged themselves ever so slightly into his forehead.

All of us just sat there …mouths on the floor, eyes open wide with amazement…but nobody said a word…not even the two of them. Our parents, not hearing any more yelling, instantly KNEW something had gone awry, came running in to see what had happened. Both of them stopped abruptly when the saw the fork, that was protruding from B1’s head, drop to the table with a loud clanking sound.

They then ran to him and checked his head and proceeded to load him into the car and off to the emergency room.

After all was said and done, and my brother had no serious injury (except for the line of three dots in the middle of his forehead that were visible for about a year) that story has been told by us all, parents included, with a smile.

Stay tuned for the next glimpse into my childhood… The Bat and the Broom

Normal Childhood - Part One - The Mini Hulk

When I look back on my childhood, I think of it as a happy, ‘normal’ childhood…just like everyone else who was growing up in the 70s and 80s. We had everything that we needed and parents who loved us and tended to us the way parents should.

Recently I’ve found myself telling wild stories from my childhood, that lead me to believe that we were anything but normal.

Growing up with 5 siblings (3 sisters and 2 brothers) there was always a lot going on and there were always rifts springing up between sets of us. For the most part, our parents just sat back (and now reflecting on it were most likely cracking the fuck up) and letting us sort things out ourselves…as learning experiences.

M=Adoptive Mother
F=Step Father
S1=sister (older by 2 years)
S2=sister (younger by 4 years)
S3=step-sister (younger by 6 years)
B1=brother (younger by 2 years)
B2=step-brother (younger by 4 years)

I will summarize a few of the questionable stories for you over the next week or so. Then you can tell me if my childhood sounds normal to you or not.

‘Normal’ childhood? - The Mini Hulk

I was a bit of an instigator (still am) and would make it a point to pick on (almost to the point of crying) B2. Now being 4 years younger, he knew that standing his ground with me would be a drastic error in judgment…so he never did…until one day. It was right after school and I was mentally jabbing at him and making him feel as close to a pile of dog shit as I could. Then something happened…the boy freaked. His eyes changed. His skin flared up in a deep red and he screamed, “I HAVE HAD IT!” I responded with some bully-ish retort that sent him flying over the edge. With that, he, moving faster than I’d ever seen him move, ran past the wood stove, snatching up the large iron fire poker and proceeded to chase me around the house…swinging at will trying to silence my banter. Realizing how serious he was, by the trail of broken vases and lamps in his wake and the near miss to the back of my head, I found the only lockable room in the house (my parents) and securely locked the door behind me. Sitting on the edge of their bed, listening to his threats of violence…I figured that the homicidal rage would soon subside and we could all go about our day as per the norm.

All of the sudden, my thoughts were interrupted by the crashing sound of the fire poker connecting with the door knob that was currently saving both of us from a great deal of pain. I watched as the knob became looser and looser, heard wood of the door cracking and I knew that it would be any minute that mini Hulk would come crashing through the door.

I took that as a sign that he was not in a frame of mind to calm down and that I should seek refuge elsewhere. I scrambled over to the window and lowered myself as far as a 12 year old could and jumped the remainder of the two story drop…then bolted (with a slight limp) over to a neighbor’s house until my parents got home.

Come back to read the next installment…Fork Dinner