Paulie and the Tickle Monster

Dean has been my friend since kindergarten and that's been a long time ago too. We were each others best men at our weddings and our families are like siblings. His son Paul is like my nephew and so I treat him accordingly. That means that I harass him incessantly at each and every opportunity!

One day I was driving a limousine by their house and it broke down. I secured a ride for the bride and groom but now what do I do? I'm about 30 miles away from home and it's about 10PM. I walk over to Paulie's house and knock on the door. His mother answers and I tell her what happened and that I need a ride. It was completely inconvenient but necessary.

Now here comes Paulie from somewhere in the house, sees me and runs into the bathroom and locks the door from inside. The gauntlet has been thrown down! I start banging on the door yelling his name and he's laughing hysterically but in a panic because Uncle Rich is here and he'll tickle me!

So I'm banging on the door and he's laughing thinking that I can't get him. His mother got me a screwdriver so I start to take the screws out of the door handle all the while banging on the door. I pop the handle through and now he's panicking! I stick the screw driver into the door handle hole, push back and gained access!

Unbeknownst to me, Paul had spread talcum powder all over the bathroom like the bottle was a tennis racket and the balls were coming fast and furious. After he ran out of powder, he tried to stop me by squirting soft soap all over. It didn't work and I tickled the hell out of his 9 year old ass! His mother is laughing, and a friend of hers is puzzled by who I am. Barb finally says, "That's Crazy Uncle Rich!" I guess my antics have been known for a while but connecting my face to it was new to some.

We finally come out of the bathroom covered in dust and looking like a 50's creep show ghost and the mess was everywhere. Barb stopped laughing and said, "Thanks for the mess Uncle Rich" but she gave me a ride home anyway probably to spare the rest of the house.

I just saw Paul not too long ago and he's now engaged and all grown up. Since he had announced that he was engaged, I took pity on him-just this once-and did not cover him with the silly string that I brought. I gave him the can so he could do some mayhem though.

The dinner was over, I met his fiancee and we were all walking out to our cars when I hear his dad whisper, "do it!" Paul took my silly string and tried to squirt me but he was too far away and the stuff hit the ground. We laughed and hugged his parents to leave and I hugged him too. But I took the silly string out of his pocket and coated his ass but good!

Now everyone is laughing, including Paul and his fiancee, the restaurant was happy that we did this outside and there was no talcum powder anywhere. I said it before and I'll say it again. I may grow old but I refuse to grow up!

YMCA Princesses

I joined the YMCA Indian Princess program some years ago at the behest of some friends of mine that were members. This is a club for fathers and daughters and open to anyone. I balked at the institution as it didn't sound too politically correct but there were some guys there of American Indian heritage who said that it was OK so what the heck.

My elder daughter was about 9-10 or something like that and we needed to pick Indian names for ourselves. She wanted to be called "Puddin" because that's what my brother calls his wife when he wants to cork her off. We decided not to use that name and she started to think about another name. In the mean time I concluded that my name should be "Breaking Wind." 

She got a big smile and said that she wanted to be "Little Breaking Wind!" I laughed and asked if she knew what it meant. She said, "It means farts!" so if she was good with it then so was I. Some of the other dads didn't think that it was a good idea but their daughters names were "Lady Lovely Locks" or "My Little Pony" so my daughters name was a little more in tune.

We joined the Chippewa tribe and there were about 11-12 other tribes and all of the kids had their names picked out. Each tribe has a chief and the nation has a leader called Big Bear and then his name would follow. I wanted so very badly to be Big Bear because my title and name would be Big Bear Breaking Wind. It wasn't to be though as I did not make the top spot when the election came about. Maybe they knew....hmmmmmmmm...

The YMCA has the Y Indian Guides for fathers and sons. Again, we had to pick names for ourselves and since I was in the same group for the girls club, Braking Wind stuck. My son however, had a brilliant thought about a name. His was "Festering Sore" which was about the right description of little boys then so it was a go from the start. Again, the dads were a mite alarmed but it worked out for the best anyway.

The youngest comes of age and she wants to be in the Princesses too. She said that she wanted to be "Little, Little Breaking Wind" but that joke had gotten old by then so we settled on "Flaming Arrow" since she has bright red hair.

