Samuel and the Aftermath

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It was Nana who rounded all the children up, and took them to the deck.  The whole flock of three-year olds plopped down and waited with serious eyes.  Soon they would be whisked away to be cleaned up and taken home for their naps.

The pitchers of Sangria had been drained dry, causing some of the mothers to stagger as they wiped down the cake mess.  Nana put on some coffee and started force-feeding the women with extra caffeine.

Samuel sat off to the side with his crew.  To look at them, no one would know that this was all their doing.  That all the destruction, the soiled and busted bouncing castle, and the run-away pony—all was accomplished with those four children.

Samuel felt an inner glow that always came after a successful venture, the sense that all was well with the world. Such a great day, the best birthday yet!  Everything, all of it!  Man.  I wish we could do it all over.

Then Nana took him by the hand and led him to his bedroom.  They sat down on his ‘big boy’ bed, and Nana looked Samuel straight in the eyes.  She held his eyes with her own until Samuel felt the glow shrivel, the pride shut down.

“Samuel.  Did you even think about what would happen to the pony?  To the young man who loves him?  Did you wonder about that boy Jason who had to go into the ‘castle’ to save all your little friends?  What if he had not done that?”

Samuel’s eyes grew big and he blinked big earnest tears.  I..no, well…I didn’t know…  Nana’s words hit him harder than any hand could.

“Think about those two young men, what they have to do now.”  Nana stood up and took off Samuel’s shoes, getting ready for a nap. She led him to the toilet where he could pee.  After all, Samuel had not been in the castle.

Later, his bed was a silent sepulcher for Samuel: stone cold and devoid of any happy thought at all. What will I do now?  Now that I know about other people, and actually care?  What can I do?

To read about Samuel's third birthday, go to this link:
Uncle Marvin tells what he saw 

What do you think Samuel will do now?  How will he deal with this conflict of conscience and talent for destruction?  After all, the very essence of Samuel is at stake!

Samuel's Third Birthday: Uncle Marvin Tells All

Source--let the inner animal out

Comfortable in his wheel chair, Great Uncle Marvin sat under the umbrella making balloon animals for the children.  His sister, ‘Nana’ had warned him to be on the look-out for anything at all that might happen.  Samuel’s father, Nathan had been a holy terror and Uncle Marvin had helped corral Little Nate many times.  Yup, Marvin was there, and looking forward to watching Samuel and his little friends.

When asked later about what happened and when, Marvin leaned back in his wheelchair and began.  “Well, I tell ya….Nothin’ was a-tal strange.  Those kids were running and screaming from one thing to ‘nother.  I made lots of crowns for the little girls, swords for those boys.  Nope, that was all goin’ just fine.”

Uncle Marvin chuckled, “Ya know, it started with the little girls and their high-pitched screaming.  Had to turn my hearing aid down.  They was running in a big clump from one end to ‘other, screaming like nobody’s biz’ness.  That one girl, Clarisse, oh Lordy! She has a mighty set of lungs.”

“Then the boys, they all headed to the jumpy house thing, that castle.  They was jumpin’ for all they’s worth.  Then they got it rockin’ side to side.  That was when some of those patches blew, and the air hissed out.”

That young man, Jason, well, he jumped into the castle and started pulling and throwin’ all those little boys out.  Then he came out holding a diaper at arms’ length.  And, it was one loaded diaper, too. Said something about the boys had been peeing all over the inside.  That Jason, he started gagging, but he got his two helpers to unplug the fan and start deflating the castle thing.”

Samuel and his Third Birthday

Let the games begin!

Samuel watched the backyard activity from his booster seat at the table.  Today was his third birthday and he felt powerful.

Samuel was wearing his brand-new Spiderman briefs.  If only Spidey were real.  If only I had that power…oh the worlds I could conquer.  But with great power comes great responsibility. 

I must make this day one to remember.  It is destiny.  Samuel determined as the bouncing castle slowly inflated.  He observed a cowboy with full chaps and lasso lead a shaggy pony through the back gate. Neither looked happy. What hell their lives must be...

Samuel glanced at Ginger the tabby cat that had scampered to the top of the very tall china hutch.  Wise choice, cat.  Keep safe, my friend.

Climbing down from his chair, Samuel recalled his last birthday.  That was epic, a perfect day. 

