The Little Creek Of Pain And Adventure (part 2)

Part 2 (Dam Construction)

Flower Garden Blues

I froze…. Although the other boys continued their chatter, my ears focused on the sound of that whistle. As it came a second time, I scrambled to my feet, pushed through the group of boys, and after a couple of slips and falls, made it back up the creek bank.

At five years old (probably close to six), I was fast, freakishly fast, for a boy that young. But then, if you’ve had to chase down a determined two year old, you may relate. The wheels in my little brain were spinning as I took off toward the sound of dad’s whistle. Some of the boys were still calling after me as I came in sight of our trailer. I was within about fifty yards when dad let out the third whistle. There he stood, next to his prized flower garden, and he was looking right at me. I put my head down, kept running, and hoped I made the five minute deadline.

I’ll never know if the deadline was actually reached. Remember that part about putting my head down? Well, that turned out to be a mistake. The running was going great, it was the stopping that caused all the chaos. Suddenly, flowers were all around me as I stumbled, fell, and slid through my dad’s cherished flower garden. I ended up pretty much at his feet, staring up at him, with a trail of destruction behind me. I just went ahead and started crying in anticipation of the imminent whoopin.

Confused Little Criminal

Lying there snibbling, working on an Academy Award for best drama, and hoping for pity, I heard something other than yelling and cussing. Peering through tears, I saw my dad laughing. This was new? Not that he never laughed, it just didn’t fit the situation. Again, my little brain wheels began to spin.

Let’s Examine The Facts

#1. I was forbidden to go to the creek and went anyway. #2. Had already received Phases 1, 2, & 3 punishment. #3. Supposed to be home within five minutes of the whistle, but there were at least three whistles (judges?) #4. And I had just destroyed the flower garden (his pride and joy). I was reluctant to stop snibbling, lest my dad come to his senses, return to normal behavior, skip legal arguments, and proceed with my sentence.

Suddenly, my hands were grabbed, and I was snatched to my feet. I tensed myself, preparing for what was about to come. Nothing happened, and when my eyes opened, they were looking straight into my dad’s eyes. He had kneeled down and was talking. And there was my mom standing behind him, just a giggling. I have to say, I was confused and still wary. Had my parents become so sadistic that they were going to laugh while administering punishment? Finally, I tried to focus on my dad’s words, but it was as if he was speaking under water.

Admit To Nothing

I barely heard the words: “Son….” then there was a pause before he continued. “Where…when…how did you learn to run like that?” I stammered, stuttered, and then answered “nowhere” (never admit to anything) and since I was already guilty of multiple crimes. I sure didn’t want to add another charge. “Son, I just want to know, have you been practicing or running a lot?”

Taking the fifth, I kept my mouth shut. Then, sensing my dilemma he continued, “You’re not in any trouble son.”

I wiped my eyes and nose, and finally spoke. “Sir, what?” (It was extremely important to use “Sir” NEVER say “what” by itself). Without talking anymore he picked me up, took me inside, and momma cleaned me up. Thankfully, at least the dirt from the flower garden concealed the creek mud pretty good. They spoke no more about the incident that day and I certainly was not going to bring it up. I had gone to the creek and gotten away with it!!!

The Dam Operation Begins

The next day, feeling a bit cocky, I was back at the little creek of adventure. The other boys were there, too, and we were all arguing (discussing) how to improve the dam. After some cussing and scuffles but no serious physical harm, we came up with a plan. We would leave the existing sticks in place and put large rocks behind them. Then we would pile small rocks in front. Placing the large rocks went pretty good but we needed something to haul the many thousands of small rocks that would be needed.

Trying to gain attention, I opened my big mouth and promised to bring “my” wheelbarrow the next day. Of course, I didn’t own a wheelbarrow, but my dad owned one. It was for his garden, and he had been using it to repair the destruction I had caused. Dad was a milkman, so he went to work very early. I rekon’d that we could use it, return it, and he would never even know. The dam work was over for the day.

That night at the supper table, Dad brought up the running thing again. He was proud that his son could run so fast, and it was an ability that could help me throughout my life. Even momma added a hug and support. I didn’t really understand but I relished the praise and attention, something that didn’t often come my way.

Frogs, Strings, And June Bugs

The next morning after breakfast, I was off to the creek pushing along “my” wheelbarrow. The others were not there yet. I spotted a very nice bullfrog and caught the bugger, but I fell in the water during the chase. It didn’t really matter. Before the day was over, I would be a mess anyway.

I had just finished tying a string to the bullfrog’s leg when the others showed up. We tied strings to everything; frogs, fish, chickens (if we could catch one), crawdads, and turtles. Locusts and June bugs were the best because obviously they could fly, in effect becoming poor boy “drones.” Except, we could only control up and down and they had no camera. We played with the frog a few minutes, turned him loose, and then got to work.

The Little Creek of Pain and Adventure (part 1) – The Daily Sinner

Unintended Consequences

There was some heated discussion as to who would operate the wheelbarrow, but I used the old, “It’s my ball, and we’ll do it my way, or I’ll go home and take my ball with me,” argument. With that settled, I pushed the wheelbarrow along the bank while the others filled it with small rocks. Billy was the “rock inspector” and didn’t allow any large rocks into the wheelbarrow. Rejecting someone’s rock always brought quibbling, such as, “Well, Big Jon put a rock in bigger than that and you didn’t say anything!” Outcomes to these arguments varied. But in this case, just the name “Big Jon” explained why his rocks were accepted.

It occurs to me that this behavior never leaves boys. During my lifetime, when a group of guys are doing anything together, there is always an element of trash talking, which includes: aspersions, denigration, and innuendo. The “experts” call it “male bonding” which is usually harmless and all in good fun. After the initial trash talk, the work can begin. However, some trash talking can be expected throughout the day.

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Anyway, becoming tired after about three loads of wet rocks, I began to offer others an opportunity to enjoy operating the wheelbarrow. Then after dumping the fourth load before reaching the dam, I received a barrage of insults concerning my mother. That’s when Big Jon took the wheelbarrow away from me. Soon the dam began to hold water. Then it held more water and got deeper. Then it got really deep and even Big Jon couldn’t get the last load of rocks to the dam because the wheelbarrow was now completely under water.

Part 3 (next week)