All things being equal, it was a fun time and I'm glad that I took the time to watch my kids grow up. Now if I can grow up too......who am I kidding? I may grow old but I'll never grow up!

Kids Say the Darndest Things

Our oldest child was in kindergarten with the rest of the ankle biters of his age range and he made quite a name for himself on a number of occasions.

He was in the basement of the school with his classmates as they were getting dressed to go home. It was a cold and bitter day so the teachers were bundling them up with their coats, scarves, winter shoes and whatnot when the parish pastor comes down to visit and maybe help corralling the little urchins.

Father asks a easy question for 5 and 6 year olds to answer. He asked,"What are some funny things that happen at your house?" One kid says that his dad likes to put ice cubes down the back his mothers pants. The kids start to snicker. Another kids says that his mother kicks the car tires when she locks the keys in there. The wee ones start to laugh a little more.

My kids says, "MY dad calls brussel sprouts FART BALLS!" Now all of the kids are laughing and no one is cooperating with getting dressed and the good father wanted to have a talk with me. Uh oh.

My eldest daughter was quite musical when she was very young. We had wooden chairs at the dinner table and she could make them reverberate like someone was ringing a bell to borrow from Chuck Berry. The kid had a talent that could make your eyes water.

My wife told her that if she kept it up that they would be fur on the chair. After thinking about it for a quick second she said, "Na uh. If that was true, dads car seat would be covered! We called her the angel of the obvoius ever after that.

Our youngest child has a gift for cooking. She could make a juicy steak out of a head of lettuce and a jar of mustard. She's that talented. When she was 12, I told her that she was never going anywhere as I was going to chain her to something that didn't move. She looked at me and said, "Dad, I'll probably be the one to put you in a nursing home. Ya want a good one?" At least that's how I remember it.  

My fathers curse has come true. I have 3 that were just like me and I'm fine with that. 

Uncle Ted's Version of My Drivers Ed.

My father and Uncle made a deal. Uncle Ted would train me to drive and my dad would train my cousin Tammy. Both of our fathers said that they'd end up killing us if they had to train their own so they switched and it was a lot easier.

I was 15 and had my learners permit and I swear that I was invincible with it. All I needed was a theme song and I would swoop in and save the day or some such crap. It wasn't like that but the voices in my head were trying to get me killed so a new take on this training thing was in order.

It was the end of the day at Southtown Flower Shop and it was time to go home. The plants were watered, the guard dogs were fed and released to roam and guard the grounds, the doors were locked and the alarm was on.

Uncle Ted threw me the keys to his van and said you drive and don't make me spill my drink! Way Cool! I get to drive! He had a 16 oz tumbler that was full of seltzer water or so I thought. We started down the street and turned to go south when he told me to get on the expressway. This would be my first time on I-94 and I was scared. We call it the Chicago 500 for a good reason. He said don't worry. Just gas it and catch up. I did and noticed that he was mixing another drink. We hadn't gone 1/2 a mile and he was done with that glass. Then I noticed that he was pouring gin. Oh hell, I'm going to get a DUI before I get my license. We hit a bump and he spilled a little and he told me to "Watch it ya little bastard!"

We exited off of the expressway and we were going west now. He was feeling no pain at all and he was even laughing about something. I don't know as I don't understand drunk speak. We got to about 1 mile from his house and he was pouring yet another drink! I remember thinking how much can this guy hold? He was laughing and giving pointers and I made sure that I didn't spill or have him spill another drop.

We turn down is block and pull down the driveway. He was supposed to mow the lawn but he didn't feel like it so he got drunk while having me take him home.We stopped when we entered the garage and he poured himself out of the van and staggered into his house. He came back out and flipped me a couple of bucks and said thanks for not being an asshole. I may have done something right but I couldn't tell what it was.

So now I'm thinking that all of my training is going to be like this and that would be easy. Aunt Lorraine had a different take on it and thereby so did Uncle Ted. So the next time we drove home, he didn't drink but he told some of the nastiest and grossest jokes that I ever heard. Good old Uncle Ted! What's that? You want to hear one? Ok but be warned.