So many elements had jelled into that fine social event: 
                   green vomit down Nana’s back, 
          Ginger’s attack on Grammy’s wig, 
Aunt Tammy’s false teeth floating in the toilet, 
          his brief escape out the front door—yes, a memory for all time.

The front door opened, allowing a herd of fellow three-year olds entry.  Among them were she-devil Clarisse, ever-wily Charlie and mindless-flunky Buddy.
    
The flood of children poured out the back door with scream that set the pony shivering.

Samuel and his three man crew gazed after them.  Men, this will be a day for the ages.  Let the games begin.  

Squaring their shoulders and hiking up the Spiderman and Barbie undies, the four emerged into the light.

Source of great power

Samuel and Jason: The bouncing Castle

Oh, boy! The bouncing castle!

“Zach and Son” was a big dream for Zach, but not for “Son”. 

Zach Jensen had cashed in on the ‘bouncing castle’ craze that hit in the 1990s.  He bought one, then two, and finally three ‘bouncing castles’.

His son Jason was a baby when Zach was chasing birthday parties, Bar Mitzvahs, and street fairs with his bouncing castles.  Jason had gazed with awe and knew that someday, he would be bouncing with the castles and his dad.

Well, that day had come.  Jason had just graduated from high school, and it wasn’t a moment too soon for Zach. 

From three castles, Zach had one lonely and very tired, patched together bouncing castle left.

Zach had had to lay off the guys who had planned to expand on the business with ‘Son’.  Now, it was just an ailing Zach, whose back was crumbling with something called stenosis.

Jason, the ‘Son’ part of the formula, was Zach’s hope for a come-back.

“It’s just a birthday party for a bunch of three-year olds, kid.  Easy set-up, bunch of light weight kids.  This old castle can handle one more party…” Zach had promised as Jason loaded up to head over to the party.

Zach lay in the recliner with a back brace strapping the back bones together.  “And, then we can look at the new models…take a loan out…buy bigger…”

By then, Jason was already slamming the front door.  ‘One more party? I sure hope it is just one more…don’t think I can take anymore…’

Then came Samuel.

Samuel meets Cowboy Bob

Dreams

When Robert Lewis Sherman was a child with wide-open eyes, he knew this: He would be a cowboy named “Cheyenne”, spit whenever he felt like it, and wear a Stetson low on his brow.  He would gnaw on a tooth-pick, kick doors open, and drink strong bitter coffee.

When he turned 21, his eyes were mere slits and he trusted no one, believed in no one, and growled at everyone.  Robert “Bad Man” graduated from Berkeley with great expectations.

Now Robert “Loner” Sherman worked at a Wal-Mart at the Optical department where he was an optometrist, a surprise to his family and especially to himself.  

The only connection he had now to his cowboy dream was a pony named “Shaggy” he had adopted and kept stabled at a nearby ranch.  

 His Saturdays were spent in two ways:  grooming Shaggy, and/or making extra cash at kids’ birthday parties as “Cowboy Bob” with his wily pony whose stage name was “Thunder”. 

Oddly, those were the happiest hours of his endlessly mind-numbing days.

Then came Samuel and his damned third birthday…

Samuel and the Play Date

What does eating a sandwich tell about you?

Anxiety vibrated in the air as Samuel’s mother knocked on a red door.  The door was opened by an equally anxious, smiling nervously mother.   Ah.  So this is the ‘play-date’.  Interesting…

Two more mothers called out, and Samuel was dragged into the tv room where three other bewildered children sat.  Legos and action figures lay scattered around them.  An offering of some sort, obviously.

“Now, let’s have lunch!”  Someone announced, and the four children were plopped down at a child’s table in their colorful chairs.  IKEA…

Plates of sandwiches and potato chips were slid in front of each, IKEA child-safe cutlery, pieces of watermelon, and juice boxes (straws inserted) were set down.

Silence, long and drawn out, echoed as each child sized the other up for reference.    

So much can be learned by the way one holds a juice box, how one sucks on the deadly straw.  How the sandwich is held speaks a world of information. And the forks, oh the forks--that told the most. Blue iced cupcakes are not meant for just eating.

By lunch’s end, it was clear:  Samuel was the Alpha, Charlie the Omega.  Clarisse—sassy deceptive girl—was a she-devil.  Buddy was easily manipulated.  The game is afoot, friends.

We love IKEA!

When the front door closed amid tears and apologies after the play-date concluded, much had happened.  The leather sofa had been stabbed to death with the plastic juice box straws and IKEA forks.  The blood red juice stained the carpet in big drops.  The dog cowered beneath the sofa, shivering in his blue icing stripes.

