I was born on the March 20, 1938, which is the first day of Spring. Some say that childhood makes the man. I would like to think that’s a crock because I was an odious child. In fact, I can recall wishing I could grow up so I wouldn’t be so obnoxious. The fact that I missed Winter by a single day may account for my childhood disposition. As G. B. Shaw said, “Youth is wasted on the young.”
First Memory (age 6). I was building a tree house in woods near where we lived. Since I was the youngest, I was assigned to nail steps to the tree trunk. A kid several feet above me was nailing down floorboards with the back of a hatchet. The hatchet slipped out of his hand, rotated a full 360 degrees, and landed on the top of my head. The blow was painful enough to draw housewives from the neighborhood to see what the screeching was about. Some friends have suggested a number of aspects of my personality date from this incident.
Christmas Spirit (ages 6-10). My mother felt that brown looked good on me, so each Christmas I was given brown clothes instead of toys. I have not worn an article of brown clothing for the past seventy years.
Playing Checkers (age 7). Apparently, I was very competitive from an early age. One day one of my father’s friends played a game of checkers with me. When it became apparent that I was about to lose, I swept the entire board with all the checkers off the table with my hand and stormed out of the room. Over the years I have toned down the odious antics, but if we sit down to play poker, I am still going to tear your heart out and eat it. I’ll just do it politely.
My First Fight (age 8). Not surprisingly, my parents shuffled me off to summer camp. The first day there I was approached by a kid who asked if I wanted to fight. Big for my age throughout childhood, I was considerably bigger than he was. Seeing no downside, I responded, “Sure.” Whereupon, he gave me an uppercut to the groin. This was my first exposure to the Golden Rule: Do unto others before they do unto you.
Just Rewards (age 8). A group of kids were sledding down a hillside street, which ended in a ‘T’ at the bottom with another street. Because I was the youngest, I was assigned to watch for cars on the crossing street. For me to guard the street, I had to sled down first. As I got near the bottom I tried to steer the sled into a snow bank, but the road was icy and I continued to slide into the crossing street. I looked up and saw a car coming. The driver saw me, braked, and went into a skid. Just before the rear wheel ran over the sled I instinctively rolled off. I can still see the wheel and the wheel bolts that slid past my view six inches away as the front of the sled was crushed.
I was afraid my parents would be displeased at the damage to the sled, so I hid it in the basement. However, the driver had gotten my name and called my parents that evening to make sure I was OK. Predictably, my parents were not pleased and I went a round with dear old dad’s paddle. Moral: When you do something stupid, make sure there are no witnesses.