A guy walks into a bar and he's in need of a drink but does not have money. He tells the bartender that if he doesn't get a free drink, that he'll drink the spittoon. The bartender tells him to go away. The drunk picks up the spittoon and brings it closer to his lips. No deal. He brings it closer still. No deal. The other patrons are starting to notice now. He puts it to his lips and mumbles. The bartender says no deal. He starts to drink. People are running out of the bar gagging and puking. The bartender says OK OK, you can have a drink, just stop drinking that! He kept going and making a lot of chugging noises. The bartender again offers some drinks and he doesn't stop. Everyone is gone, there's vomit all over the place and the bartender almost passes out. After about three minutes he stops drinking form the spittoon, and put sit down with a satisfying "Ahhhhhh" and wipes his chin with his sleeve. The now queasy bartender pleads with him and asked why he didn't stop. The drunk looks at him and said that he wanted to but couldn't because it was all one long string!

Warned ya.

Hey Flyboy!

My Uncle Ted used to have an airplane. If I remember correctly, it was a 1958 Piper Cub

and he parked it at the old Powell airport in Crestwood, IL. The Crestwood mall is there now but back in the day, it had all sorts of planes there.

So one day Uncle Ted asked me to accompany him to the airplane so he could do something or another. I agreed as I really wanted to see his new toy. This toy got under his wife's skin as Aunt Lorraine thought that it was too dangerous a hobby.

So we get there and he's putting stuff into the plane and then softly said, "get inside and duck down." I thought that is was unusual but I did it anyway. I'm in the captains seat hunched down as Ted guns the motor and off we go down the grass runway. I was able to sit up straight once we were airborne. So now we're flying and I ask him why I had to hide? He said that he didn't have a passenger rating. Now I'm thinking that I'm going to jail at the ripe old age of 10. Surely the FBI must know about this and I'm equally sure that they will be waiting with rubber hoses and bright lights at our destination.

He's showing me that the plane has twin fuel tanks as we are flying, one in each wing. So he's switching the fuel tanks back and forth to show me when the motor starts to stall do to a lack of fuel. It did restart but not before he's scared shitless so we land in the Gary regional airport and buy more fuel. We didn't need it but he scared himself into needing to land. They did not ask for his rating either so we're off once again.

We take off and we're headed to Michigan where he has a summer home. He asks me if I've ever flown before and I answer no I haven't. So he has me put my feet on the pedals and we make some slow fishtails. That was fun. Next he has me put my hands on the steering column. I do and he's now showing me what that can do. I'm starting to like this!

All of a sudden he lets go of everything and yells, "fly it ya little bastard!" I'm petrified and trying to hold the plane level. Uncle Ted is a good 300 lb.s more than me so his side of the plane is dipping by about 2 feet.  He tells me to steer a little but and hit the rudder and we'll level out. So I'm trying my best but I just can't since he's so heavy. I start to hit the rudder and to get more leverage, I start pulling back on the yoke. Now I've got the plane spiraling steeply upward to the left and Uncle Ted is in a panic because we're bleeding off air speed and "gravity is a bitch just like my wife" he screams. I'm barely listening as we start to roll over and he grabs the controls out of my hands, corrects the flight path and we're level now. My heart is spinning faster than the propellers and I'm drenched with sweat.

We arrive at the Dowigiac, Michigan airport. I'm still as pale as a ghost and shaking and who is there to meet us? A very angry Aunt Lorraine. I would much rather have the FBI with the rubber hoses because she was staring a hole through me. I had to secure the plane to the ground cables in the assigned revetment while Uncle Ted is trying to justify why he broke the law by flying me. She should know what the hell else that he did! We survived and drove Aunt Lorraine's brand new Cadillac back home-in the strictest silence. I think that Aunt Lorraine did not break her soul draining stare or uncross her arms once at Uncle Ted the whole 2 hours that it took to get home either. We turned into their driveway and they shut off the motor and I broke out with a full speed run that would have a track star looking on and shaking his head in approval. I have to tell the neighborhood guys what I did!

As a footnote, I joined the Air Force/Air National Guard years later and if the Military Training Instructors had asked me I I've ever flown before, I said no. Who the hell knows what they would have done?

The Magic of Paper

My Uncle Ted is my inspiration for my days when I was a professional circus clown. http://www.medinah.org/clowns.htm. He was full of pranks, could tell the darnedest jokes and no one was safe. No. One.