So much more could have been done.  Samuel waved to his new friends. Another day?

Samuel and Sarge

The Throne

 Samuel heard “Sarge” whispered that night.

“We can’t do it.  We tried today, but Samuel is too strong for us!”  The Mommy sobbed. 

Samuel heard The Daddy sigh.  “Sarge. He’ll do it.”

What can’t Nana handle?  Samuel thought.  That woman could handle a charging bull.  Oh…today Nana tried to cut his hair.  The Mommy had a lock hold on him which usually worked. Not today. Heh.  Heh.  That was a fine moment.

The next day, The Daddy drove Samuel to a dingy barber shop far away.  Afternoon was passing into dark when they walked through the door. CLOSED said the sign. 

A scrawny old man stood waiting for them.  Old, but his arms showed muscles and tattoos.  Semper Fi.  Old, but ‘don’t mess with me’.  “This your boy?  Looks like ya.  Well, climb up, kid.  Let’s see what ya got.”

There was a throne.  Entitlement at last.  Finally.  Someone recognizes my true place.  He climbed up, surging with power.

 Sarge moved.  Awfully fast for an old man, Sarge had straps around legs and arms, then a red cape over Samuel. 

“Put yerself over ‘im.  He might pull loose.”  The Daddy launched himself across Samuel’s lap.  Samuel heard a buzzzz, and his eyes widened.

Limbs struggled against the restraints; one leg got free.  Lashing out, it hit The Daddy square in the groin.  Groooooan.  Buzzzz. 

Swinging his head around, his baby teeth clamped down on flesh. Semper Fi.  Grrrr.  Buzzzz.

Kick.  Bite.  Groan.  Grrrr.  Buzzzzzzzzzz.

It was over.  The cape sent hair flying, straps were undone. 

The Daddy hobbled around the shop.  Sarge wiped the blood from his arm and lit a cigar.

Samuel crawled down, leaning over to throw up.  Power is hard on a 2 ½ year old tummy.

He saw his reflection in a mirror.  Samuel rubbed his nearly bald hair.  Tears formed.  Okay, Nana.  You win.

Buzzzzzzz....

Samuel and Christmas Day

Christmas morning dawned with the doorbell ringing.  When the Old Church door opened, gift laden relatives gushed into the house. 

Taken by surprise, Samuel was swept up in the flood by Aunt Tammy.  Having no spit, vomit, mucous, or gas to give her as his own gift, Samuel improvised.  He balled up his fist and bonked her square on the nose.  Just for you, Tammy Whammy.

The result was spectacular as blood poured.  Nana grabbed Samuel before he could be dropped, and said, “Good grief, Tammy.”  A sparkle in Nana’s eyes told him that he had done well.

The flood carried Samuel to the Christmas tree, where a lone cookie lay on the plate.  Samuel shook his head. No sense of adventure?  Disappointed, Samuel stuffed the cookie in his mouth, raisin and all.

The gift opening frenzy began.  Present after present came at Samuel.  He scarcely had time to tear off the paper before The Daddy took the box away and gutted it for the toy inside.  Not the box!  Don’t hurt the box!

When the box was heaved onto a growing mound, Samuel glared at The Daddy.   Dammit, man!  Have you lost all touch with your inner child?

With the last gift unwrapped, the adults wandered around. 

Samuel was lost in a sea of knees, a crowd of crotches. 

He found his way to the cat cage, where Ginger hunkered down.  Move over, cat.  I’m coming in.

Ginger snarled.  Get your own, kid.  This is mine.

Samuel sighed.  The mound of boxes looked promising.  Inspired, Samuel found the large microwave box and pushed it down the hall.  It was a monumental effort.

Arriving at Grammy’s guest room, Samuel moved the box to the open closet.  He climbed inside, tucked his thumb in his mouth, and dropped off to sleep.

Hours later, The Mommy found him after a frantic search.

In the wrapping paper clean up, Santa’s letter lay sadly unnoticed.  It read, Nice try, Samuel.  I will see you next year.  F.M.in the R. S. aka Santa

Samuel and Christmas Eve

The Mommy gave a green crayon and some paper to Samuel after strapping him into the high chair.  “Write a letter to Santa!  We’ll put it with the cookies and milk tonight!”  Samuel gazed at the paper dismally before grasping the crayon in little boy stickiness.

