Gene Therapy continued

Success at first Public Gathering

For the next couple of years I had in private worked to use this gift, to make it happen. The trick is to use it but not look like you are. Intentionally hurting yourself is bad, but accidentally (it is after all supposed to be a covert gene) is well within the parameters of it’s intended use. For instance: Taking off the front bolts that held your tire firmly to the forks of your bike and riding with a bunch of friends down hill. This was stupid, you know what will happen, but if they should not be replaced when you made it home because you forgot, well that is the gene. Or you get onto your three story roof with an umbrella to pull a Mary Poppins, knowing that this will not work (it will be more like the Mary Poppins express) and decide not to throw yourself off. But your younger brother sees you and thinks it will work and hurls himself off the roof. That’s the gene, the ability to have others do what you know won’t work. (Great lesson for me…bad for my brother).
This glorious moment happened on my eighth birthday. It is memorable because I later realized that I had mastered the gene and single handedly injured a high percentage of the towns children at one gloriously stupid time (prompting me to be known as that Hidell boy by most of the parents in town). My two brothers and I had been working diligently at maiming ourselves in unknowing practice for the “ Event” as we call it, for months. This practice usually took place right after school, we would mount out bikes (Bolts re-attached, as well as the three nuts riding them) and proceed to ride at full speed the length of our nine foot porch and attempt to jump the pricker bushes at the end. With painful diligence we had become pretty good, the tricky part was to land, if you made it over the four foot wide bushes (clearing those took about a month and a lot of Band-Aids). Then you had to drop the six feet to the ground (doctor’s three times) and come to a stop before you hit the barn. (Twelve new shingles and a set of handlebars). We were pros, so I decided that I would ask all the kids over to my house to celebrate my birthday and told them to bring their bikes. My parents were in doing cake and party stuff and the timing was right, I gathered all the kids and said that we were going to set a record. We would all (about a dozen) line up at the end of the porch and pedal as fast as we could, jumping triumphantly over the bushes and land, give each other high fives and be famous. We lined up across the eight foot porch (that should have been my first clue) a dozen kids on bikes across a small area is trouble to begin with, but not to be thwarted I staggered them slightly. I smiled and yelled, “Go!” I really think we would have made it if it wasn’t for the inability to pedal, we moved at the pace of a snail with a limp. This was bad enough, but there was no way to engage our brakes with all these feet in the way and we slid off the end of the porch in a mass of screams tears and gasps into the bushes. The sound made by the crash yells and thrashing was enough to bring out my mother who screamed to my father to get out there fast. They extracted the kids and bikes out of the bushes and lined them up to have their prickers plucked. Being the birthday boy I had my prickers plucked first and looked at the line of kids bleeding and crying. My mother was horrified but I thought I saw a bit of grim pride in my fathers eyes (a type of you are now an idiot my son, go forth into the world). But I didn’t stop there, I had a captive audience, this was the moment, this was when I would emerge. I had been secretly practicing leaping over the bushes along the other side of the porch, spinning in mid air and saying look at me! As I wave at the people on the porch. It was time, even better than a line of bloody kids to watch me was Sarah, she had stopped by to help pull bodies out of the bushes and was still on the porch. I would impress her and my friends at the same time. I stood back and ran for all I was worth, leaping high into the air over the bushes, just as I had rehearsed I spun in mid air and said “Hi! Look at me!” What I really should have said is “Hi! Watch me really hurt myself!” Everyone looked in my direction as I landed not one but both ankles went opposite ways. I howled and was sure that my days of walking were over, dad still highly impressed picked me up gently and set me in a chair, I had severely sprained both ankles at once, (Impressive but painful). It Was at that point that the town’s mothers started arriving to pick up their kids, with profuse apologies and a few nasty looks from some parents my mother watched the injured leave. She then turned to me, I would have run but the large ice bags on my ankles held me down, and told me that my birthday is really on leap year. Destined not to have a party again for at least four years my father patted me on the back and smiled slightly.