I used to work at his garden center/flower shop when I was a wee feller of about 5 years old and up to and including into college and it constantly would amaze me at all of the stuff that he could get away with.  Certainly my parents would not have approved of a fraction of his shenanigans. For instance, Uncle Ted asked me to go down to the open air fruit market and ask for Tom. Once I got there I was to ask for a left handed sky hook as we were expecting a delivery of flowers that day. So I dutifully went down the street and asked Tom and a sky hook. He gave me a playful kick in the seat of my pants and sent me back. Ted would bellow, "Hey ya little bastard, where's my hook?" and laugh uproariously. He liked to call me a little bastard all of the time. C'Est La Vie.

Now I was starting to catch on. What ever he said was pure BS so I had to be very careful. He sent one of the neighborhood kids down the street to get a left handed hammer. The kid came back and told Ted that all they had were right handed ones. Even at 7years old, I thought that this is funny.

So one day, I'm out watering the flats of flowers and I hear Uncle Ted bellowing for me. He alternated between calling me by my given name to his favorite euphemism. It would appear that he was on the throne and was out of toilet paper. I followed the rumblings and stopped at the door. He reached through the door and gave me some money and told me to get some more toilet paper right now you little bastard! He had a little difficulty getting the door open enough to hand me cash as sitting on the toilet made it nearly impossible to open the door.

I started to scurry off when some of the older guys and Ted's own brother started to say Whoa and slow down. What's your hurry little man? They all had that sneaky smile that said something was up. They wised me up right away and I took a leisurely stroll down the block to the little grocery store for the much needed paper.

I stopped along the way to talk to some of the kids of the store owners and ate an apple, visited with the neighbors dogs, had a water hose fight and so on. By the time I got back the guys were howling with laughter and you could almost see the steam coming from the bathroom as Ted was soooo angry. During my absence, they decided that it would be a good, no an ultra ubber stupendous idea to tear the sticks off of the bottle rockets, light them and send them on their way to the captive audience on the other side of the stink door. What was he going to do, run after them? I think not. He was screaming and carrying on stomping his feet and vowing to kill everyone and their prodigies. They were worried that he might have set his britches ablaze so in another stellar inspirational moment, they got a water hose and flooded the shrine with about an inch of ice cold water. His belongings weren't on fire but I'll bet they they just might have been a tad moist.

I announced that I was back and told him that I couldn't decide what color paper to buy so I described all of the colors and their textures that I had and asked which he would like first. He was flailing away madly with one arm through the little bit of door opening that his legs would allow and I was just barely and wisely out of reach! He finally yelled some words that this then 7 year old never heard before and I came closer and gave him the bag with about 25 rolls of individually wrapped paper. He withdrew the bag so forcefully and quickly that the bag got stuck on the door handle and broke open and all of the rolls were now rolling away from him. The other guys were besides themselves with laughter and found it impossible to stand up, I'm trying to gather up at least one roll to hand to him and not be drug into his temper tantrum lair and escape with my very young and about to end life

He finally got a roll and was cursing up a blue streak and after making his escape from the poop prison and yelled where are you ya little bastard? but I was long gone by then. We went a little too far that day I guess but the other guys still remember it quite fondly (I hope) and Uncle Ted did eventually calmed down and forgive me. He could take a joke as well as anyone if not more so but that time set the benchmark for me and taught me a valuable lesson. Make them laugh but don't give them a stroke! 

The Paris Cafe

I took my wife to Paris, France a few years ago simply because it was the most important thing that she wanted. The timing was great though because I got fired from my job for mouthing off to the boss during contract negotiations. For those who don't know, everyone on both sides of the table are at the same level for contractual issues so if they yelled, I yelled back. I told them that they couldn't fire me because they had to pay me off first thinking that they can't be that stupid. They were and wrote a fantastic check and I left but not before I told my business agent to grieve it-next week.

I went to a travel agent and got two round trip tickets for Paris and then went home with them. My French speaking wife loved the idea and she researched where we were going to live and any site that she wanted to see. She asked why there were two tickets-because I want to go too!

