Remembrance at Play
The beefy boy bent over the practice weights, flexed once, twice, then heaved. Again he heaved, but to no effect. His face reddened, but he could not budge the barbells so he sauntered away sadly. Then my brother, smaller than the first boy but tough enough for ten years old, gave the heave a ho. And failed. All eight pounds of weights stuck to our driveway as if they had melted into the tar. Finally, little Jenny Fronczek took the stage.
The parents in the neighborhood and all their friends and coworkers hollered from the folding chairs arrayed in the lawn. They bellowed, “But she’s too little!” “If Mark and Alan couldn’t heft that weight, why—it’s impossible!” “She’s sure to be killed!” But Jenny stalked up to the problem intrepidly. She looked toward Hud--that's what the Fronczeks call their grandma--and smiled. She looked up to heaven, and then she smooched her flexed biceps. With bent knees she plucked the barbells from the ground effortlessly and hoisted them over her head. A gasp spread through the crowd, and as soon as the pause turned to incredulous applause a massive cabling spool came rolling wildly down the street.
Mr. Zumbach, who had been waiting in line for Kool-Aid from the concessions booth, turned just in time to see me run out in front of the spool. Chris Yeckel was balancing atop the wheel, using his powerful eight-year-old legs to propel it rapidly toward me. Then, at the last second I dove between the tracks as the vehicle whizzed over my head. No sooner did it pass than Aaron, my brother one-year older, made the same diving move. Chris kept the spool rolling, and Brian dove under it, then the other Brian, then Casey. It was a sensational spectacle, and the parents were howling with appreciation for their daring diving children.
But they weren’t given time to really take it all in, because just as Chris dismounted did Alan ride across the tableau on his unicycle, with three apples aloft. He pedaled and balanced and juggled to mounting claps and hoots. Out came the hula hoopers! On rollerskates! And sparklers! A trumpet solo from my dad, who trumpeted on the roof! Jets flew by and dropped candy! Everyone went home happy, with new puppies, and we had ice cream for dinner.
Later, I was pinned down from the north by an overwhelming platoon of Viet Cong. This was in the woods behind the church. Most of my buddies had been taken captive or killed, their guts spilled out back at our compromised base. I wasn’t sure who was more unlucky, the silent dead or the naked ones who were forced to trudge through the muddy, stinking river filled with poisonous snakes like the Two-Step. That one bites you, you’re dead after two steps. Sometimes I wonder what happens if you just decide not to walk anymore. What if you’re wearing roller skates?
Me, I never roller skated. All the neighbor kids were agile on their Bauer ice skates, but I didn’t play hockey. I went to church, so I never learned to skate backward but I could recite the all the chapters of the Old Testament. They made a pretty cool song, but people made fun of my voice. I sang it “Feliz Navidot.” My Spanish wasn’t so good when I was six, but I loved doing special music for the forgiving Nazarenes. Afterward I practiced karate in the gathering center with the Dominicks. They just kept kicking me, because I didn’t take lessons and they were almost teens.
I loved playing with the teens, but I kept breaking my arm so I couldn’t go swimming. That was a drag because swimming is a real blast once you get the floats off. Sometimes my mom would wrap my arm in a plastic bag from the thrift store and I could splash around in the wading pool. Some fun. That’s how come I won “Camper of the Week” at Boys and Girls Camp when my cousin got his leg bitten off by a dog; I knew what it was like to be the cripple when all the other kids were running from the shot-gunned madmen in the quarry, so I stuck with him during his daily trips to the nurse’s office.
After narrowly escaping a band of pirates I locked myself in my cabin. I thought for sure I was a goner. I thought, this is worse than the September I got grounded because Aaron lit a match without permission, because although it didn’t seem like I was going to get out before Christmas that time, I actually did, and at least then my mother could still feed me meals. But in that cabin there wasn’t even a slot to slide food through. I was going to die in there. Luckily my grandfather parachuted in with a screwdriver and busted me out. I ran sobbing to my mother, who wrapped a plastic bag around my cast so I wouldn’t get it wet with my tears. She served me spaghetti without a plate, straight onto the table, and we laughed and laughed until my dad chased me around the house.
But it’s hard to set out the plates and silverware all the time when there are so many adventures to be had. After all, I didn’t rig up the zip line in the backyard for my health—I did it so I could break my arm again! I had some serious training to do if I was going to beat up the Dominicks, escape the Viet Cong, and practice for the front-yard circus. Because next year I was going to be big enough to climb the rock at Rollins Pond, and water balloons only hold so much water, and my brother hid all the gold in some mine shaft and wherever it was, he wasn't telling.