A Goat Named Moose

Finding out that I was not going to celebrate my growing older for four years really hit me hard. How can I tap these unused portions of the gene when I was not allowed to socialize (mostly at my friends parents request) with large groups of people, my father, bless his heart, took care of that need. Looking back I see that this was a lesson in on the gene and how it can be applied to animals as well as humans. He brought home a goat named Moose, moose was no ordinary goat, (well as to the multitude of goats that were found in a slightly yuppie seaside town). No, she was big, mean and had really long horns, Dad had chained her up to a post, she spent most of her time running in circles trying to get to anyone who would be fool enough, (about one boy a week). To step into the super duper daredevil, (catchy, but true) zone that my friend’s brothers and I seemed to be attracted too. Now the hill she was on was perfect for a bunch of young kids to find nifty little ways to have multiple near death experiences. This was a long semi-steep hill with a small flat area, (Moose’s domain) that dropped off to another hill. Upon riding this hill you would have to: A. wait until Moose had made a run at one of your friends and hope she didn’t catch on as you barreled down the hill. Stopping in time as not to hit the chicken coop that took up the underside of the barn. Or, B. you took the chicken route, that quickly turned into the hold on for dear life cause this is gonna hurt, Route. It was a lingering ride to the edge of the woods then turned downward quickly flinging you through trees and rocks and out onto a pond that rarely froze. The chicken route gave us a great deal of knowledge in the care and revival of severely hypothermic trauma victims.
I have to back up slightly, my mother father and the town had a meeting during the second year of my non-aging. It was basically a safety course known as the Bennett round table, I never really knew what was said but it must have been hashed out somehow because my mother told me that I was not born on leap year. I would be able to have a party, (I’m sure that some of the towns folk had side bets on weather this would be the last one). This presented a problem, what could I do that would prove me worthy of having parties that didn’t end up with fire trucks and ambulances from three towns in attendance. But it was not my decision, My Dad, (can you see where this is going?) decided in good faith that he would throw a day before my birthday party. It would take place on the golf course at the edge of town, (quicker response time for emergency vehicles) and include not only all the kids in town but also all the parents. There we stood at the top of a rather daunting hill, kids with sleds, parents laughing and watching, a typical scene from any happy go lucky New England town winterfest. Then it happened, It was so quick that not many knew what was really going on, there was a flash of movement a hush from the crowd, and off in the distance you could hear paramedics gasp. We were staring at a twenty-five by fifty sheet of plastic perched on the crest of the hill. My father smiled, “Everybody on!”
“ Bob.” My mother whispered.
“ Don’t worry, it’s a totally open field.” He said as he sat on the upper edge.
“ I’m in!” I jumped on followed by my brothers, one by one all the kids jumped on, followed by their parents (They seemed to think if they wrapped themselves around as many as possible a few would be saved to carry on the family name). Now, counting to three before you start something is, I found, useless, you know darn well most of the time you only get to two before you go, and as mush as this happens it is human nature to believe without a doubt that three is the number.
“On three!” (I think not)
He didn’t even get past one and we were off, loosing a couple of the elder generation at the get go. The thing about the snow that year was it had a crust that was thick enough to hold all of us up, and as we all know plastic on ice is like greased lightning. You add a town on top of it and you have a secured a spot on the eleven o’ clock news. Admits the screams, yells, maniacal laughter (mine) I thought I saw my friend Matt on the underside of the giant sled, he was gasping for breath as a multitude of bodies ran over him. He obviously felt that it wasn’t enough of a challenge to ride on the top of the sled with the others. Another little point that we seemed to look over in our excitement to get down the hill as fast as we could was the makeup of the common snowsuit. We all wore them, they were useful but I feel that these were made by members of the Olympic bobsled team in event that one of their fellow lunatics fell off he would be able to retain the speed needed to finish. The plastic didn’t help this either, trying to stay on the sled was half the battle, the other half was if you fell of not to outrun it. I don’t know where the small hill that rose out of nowhere came from, I’m sure that no one in their right mind would have build a burm with a six foot drop off in the middle of an open field on purpose. Later on I would find out that it was a sand trap, and not an evil little plot to destroy a town. If you have ever been in a position where you and thirty to forty people are suddenly thrown into the air, well let me just say try not to. I looked back at the hill strewn with bodies then at the grim faces around me and felt the plastic fold. Many of us had the luck of not hitting the ground directly, but bouncing off those around us as we proceeded to get shrink wrapped on the tenth hole. Needless to say there were only a few injuries and we found Tommy Hanson a couple of days later (He was fine, slightly dazed but happy). We all limped back up the hill helping the fallen loaded up quietly and drove away, (I suggested we take the back roads home).
Back to Moose, The fun the town and we had the day before my birthday gave me the perfect idea for my party. Sledding down the hill! Yes I would have everyone that could walk, (it seemed that the previous day was a weeding out of the frail and weak, Natural selection) to bring their sleds. The afternoon came and those brave soldiers arrived, and we were off. I explained the name of the game was “don’t get knocked off your sled by the mad goat we had been taunting all morning.” The name in itself was about the best explanation of the rules. Tommy went first, he suddenly veered off and took the chicken route, (I knew he did from the many loud screams and grunts). Matt, (who seemed to have picked up a suffocation phobia that started the day before) pushed off and made a wide turn just grazing the outer edge of Moose’s circle of death, the only problem was that Moose seeing this happening took a well aimed shot at Matt. He flew off the sled and continued the rip in his shirt getting larger as he slid. Charlie, well, he was a novice at the art of steering a sled out of the path of wildly ticked off animals and took the straight route. The poor kid didn’t stand a chance; Moose shredded his sled and him in seconds. The rest of the kids seeing quickly that the game was over dashed wildly down the hill to help Charlie (valiant move, but not smart). Moose was like lightning and had gorged butted and trampled at least three before We got the idea that if we distract her, those still standing could haul the fallen out. My brother and I headed right for her screaming, we split off and it worked, Moose momentarily confused halted long enough for the now accumulating bodies to be dragged to safety. We turned and yelled triumphantly and saw all yelling to us and pointing, we were the heroes of the day (we momentarily thought). When I woke up, I remember seeing a lot of feathers and broken eggs. The fifty chickens we had were streaming out of the gap in the fence that as far as I could tell was about the size of me. I stood to see that my father and mother, (I was amazed at the speed in which she set up a field hospital), were tending to kids and those who could still function were chasing chickens around main street. We don’t talk about that incident much any more, but I’m sure it’s in the minds of many whom were there, I know my mom will never forget it.