So we get there and it's as beautiful as we dreamed and so much more. It was a little expensive but we were staying in a hotel in downtown Paris after all. We went to all of the attractions and took the Metro to every one of them. We went to the Louvre, San Chappel, the Eiffel Tower, La Madaline, Arch D' Triumph and Sacre Cour all within the first day. The city of Paris is clean too. Everything is cleaned up around 5 AM by workers. They wash every building, sidewalk and street down and it flows into the Seine river.

Every morning we'd get up early and go to a little pastry shop for breakfast to start our day. We were up at 6 AM or so and the Parisians don't stir until about 8 AM or so. All of the pastry's are too beautiful to eat and they look like little works of art but we ate them and they were scrumptious! Each morning a local guy would come into the shop around the same time that we did and he'd bring his vastly overweight bulldog with him. Both the dog and his owner were so fat they they had hot dog rolls on the backs of their necks and they waddled at each step. Each day he and the pooch were greeted by the shop owner and his wife as though they were long time friends like Norm on the TV show Cheers. By the way, dogs are allowed into places to eat in Paris. They have to have a sign that says no dogs otherwise it's the status quo to have the dogs eat with you.

So we're in there one day and in walks these two and they take the table that is behind me. My wife is on front of me and my back is to the back of the dog owner in the next table. He's taking some croissants, tearing them apart and feeds them to the dog. When the dogs wants more he starts to wheeze and bark-cough and the guy gives him some more. Soon the dog starts to snuffle and demands more. The guy complies without looking. Now I'm noticing a little pattern here. The dog owner is concentrating on eating, the cafe owners are not looking so I ask my wife to touch her nose when the dog gets up on his hinds legs just before he's about to beg. She touches her nose and I imitate the snuffle and low growl bark and say "croissant!" Everyone stops to look at the dog to see if he'll say it again.

The owner looks up at the cafe owners and they look at my wife and I continue to eat my raspberry tart. In perfect French, my wife says, "I guess he knows what he likes!" With that the dog owner sticks out his chest like he has the only dog in the world that can say croissant. Maybe he did. The dog gets some special loving and everyone is happy if not startled.

A little while later my wife touches her nose again and I start up with my shenanigans and now everyone in  the restaurant is convinced that this dog can say croissant. This went on for a few more times and each time the dog owner is more and more proud of his talking dog.

We finish and leave, the wife talks to the owners of the cafe and wishes the dog owner good luck and out the door we go. This is when I tell her what I've been doing all along and even she thought that the dog could talk. We're walking down the street laughing like we don't have good sense and wonder what the dog owner is going to say to his family and friends. I'd love to be a fly on the wall for those conversations!

I sent post cards to my shop and supervisors every day that we were in Paris. Sometimes I'd send multiples but just as long as I sent them I was happy. I knew that I got my job back and that it was waiting for me so why not have a little fun with the tiny brained folk?

The bosses immediately demanded that I repay the exit check upon my return and I said that some of it would be returning presently. It came back as post cards for the following two months and I made sure that I thanked them too!

We got our contract settled and the bosses knew that I had played them the fool but it was over and I won and the best part is that I got to take my wife to Paris!

Hey Funny Man!

The first house that my wife and I had was a rehab special. Bob Vila and Norm Abrams were on This Old House and we thought that we could do the same. Norm has a fleet of carpenters behind the scenes but that didn't bother us. Geez was I ever a dumb ass back then.

So it's another hot summer day and I'm trying to cool off. We did not have air conditioning in the beginning of our marriage nor could we afford it. We didn't have two nickels to rub together as the saying goes. So cooling off was important and there were various ways to do so. We could stay in the unfinished basement where it was cooler but the TV reception was really bad. We could and did put tin foil in the west facing windows to block out the afternoon sun AND block the aliens from our thoughts. Or we could eat some frozen candy that we had in the freezer. These candies were bite sized Mars bars and they were solid as a rock-but they were cold.

About this time, my two oldest came in from outside and they were flicking something out of their arm pits. They actually raised their arms and tried to stick their little hands in their own arm pits as if they were trying to imitate monkeys in the wild. I asked them what they were doing and they said that they were "flicking out the Neepo Beepo's." That's pronounced "knee-po Beep-o" by the way according to our 4 and 5 year old.