He formed his thoughts and began to write. Dear Fat Man in the Red Suit,  I concede to your knowledge and wish to inform you that I do not regret a single thing.  Well, the cat and scissors episode was a mistake on my part….

Samuel beheld the paper which was now partially covered in scribbles, not in the clear words from his head.   Dammit, green stick!  Obey, or feel my wrath!  But to his dismay, his hand continued to make the same scrawl. Oh, well. 

He continued, …but The Cat is doing well, and we have made our peace.  Please accept this humble milk and cookies as an offering of friendship.  Sincerely, Samuel

The word “sincerely” stuck in his throat, but a little lying was fine at Christmas, as he had observed adults greeting each other with feigned delight.  Then Samuel smashed the green crayon into pieces on his tray.  You were warned.

That Christmas Eve night, The Mommy let Samuel carry the plate of cookies to the coffee table.  Both parents beamed with pride at his carefulness.  The Daddy put the glass of milk down beside the cookies, while The Mommy gave Samuel the letter to place with the cookies.

While The Parents laughed and hugged, Samuel turned his back to them, and prepared to place the letter atop the cookies.  Before this was done, Samuel dug deep into his nose, and removed a booger.  I have been saving this all day, just for you, Santa!

He smeared the booger onto a raisin on a cookie at the edge closest to the fireplace.  Eat this, Fat Man!

Samuel and the Fireplace

I had the source site at one time, but I can't find it...Sorry!

Since his shearing, there had been a quiet lull with Samuel. The Parents let Grammy babysit one afternoon.  Surely she could handle Samuel now.

They sat in a triangle:  Grammy on the sofa, Samuel on the floor with his Legos and beach bucket set, and Ginger the Tabby on the window ledge.  Grammy put on “Little Einsteins”, and watched the children pleading for the audience to ‘pat, pat, pat’. 

Pat! Pat! Pat! Make Rocket go!

Ginger stared at Samuel.   Go ahead, kid.  Make your move.

Samuel watched Grammy down the clear liquid with a slice of lime.  It wasn’t water, he knew.  That’s The Daddy’s Special bottle, lady.

In time, Grammy’s head drooped, just as the red rocket rose into the sky.  Samuel shook his head.  Oh, Grammy.  You are no Nana.

Samuel pondered his options.  The plant?  No.  The curtains?  No.  Then he looked at the cold fireplace.  Excellent.

Samuel took the sand bucket and shovel to the fireplace.  Oh, so much better than I thought.  He viewed the pile of ashes and the soot.

Always a hard worker, Samuel filled the bucket with the ashes.  With quiet care, he carried it to the kitchen sink where he could just barely reach.  Dumping the bucket, Samuel returned to the task. Ashes and soot marked his journeys.

Wiping his hands on the carpet, chairs, and curtains, Samuel took bucket after bucket to the sink.  It was tiring to stretch to the sink.  Samuel headed to the bathroom where the toilet was an easy reach.

Viewing the fireplace, Samuel rubbed his hands over his stubbly head.  A good job well done, young man.  He climbed up next to Grammy and kissed her face.  She snored. 

Yes, Grammy.  You are going to be in such trouble.  With that thought, Samuel decided to help the red rocket fly, ‘pat, pat, pat’.  The front door opened.

Samuel decorates for Christmas

courtesy of Bing.com



Samuel gazed out at the falling snow. It blurred the strings of bright Christmas lights along the street, an eerie but pleasing sight.

Samuel felt this blurry sensation in his being. Since seeing Santa, the man who knows everything, Samuel doubted himself. That was scary.

“Time for sleepin’, buddy!” The Daddy scooped up a compliant Samuel. Surprised at the lack of fight, The Daddy lay Samuel in the crib and then locked down the ‘tent’. “Daddy’s gonna catch some ZZZZs too.” 

He left quietly, leaving the door cracked just a bit.  Soon the ZZZZs were flying; The Daddy was out cold.

Samuel had figured out the ‘tent’ and its locking mechanism just the other day. Such a simple thing really—simple enough that adults would not notice it.

Slipping the hook up and over, Samuel silently raised the ‘tent’, and ninja-d himself over the railing. He swung down onto the carpet, and made his way to the living room where the snores were raising the roof.

He headed into the kitchen where Ginger-the-fat-tabby reclined in the travel carrier, after her encounter with the angel on the tree. They eyed each other in mutual respect. A truce had been called after the scissor incident. Later, cat. I must think some more.

