Monday, March 06, 2006
Tumbling Toddler
It was just past World War Two around 1950. Our row house is bustling as usual with kids, 78 lp records and adults drinking cold beer from brown bottles. 'Wooden Legged Charlie is on our couch. He had his legs blown off when his jeep ran over a mine. The early prosthetics were wooden and they were drilled with holes to cut down on the weight. Charlie had kids put coins in the holes and said we would get a prize but we never did and he kept the money for beer figuring it was a payoff for all the jokes like "I was engaged to a man with a wooden leg but my mother made me break it off" and other cruelties. I liked Charlie because he was cool.
My father was home from the war in Seattle but he was wheel chair bound because of MS. On this particular night nothing was stopping me from annoying the shit out of both these young men.
I would race from the back of the house to the front-push off the front door and race back to the kitchen where the 1950's women were consuming calories and telling stories just happy and jolly and fat was o.k so no guilt or anxiety.
So on one sprint to the living room my father sticks out his leg and I go head first into the balsa wood front door. It caused a dent corresponding to my hat size.
My father Tom and Wooden legged Charlie think it is hilarious. "I start the old "Daddy tripped me mantra" trying to pry my mother loose from a face full of short cake.
"Daddy wouldn't trip you David. What kind of thing is that to say?"
I always respected my father for doing that. He stuck in a wheel chair, talking with his wooden legged friend Charlie. drinking Ortlieb’s Beer and sending me head first into the door for entertainment. Anyway I deserved it.
I miss my life in the 1950 Ghetto.
freddogg
My father was home from the war in Seattle but he was wheel chair bound because of MS. On this particular night nothing was stopping me from annoying the shit out of both these young men.
I would race from the back of the house to the front-push off the front door and race back to the kitchen where the 1950's women were consuming calories and telling stories just happy and jolly and fat was o.k so no guilt or anxiety.
So on one sprint to the living room my father sticks out his leg and I go head first into the balsa wood front door. It caused a dent corresponding to my hat size.
My father Tom and Wooden legged Charlie think it is hilarious. "I start the old "Daddy tripped me mantra" trying to pry my mother loose from a face full of short cake.
"Daddy wouldn't trip you David. What kind of thing is that to say?"
I always respected my father for doing that. He stuck in a wheel chair, talking with his wooden legged friend Charlie. drinking Ortlieb’s Beer and sending me head first into the door for entertainment. Anyway I deserved it.
I miss my life in the 1950 Ghetto.
freddogg
