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Being A Kid.

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Gaius Octavius

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Put me down! Let me go!, you wild, weird, wicked woemens! Stop petting me! I'm not a doggie! Quit kissing me! You're embarrassing me. My pals are laughing at me.

 

This is how that scene came about. During WWII, the traffic on our street was like an unending snake. Men had to get to the docks. The cross street had practically no traffic. In the event of a crash, the men simply got out of their jalopies and punched each other out. Case closed. Some politico decided that a traffic light would be to some advantage. It would also take away our entertainment.

 

So that you will understand, there are two more items to reveal. We were good little ragamuffins. We were always helpful. One day we relieved a parky of the odious duty of caring for a basketball. We hid it in the bushes, as bringing it home would have resulted in some searching questions and the attendant thrashing. In those days, Mothers used to take their precious cares out for an airing in the morning. They would take to the benches and commence babbling.

 

And so it was the day after our good deed. We suddenly discovered the basketball in the bushes and proclaimed to all that it was an act of God. Naturally, we commenced to play with it. Kicking it at each other seemed like a good idea. One of the guys sent the ball flying over my head and into the mudgutter. Not at all concerned about the 'snake', I went charging after it. There came about a screeching of brakes; the fetid burning of rubber; and the noisy locking of bumpers. These drivers became highly agitated. They exited their piles and started to jump up and down on the bumpers to disengage their buggies. They also were intent on providing some entertainment. Then they saw me. The entertainment was off. Some of the ugliest words - in all sorts of languages. I was appalled! Suggested that they go to confession. And also flipped them a Neapolitan salute. (No, not the bird - much too vulgar. This is an open palm flung into the air.) They understood and were besides themselves. They charged. By now the Mothers were alerted and alarmed. One of theirs in peril! They in turn counter charged. The behemoths were not about to tackle a gaggle of nasty woemens. They retreated.

 

Then the scene first related came about. When it was ascertained that no damage had been done, the fun began."How many times have I told you not to run into the street?" (I don't know - I didn't count.) "Wait till your Father gets you." (I'd rather face him than you.) Like a school of fish, all the Mothers had at me at once. Hair pulling, kicks, punches. They finally wore themselves out and let me go. Needless to say I was somewhat groggy. My buddies were in hysterics.

 

Oh, well, tomorrow will bring another adventure and a trip into the world of communal thrashing. Hope it's not me this time.

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Hey, almost forgot to ask... G.O., have you every read any books by Sam Levenson? Your style of story-telling reminds me a lot of his -- you're both from Brooklyn, except you grew up Italian and he grew up Jewish. I recommend you start with his book In One Era and Out the Other -- although everything he wrote was pure gold.

 

-- Nephele

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Unfortunately, I never read any of Sam's books. He was one of my favorite comedians. Always a smile on his face. Then there was a guy named Cohen who used to spoof Jewish people in Florida. Gertie, I think.

The incomparable Sid Caesar (my all time favorite) with Imogene Cocoa(?). Jackie Gleason and Art Carney. Carol Burnett. Woody Allen, when he did stand up. Johnny Carson. Cosby, when he did stand up. "Can You Top This". (A radio program with three guys trying to top each other with jokes. One of them was Harry Hirshfield - Sadie DeKallb and Gertie Gowanus.) I am sure that I am missing some. I sorely miss them. They were quality of the first magnitude. Never had to be dirty.

 

My stories really happened. Only the words embellish them. They were terrors at the time, but time heals the wounds.

 

Have every intention of picking up one of Sam's books. It is quite a compliment to even be reminded of Sam.

 

Be on the lookout for my next disaster.

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