Hey, Mike, watch this.

I have two brothers, one with red hair and one without (without red hair, not without hair). My red-headed brother started playing golf as a teenager. He kept his clubs in our garage and it was understood that they were off limits to any baby brothers. So, of course, I was into them every chance possible.

Now, we lived across the street from an elementary school. There was a big blacktop parking lot at the corner and a smallish field followed by a really big field. So, to a youngster, it looked like a golf course. And what do you do on a golf course? Of course, you play golf.

I was seven years old when my buddy, Mike Klobe, came from his house next door to sing me a new song he learned at his Catholic preschool. Now, typically, I would’ve been all into it and stuff, but at that moment, I was really busy playing a round of golf from my front yard. I had a five iron and I was zeroing in on the “pin” just on the other side of the parking lot. I took a couple practice swings that threw loose grass and clods of South Wichita clay into the air and my face. All the time, Mike was singing his song. I mean, he was really belting it out. I lined up my shot, fiddled around with my stance and grip just like my big brother did. Man, I was ready. I wanted to rip that ball hard. I cranked back a full swing and let ‘er rip. What happened next would change my life, forever.

I heard it, then I saw it. Holy crap cakes? What was that sound? That doesn’t sound like a nursery song! It sounds like a tree monkey after a few too many banana daiquiries. I smashed Mike in the face with a five iron! Blood was everywhere, it was streaming down his face like he had a garden hose on top of his head. Dude, I was out of there. As Mike was running home, I grabbed the other clubs laying on the ground and split.

I went straight to my room and started working on my alibi. Oh man, I knew I was in big trouble. I knew I wasn’t suppose to touch my brother’s golf clubs. And I sure wasn’t suppose to be playing golf in the front yard. I thought I was going to prison. But, maybe, there was a chance that I could deny even being out there…I was seven, I thought it could work.

Just when I got my hopes up that I might be able to beat the wrap, my Mom burst into my room and the interrogation began. All the questions, I couldn’t keep my story straight. My alibi was ruined, I had to confess. But how did my mom know I did it? Well, because Steve, who lived across the street, saw the whole thing and was a very good eye witness. He was even wearing his glasses that day. He saw it all. Including the sweet shot that sailed the street and parking lot and landed “on the green” just where I had intended. Thanks Steve.

** As an aside, Mike moved to Texas the next year. Well, 20 years later, I moved to Texas and we hooked up for a couple drinks. Now, I hadn’t seen Mike since he was 7 years old but I knew exactly when he walked in. Of course, he was the guy with a big hairy scar over his right eye that looked like he got hit in the face with a five iron. We talked about a lot of stuff, but we never talked about the time I hit him in the face with a golf club. I wonder why?

Holy Bat Knuckles!

One of my favorite things to do was stay up late Saturday nights with my brothers and watch Batman and All-Star Wrestling. That’s when Adam West was Batman and Tony Atlas was fighting “Handsome” Harley Race. Well, I was just a little guy and I’d barely make it to the first match.

My Dad always made my brothers accommodate me and commanded them to carry me to my bed if (when) I fell asleep. So, they were horked off. I was six years old which made my brothers fourteen and twelve. So, here was the ritual of every Saturday night. I’d make it through Batman and maybe to the first wrestling match. I’d fall asleep and when my brothers were ready to go to bed, they WOULDN’T carry me to my bedroom like my dad instructed them. They would grab me under the arms and yank me up to my feet as fast as possible so that I’d wake up standing on my feet. What the? Have you ever been awakened after dreaming about eating Strawberry Pop Tarts and discover you’re standing in the middle of the basement rec room with your two brothers laughing hysterically? I didn’t think so.

Golf at 103°

It was hot man. You know, August in the sun belt. We were nuts enough to spend the afternoon sucking at golf. What’s more, we decided to suck on the longest course in town. So, when we were about four holes from heat stroke, my oldest brother, Chip, hacks one into a grouping of Pine trees. Being the good baby brother I am, I went in to help look around in the tall grass to find his ball faster. That’s when I heard a series of cracks that sounded like small arms fire. First I heard it, then I saw it.

“What the hell”?

And I looked over and my brother was holding the top of his head.

“Somebody hit me in the head with a freaking ball!”

Man, I couldn’t help from laughing. So, as my brother described it, sirens were going off inside his head and flames were shooting out from a hole on top of his head. Didn’t sound very pleasurable but it was really excruciatingly funny.