Now curiosity has gotten a hold of me so I raise their little arms to see just what a Neepo Beepo is. They had the little ropes of dirt in the crevices of their armpits and they were trying their darnedest to get them out. I saw that there were some crud ropes behind their knees and asked what they called them. Those are Neeps and Beeps because they haven't crawled their way up to the arm pits. So now I understand. They then followed with that mom does not have Neepo Beepo's because she cuts their heads off with a razor while she's in the shower. Point taken.

So we clean them up and send them back outside to play some more. I make my way to the freezer and pull out a frozen Mars bar and unwrap it. About this time my 4 year old daughter comes in through the back door and almost catches me with the candy. I very quickly and stealthy put the candy, the ice cold candy, in my arm pit. She asks me if I ever get any Neepo Beepo's. I slowly look over my left shoulder with the devil's own grin and rest my gaze upon my horror stricken wife. She's pleading with me in what can only be described as a low growl tone of voice that I should not show our little angel that I did have a Neepo Beepo.

I look back at my daughter and said, "Sure do!" and with that, I raised up my arm and the candy dropped out. I very quickly snatched it up from the floor and popped it into my mouth. Her eyes got as big as dinner plates when she saw this and shreaked, "Bubba! Daddy is eating his Neepo Beepo's!" and then ran out the door int the backyard.

My wife was beyond angry and said that sometime in the future, our kids will be on some psychiatrists couch telling them about all of the times that I messed with their heads and that is why they can't function in life. I told her that they'd be OK and not to worry.

About this time we see the back door opening ever so slowly and in come the two kids. They had wrapped their arms around each other holding on tight and were walking in lock step. It really looked like there were two heads on one body. My wife is still angry but now shes afraid that these two will start crying or something like that. Our daughter looked up and said, "Do it again daddy!" and we laughed as I gave them some of the frozen candy and explained what I did. They didn't care as they got cold candy on a hot day.
On the other hand, my dear wife stomped out of the house to cool off so she didn't really enjoy the day but we sure did!

A few years later I had a brilliant idea. I announced at the dinner table that I had been elected into Chicago's Medinah Shrine Clown Club and needed a name. It had to be something simple, funny and it had to make people laugh. The two older kids said in unison,"You have to be Neepo Beepo dad" and history was made.

People who have known me for most of my life either said what took you so long to come out of the clown closet or that they knew that eventually I'd find my true calling. Either way it was hard work and I'd try out all of my clown antics on my kids so that I could hone my skills. My older daughter taught me how to make balloon animals. They are in their late 20's and early 30's now and none of them are on a shrinks couch!

Maybe it's my turn.....

The Origin of Ass Worms.

Several years ago, my wife and our 3 children were on their way to a wake for a good friend. He was in his upper 80's, a free thinker and a real fun guy but it was his time. Our three teen age children were in the car and saw that their mom was feeling a wee bit sad so they tried to cheer her up on the way to the funeral home.

They talked of many things and finally our middle child asked mom, "Did I ever tell you about dad and the ass worms story?" The Love Of My Life almost slammed on the brakes of the car and screamed, "WHAT?!" Our child went on to tell the sordid tale of how her dad was a cagy old codger even when he was younger and the other two just chimed right in.

The kids would run around the house and outside all day long and burn off loads of energy. I thought that they were more energetic than usual for 3 and 4 year old's but didn't notice because I was busy rehabbing the house. I went to the refrigerator to get something cold to drink and saw the two older kids running towards the kitchen at full toddler speed, swoop by the table and stuck their sticky fingers in the sugar bowl and then place these same fingers into their mouths without breaking stride. I was amazed at their dexterity and finesse but knew that as a father, I should stop this.

I called them in and washed off their fingers and told them that you will get worms if you keep eating raw sugar. They were young enough to believe me too. I explained that worms will crawl out of your butts when you sleep if you eat raw sugar. So they looked at each other and decided that maybe they shouldn't do that anymore. I was told later that there was a great discussion about this at bedtime that night and maybe they should go to mom with this tidbit of information but they didn't after all. It's a good thing that they didn't because the story would have ended there.

