The Grass Picker

OK, so I've told maybe a couple "big fish" stories on Bloggy-Blog. However, when I choose to embellish, I only do it so that I can drive home my anti-drug message to the kids who look up to me as a role model. So while the following tale may sound like some kinda' fake yarn, it ain't. What's more, you have my permission to smoke yer "H" and shoot up yer "reefer", just to prove that I have no ulterior motives.

When I was about 7 (that's five fingers + two), I found myself inducted into a spontaneous rain-making ritual on the front lawn of my parent's house. It was a summer afternoon and my brother, plus about three neighborhood kids, and I were sitting out on the grass. We'd hauled out a big zig-zag patterned multicolored quilt, which in our household we always referred to as the "Indian blanket". Our lawn was on an incline, so my brother sat at the top of this small hill wrapped in the Indian blanket.

Of course, he with zig-zag blanket is the de-facto Chief.

The Chief sat in a noble cross-legged position, while other kids engaged in specialized tasks which would complete the ceremony being improvised. One kid would make arm waving motions; another would be doing some kind of retarded "ooga-booga" chant. Meanwhile, I was dubbed: "the grass picker". So I proceeded to furiously uproot grass by the fistful and toss it into the air. Once all this got going, we worked up a good head of steam --as a bunch of dumb white kids sitting around chanting, breast beating, and grass picking are wont to do.

Then it began to rain. This is true. It was a very freaky rain at that. Not a heavily-clouded sky, just wisps. Of course, when it came down, we responded like drunken monkeys. In all, it lasted about 15 minutes, then we all went home to watch Gomer Pyle or whatever.

We laughed about it but the whole rain ritual felt normal and plausible at the time. I think we tried experimenting with levitation soon after.

So isn't that just the most gosh-darned charming little childhood story? I have plenty of other kiddie stories full of menace and danger to kick the ass of that one. Like the local improvised "Spook House" which featured a neighbor kid (or more aptly: "spook house cast member") who'd pee on guests as they groped their way through the dark in true horror ...or the day we made a bomb out of a hollowed-out croquet ball stuffed full of gunpowder culled from hundreds of firecrackers. Yes, it's all about having idle hands -or no hands in the case of the croquet ball bomb- just like the impetus for this blog.

a childhood idol at work
blogs need photos. this was the best i could do.