These two geezers who were putting out on a green near the pines saw my brother get whacked and yelled over to see if he was OK.

“Hey Sonny. You OK?”
Pointing in the direction of my other brother, one of the geezers said,
“I think a fella from over there hit that ball”

To which my brother replied, “Yeah, I think it was one of my brothers”.

Which surprised me because he only has two brothers and I was standing right next to him. He must’ve really sustained a fantastic whack in the noodle not be able to distinguish which one did it. I mean, would it be too much to ask for a guy to pin the offense on the right brother? Anywho, Geezer number two said, “Well, guess you can’t do too much about that”.

Yeah right.

About 20 seconds later, my middle brother comes around the corner with his clubs like he was late for a party and said,

“Hey, you guys see my ball around here”? and of course Chip said,

“Yeah, you jacknard, you bounced it off the top of my head”!

And here it is. It’s what we were waiting for. As my brother and I were laughing the rest of our cracks off, he said,

“It’s not funny”!

Tighty Whities and Spock

We had a screened porch that we built on the back side of our house one summer. We nearly spent every waking minute out there while we were home. It was during the energy crisis in the 70s and I really didn’t know what air conditioning was. I just enjoyed the baking gale-force winds that would assault us in the screened porch. We tried desperately to make it comfortable by moving our TV out there with our lawn furniture. I remember reclining in a nylon-strapped patio chaise while we all watched To Tell the Truth on our 12 inch Emerson color TV, sweating our cans off.

So, I had a tendency to do really bizarre stuff when I was a kid. Even though BTK was a real-life boogyman in my world, I would occasionally sleep in the screened porch. It was like camping, only without the campfire and smores and the ground was ASTROTURF®, not real grass.

We were all watching Baretta on the sweet 12 inch and I fell asleep in my favorite lawn chair. The rest of the tribe went to bed in the normal way people sleep. At some point during the night, I was awakened by rapid gunfire. I mean, I was only 8 years old, I nearly peed myself. I heard my parents in their bedroom yelling and screaming while they took pot-shots at one another from across their tiny double bed. I didn’t know my mom even knew how to hold a pistol, let alone fire one. I jammed out of the screened porch like my jelly beans were on fire. I didn’t even use the handle, I just gave it an Earl Campbell straight-arm and made short work of the wooden gate that followed it.

I made a bee-line to my neighbor’s house across the street. She was a nurse so I thought she would surely know what to do. But when I got to the door and rang the bell, I heard her scream a bunch of mean crap at me. She really let me have it, man. She was using some filthy language that I’d only heard my brothers and Todd Taylor use. I was really freaking out. My parents were starting WWIII, my neighbor wanted to rip my head off and, well, you know. The only thing I knew to do was try to hide somewhere. I bolted off my neighbor’s porch and headed for the back side of the elementary school across the street. It was so dark I could barely see my hand in front of my eyeballs. I know that because I tried it. I couldn’t see jack!

I finally found a window-well where I could hide. I sat down for a minute and noticed that it felt like the skin on the bottoms of my feet had been scraped off with a dull razor blade. I had just juked and jived through three hundred yards of thorns, stickers and gravel. I was grievously bumming.

I couldn’t stay there long because I heard voices in the dark and they were getting closer. My heart was racing so fast I thought it would jump right out of my chest. I finished the perimeter of the building and was on my way to my last hope for safety. I had to make it to the Conant’s house. They lived next door to the “smart nurse” who wanted to use me as her dog’s new chew toy. I turned on the jets through her yard and crashed into the Conant’s front door. I bet I rang the bell forty times in 5 seconds. I was nearly hysterical. When they answered the door I rushed in like I was escaping a pack of feral dogs that were chasing me down for lunch.

That’s when I woke up. I was standing in the Conant’s front room in my underwear while they were watching Star Trek. They were all staring at me and I knew they wanted to laugh but for some reason they didn’t. Of course, they wanted to know why I was at their house so late. I tried to explain what happened but it sounded pretty farcical, even to me…and I just lived it. I didn’t know until later that I was sleep walking. I was only eight, what did I know? Man, I was feeling like a huge dope. Mr. Conant took me home and we let ourselves in through the broken gate and screen door. He took me downstairs to my brother’s room and told him that I said my parents were involved in a little gun play upstairs and would it be OK if I slept with him. Oh boy, I thought he would rattle my cage for that, but he didn’t. Not that time.