They held this to be true for years and years and years. It got to the point that if I wanted something out of the refrigerator that I'd tell them that they'd get ass worms if they ate this or that so they should leave it alone. They once asked me why I didn't get ass worms so I told them that my gut microbes were more sophisticated then theirs and they that I could handle this inconvenience.Yeah, they believed that one too.

So a few years later, here comes our third child. She's growing up and the older two are teaching her about life and why she should never eat raw sugar. It was about then that the older two were starting to doubt my wisdom but kept with my admonitions. The three of them were playing in the dirt outside a little later when the youngest got some earth worms in her little pants suit. That was it! They knew that dad was right all along because after all, the 2 year old was eating sugar and she got worms!

Not too much later, the kids got smart and looked up this worm story on the computer and confirmed their suspicions that dad was full of shit and they were right. They never really told me that they knew but I knew that they were old enough to, 1. Not believe me anymore, and 2. If they did still believe me, that their gut microbes would be able to handle this.

Of course my wife was very angry that I would stoop so low and further that the kids would actually believe me but in the end, she knew that I was not being cruel and that I was just doing what clown in me would do. So she shook her head and said that one day we would have grandchildren so I should try not to be too much of a dunderhead.

My daughter and granddaughter visit on a regular basis and I'm sure that even as a 15 month old, my grandbaby has been told to not believe everything that Pop-Pop has to say. But that doesn't stop me from trying!

Gimme Some of That Old Time Religion!

My parents wanted to give us everything that they could so that we would grow up to be quality human beings. Yeah, that second part makes me laugh too. My two brothers and me were dead set against anything that we'd have to take a bath for but the will of our parents usually prevailed.

Saturday night was bath night and we usually had baths more often than that but one really couldn't tell. Where there was dirt, there we were in the midst. If there was a water hose, there was mud and again we were in the midst of it. I think I remember people calling us pigs but that may be a false memory. It's not like we hadn't earned it though.

Saturday night is here and we are cleaned up and ready for some quality TV. What's next? Polishing our shoes and mom making sure that our church clothes were laid out neatly pressed and ready to go for the following morning. No TV for the piggies. We wanted to stay up as late as possible so that it would take a long time for church services to come but that was not our parents plans at all. They dropped dead asleep once we were in bed so they were looking for as much sleep as possible. Being a parent and grandparent now, I can see their wisdom if not their fatigue.

Sunday morning came and we woke up bright and early to the smell of bacon and pancakes! It was going to be a grand day after all! My mothers youngest sister came over every Sunday to take us to Sunday school at a fire and brimstone Pentecostal church. My parents would come to services later in the day but Aunt Lucille made the rounds gathering up all sorts of kids from all over the north side of Chicago to attend Sunday school.

We were dressed in our blue colored blazers with the little gold shield crest on the breast pocket with the fake hankie, white shirts and red bow ties and shoes so highly polished that we could almost see up girls skirts. Not that we actually did that....! We were styling back then! We had the obligatory crew cuts as was befitting the style for little boys back then. I think that is was so mom and dad could check for cooties but then again, maybe not. It was definitely easier to wash us though.

Aunt Lu-Lu and her fiancee (later her husband) would park their VW micro bus in front of the house and come get us. It was like pulling teeth for us to go but we went anyway. I was about about 5 years old so I did what I was told to do-sometimes. Anyway, we'd walk to the bus and see all of the other kids there and then off to church.

This had been going on for a number of weeks and months and possibly years and Aunt Lu-Lu was getting tired of the tussle every Sunday so she hit upon what I could only say is a brilliantly imaginative if not shortsighted idea. She stopped at the penny candy counter and bought candy for all us! Besides me and my brothers, there were some friends of my aunt and some of her neighbors so all in all there were about 3-9 kids in the bus on any given Sunday and once in a great while there were more.

So we're all loaded in and I'm in the middle seat nearest the front and Uncle Ernie starts driving. Aunt Lu-Lu turned around and gave me the bag of candy and told me to pass them out. Big mistake since my ears shut off at "Rich, have some candy!" She bought the candy that had 4 differently colored dots across and went the length of the paper. I looked at this with amazement of my good fortune and proceeded to eat the candy. I put the candied paper in my mouth and hooked the first row with my upper front teeth. Then I put my finger onto the paper forcing it into my mouth and pulled up and out removing every piece of candy on the paper on one shot. There had to be hundreds if not millions of dots! In about 2 seconds the candy was gone. The paper looked to be about 6 feet long or so but my mouth was full of candy goodness!