The parents in the neighborhood and all their friends and coworkers hollered from the folding chairs arrayed in the lawn. They bellowed, “But she’s too little!” “If Mark and Alan couldn’t heft that weight, why—it’s impossible!” “She’s sure to be killed!” But Jenny stalked up to the problem intrepidly. She looked toward Hud--that's what the Fronczeks call their grandma--and smiled. She looked up to heaven, and then she smooched her flexed biceps. With bent knees she plucked the barbells from the ground effortlessly and hoisted them over her head. A gasp spread through the crowd, and as soon as the pause turned to incredulous applause a massive cabling spool came rolling wildly down the street.
Mr. Zumbach, who had been waiting in line for Kool-Aid from the concessions booth, turned just in time to see me run out in front of the spool. Chris Yeckel was balancing atop the wheel, using his powerful eight-year-old legs to propel it rapidly toward me. Then, at the last second I dove between the tracks as the vehicle whizzed over my head. No sooner did it pass than Aaron, my brother one-year older, made the same diving move. Chris kept the spool rolling, and Brian dove under it, then the other Brian, then Casey. It was a sensational spectacle, and the parents were howling with appreciation for their daring diving children.
But they weren’t given time to really take it all in, because just as Chris dismounted did Alan ride across the tableau on his unicycle, with three apples aloft. He pedaled and balanced and juggled to mounting claps and hoots. Out came the hula hoopers! On rollerskates! And sparklers! A trumpet solo from my dad, who trumpeted on the roof! Jets flew by and dropped candy! Everyone went home happy, with new puppies, and we had ice cream for dinner.
Later, I was pinned down from the north by an overwhelming platoon of Viet Cong. This was in the woods behind the church. Most of my buddies had been taken captive or killed, their guts spilled out back at our compromised base. I wasn’t sure who was more unlucky, the silent dead or the naked ones who were forced to trudge through the muddy, stinking river filled with poisonous snakes like the Two-Step. That one bites you, you’re dead after two steps. Sometimes I wonder what happens if you just decide not to walk anymore. What if you’re wearing roller skates?
Me, I never roller skated. All the neighbor kids were agile on their Bauer ice skates, but I didn’t play hockey. I went to church, so I never learned to skate backward but I could recite the all the chapters of the Old Testament. They made a pretty cool song, but people made fun of my voice. I sang it “Feliz Navidot.” My Spanish wasn’t so good when I was six, but I loved doing special music for the forgiving Nazarenes. Afterward I practiced karate in the gathering center with the Dominicks. They just kept kicking me, because I didn’t take lessons and they were almost teens.
I loved playing with the teens, but I kept breaking my arm so I couldn’t go swimming. That was a drag because swimming is a real blast once you get the floats off. Sometimes my mom would wrap my arm in a plastic bag from the thrift store and I could splash around in the wading pool. Some fun. That’s how come I won “Camper of the Week” at Boys and Girls Camp when my cousin got his leg bitten off by a dog; I knew what it was like to be the cripple when all the other kids were running from the shot-gunned madmen in the quarry, so I stuck with him during his daily trips to the nurse’s office.
After narrowly escaping a band of pirates I locked myself in my cabin. I thought for sure I was a goner. I thought, this is worse than the September I got grounded because Aaron lit a match without permission, because although it didn’t seem like I was going to get out before Christmas that time, I actually did, and at least then my mother could still feed me meals. But in that cabin there wasn’t even a slot to slide food through. I was going to die in there. Luckily my grandfather parachuted in with a screwdriver and busted me out. I ran sobbing to my mother, who wrapped a plastic bag around my cast so I wouldn’t get it wet with my tears. She served me spaghetti without a plate, straight onto the table, and we laughed and laughed until my dad chased me around the house.
But it’s hard to set out the plates and silverware all the time when there are so many adventures to be had. After all, I didn’t rig up the zip line in the backyard for my health—I did it so I could break my arm again! I had some serious training to do if I was going to beat up the Dominicks, escape the Viet Cong, and practice for the front-yard circus. Because next year I was going to be big enough to climb the rock at Rollins Pond, and water balloons only hold so much water, and my brother hid all the gold in some mine shaft and wherever it was, he wasn't telling.
Comments
it was fun the second time too.