Samuel continued his exploration. Next to the living room he entered the guest room where Grammy was staying. All was normal, except for her elaborate knitting bag. It was enclosed, except for four holes through which yarn could be pulled.

Peering into the interior, Samuel perceived there were four large balls of yarn. Large balls nicely wound with single strands of yarn through the holes: This had possibilities.

Pulling out one strand and then another, Samuel noted how easy this would be.  Grabbing the other strands, Samuel left the room.  Streams of red metallic, sparkling silver, shimmering gold, and forest green followed him obediently.

He walked around the house, crawling under the tables and over the chairs.  Some strands were dropped, but would be continued later around furniture legs and even the Christmas tree stand.  Quietly and methodically Samuel wove rooms together in bright Christmas cheer.  Forget the lipstick.  THIS is so much better.

All was complete.  The house was strung and tied up, a grand present just waiting to be opened.

Samuel went to the carrier where Ginger had been watching.  Cry havoc! Samuel opened the hook lock.  And release the cat of carnage!

He returned to his room, and closed the door.  He had barely climbed into the crib and locked the tent when he heard the earliest sounds.  Tucking his thumb in his mouth and pulling up his blankie, Samuel smiled sleepily.  So little time, so much that could have been done.

Samuel and Santa, 1st encounter

I know when you've been sleeping!  I know when you're awake...

The stroller raced through the Mall, with Samuel enjoying the ride.  With the revised harness, there was little else for him to do.  He had ditched a shoe back by Godiva, so he was pleased.

The Mommy came to a stop at the Mall Christmas tree, where Santa was seated on the big throne.  Without much pause, she replaced the retrieved shoe, and hoisted up the surprised Samuel.  Dang.  She’s gotten quick these days.

Samuel found himself on Santa’s lap, peering up at the jovial man with the halo of white hair and beard.  “Ho, Ho, Ho…”

At mid-Ho!, Samuel stuck his index finger up into Santa’s nostril.  Up yours, jolly old elf.

I know.  I know about....

Click, flash!  The camera captured the moment. 

Santa wrapped his gloved hand around Samuel’s and brought it down.  He’s been trained for this.  Samuel decided.

Santa bent his head down to Samuel and spoke.  “I know all about you.  I know what you did to the cat.  The scissors and all.  I know.”

Samuel grew still.  That event had not gone well for either of them.

Then Santa whispered into Samuel’s ear.  “I know about….”  

Samuel was stunned.  How could Santa know that?

Then Samuel was back in the stroller, gazing dully at Santa, who tapped his temple.  “Ho, Ho, Ho!”

Samuel and the Squirrel

Source

Looking through the kitchen sliding glass door, Samuel and the squirrel eyed each other.  Both waited for the other to blink.

Bored, the squirrel scampered off, snatching a fallen pecan for his cache of winter supplies.

Samuel sighed.  This had turned out to be a disappointing day.  The Daddy was home, and had said, “Hey, Buddy.  Daddy’s gonna do some work on the computer.  You stay put, okay?”

Stay put?  The Daddy had fixed him up with a harness that was secured around his chest, tethered to the kitchen table.

Stay put?  He could wander about six feet, and then The Daddy would say, “Buddy?”

While The Daddy killed Zombies on the computer in the dining room, Samuel gazed jealously at the squirrel that scurried around the backyard. If only, if only.

Samuel pressed his face against the glass door, watching as Ginger-the-fat-tabby soundlessly squeezed through the pet door.  It was too small for Samuel.

This is a soulless existence.  Samuel hung his head.  I cannot endure such inhumanity.  Inspired, Samuel focused his thoughts on the pet door and the squirrel. 

The Daddy’s briefcase lay open on the chair.  Phone, keys, papers—his for the taking.  ‘Buddy this, big guy!’  Samuel decided.

Samuel retrieved the cell phone and shoved it cautiously through the pet door.  The squirrel examined it.   He snatched it up, scampered up the tree, and dropped it into the chasm of winter food.

Success!  Samuel took the keys, clutching them in his moist chubby hand.  No sound.  Squirrel took them, ka-ching.

Papers?  No problem.  Flash Drive?  Easy-peasy.  Again and again, until all gifts were accepted. 

Samuel looked at the nearly empty case. My job here is done.  He lay down on the floor, giving the squirrel a sleepy smile.  Hard work is always rewarded.