My mouth is so full and cheeks so packed that I looked like a chipmunk just before winter was about to set in. My nose had every color of the candy wiped right across unbeknownst to me. Now about this time the other kids started bellyaching that they weren't getting anything. Aunt Lu-Lu turned around and looked at me. I had multicolored drool coming out of my mouth and it looked like I was having trouble breathing and my nice white shirt looked like a Jackson Pollack painting.  She asked, "Richie, did you pass out the candy like I asked you too?"  What was I to say? I mumbled "no" and shook my head sideways. About that time my mouth exploded and all of my hard won candy was all over the place in a most disgusting manner. Uncle Ernie was very upset because he had to clean out the mess before it set into the carpeting. We were just about at church and Aunt Lu-Lu was just flabbergasted about my behavior and the other kids were crying that they didn't get any candy and the uproar was deafening as we offloaded from the bus.

And then the sugar kicked in...

Grandma Edna and Meister Brau

I started out as a child on the north side of Chicago in the shadows of Wrigley Field in 1958. It was the early 60's when we moved into a new house and the neighborhood wasn't all that bad then. It would be far worse in the latter half of that decade.

Air conditioning was not something that we knew of personally although we had heard rumors that such a thing existed. My two brothers and I were always outside digging in the dirt, playing with the water hose, annoying the neighbors dog and in general, being what some little boys always seemed to be-pigs. And we enjoyed it too. We never really thought about air conditioning let alone soap and water. Shampoo? Forget it!

Mom was bound and determined to make us clean so on Saturday night, we would line up and take a bath. Mom always swore that she needed Linco Bleach just to have an even chance of seeing clean kids. Then we would go off to church with my mother's younger sister to a fire and brimstone Pentecostal church. It didn't take.

My mother was a "boy" mom. She knew how to handle us pigs and we accepted that if she was mad, that we may have had something to do with it. She was a shorter woman but she had the strength of voice that could have a car park itself out of fear for her. Her step-mother raised her from the age of 11 so her Aunt Edna became our Grandma Edna. Grandma Edna was strict with my mother and her twin brother when they were growing up but the grand kids could do no wrong to my mothers dismay.

One fine, sunny and very hot day, Grandma Edna and Grandpa Joe came by for a visit. Mom and Grandma got into the car and we three pigs got into the back seat and went along to do some errands. Now, Grandma Edna loved her Meister Brau beer. These were the days when you needed a church key to open a can. So we're driving north on Sheffield Ave. and Grandma pulls a cold beer from her purse and pops it open. Now that was funny to us boys because we knew that mom ordinarily would have passed scratching and clawing kittens but this was her mother so she just asked that no one would get arrested that day.

Grandma was chugging the beer and laughing at mom, mom was driving a little fast to get home before Grandma pulled another beer out or the police pulled us over and we were about to pee ourselves from laughing from Grandma's entertainment.

Grandma finished her beer and told mom to pull over so she could dump the can. Before mom could make a decision, Grandma told her to "hit the damn gas now JoAnn! What the hell is wrong with you?" Without thinking, mom did and Grandma leaned way outside of the passenger door window to the point of almost falling out and made a perfect underhand throw-into the back of a newspaper truck as we sped by! The back doors were open and the drivers were not around or so we thought. As we sped by, the can bounced off of the inside of the trucks windshield and landed in the startled drivers lap. It was a perfect throw and we saw the whole thing.

Grandma is laughing, we're in the back seat laughing, stinking and peeing and mom is just beside herself with disgust for all of us. There was nothing else to do so mom turned down our block hoping that the nightmare was over at last. Grandma noted that we had forgotten to make one special errand so we went right back onto Sheffield Ave. towards the newspaper truck. Yes it was a rouse because Grandma thought that is so much fun.

Quick as a wink, Grandma opened another can of Meister Brau, chugged it dry and attempted to repeat the same feat. The driver saw it coming and closed his doors so the can bounced off to who knows where. There was a lot of cussing as we sped away and some of it came from my mother.