Gene Therapy continued

Lessons in travel

We had a home, a new one and a fresh start. Most weekends my mom would drop us off on Portsmouth NH. And my dad would find us and bring us to his house, we would spend most of the summer with him. Somehow he got the idea that what the boys needed was a good old fashioned road trip. This would be a summer of driving across the country, and a summer of lessons that would be used in later life to get me out of being asked to work on anything even slightly mechanical. The crew ion this trip consisted of Cindy, the anti-gene, ( fighting a loosing battle of sanity). My two brothers and me, (whose powers were growing exponentially), and dad, (who was about to show us that a trip is not just a trip it is an adventure). Our vehicle of choice was a 74’ VW micro-bus, oh yea, this was a moving home! Full kitchen cushy bench seats in the back, ( Note: if you plan on rolling a 74’ VW microbus with a full kitchen and cushy seats over a cliff in the Rocky Mountains containing your wife and three sons. Please make sure that pots, pans, KNIFES and other generally heavy sharp items are securely stowed away). We were in heaven, the only problem that I could see was that according to my father the bus was about to fall apart around us, but hey, there are auto stores all over the Mojave desert, right? We headed out and were on our way to god knows where, it wasn’t even ten minutes into the trip when I learned my first lesson about cars. The man who invented them must have been really pissed off; the only reason I knew this was that every part of the car, and especially the engine had a compound name. Not only that but when said it was to be yelled at the top of your lungs, Example: Jesus, this friggin piece of shit water pump! I really thought that those were real car parts, danm fuel pump, mutha @!# carburetor, and so on. By the time we got back home I was mister friggin good wrench, I knew more about piece of shit cars than any other @*!?%%@!? Idiot in the @?!! World. Brooke and Chris learned a lot too.
“ Hey Ben pack up your shit,” He learns fast. “ Holy @@@$?*%, forgot my tooth brush.
“ Shut the @@!?** up.” Chris was good as well, hey, we were mechanics and never even looked under a hood, we couldn’t wait to tell mom what we learned.

Now, I think the best way to show how these lessons have affected my life is to give you the lesson I had learned and a future example of the lesson. In this case it was about ten years later with ill results, ( the gene can make you a born leader….even when you don’t want to be). I was working for a company that was for all intense and purposes a landscaping company, I pushed lawns, happily spreading toxins to make the lawns greener and the flowers die a dusty death. We had a fleet of trucks, all in some type of disrepair, luckily most of the guys that I worked with were budding motorheads and they kept them chugging along. My extent of mechanical knowledge was that if I could remember where I put the keys, there was a certain one that you could put into a hole by the steering wheel and with a turn the truck would start. One of my last days of employment there I had worked a long day and was the last back to the garage, pulling in I saw all my motor head companions sitting on pallets looking at a truck and shaking their heads. I pulled in and turned the key the other way and the truck stopped, smiling slightly I exited and looked at my co workers. “ What’s up.” I walked over.
“ Can’t figure out what’s wrong with the truck.” The one closest to me spoke.
“ Oh,” I should have just shrugged and said, “ I can’t help you, I’m still awed by how the key works,” And walked away. This course of action would have been too logical, instead I thought of my trip across country, I walked over to the truck looked in at the engine and said in a low almost in audible voice, “ Maybe it’s the God Damn piece of shit fuel pump.”
“ What?” Everyone stopped talking and walked over.
“ You know it could be the piece of shit fuel pump.” Bob a big hairy guy looked at the engine with me. I smiled slightly, these guys speak Good Wrench, so I tried again.
“ Could be the friggin water pump.” I said it loud this time with authority, It was my turn to shine and if there was one thing I knew it was the names of all the parts of the @@@?! Engine!
“ Yea, that could be the problem.” Bob rubbed his chin.
It might be the carburetor?” Tony stood and put down a hammer he was playing with. He obviously didn’t know the first thing about cars, I jumped up on a pallet of fertilizer and looked at him.
“ Tony,” I was calm I didn’t want anyone else to see he didn’t know what he was talking about. “ Don’t you mean the @?!$$# carburetor!” I yelled it loud and strong, Everyone cheered.
“ @@#% yea.” We were laughing and swearing, yelling, I was drunk with power and knowledge.
“ We gonna fix this @@@?*& shitbox or what!! I felt like a coach rallying his team for the super bowl.
“ You know it Ben!!” Everyone was hyped up and it was the time for progress.
“ Bob! You get that @!~? wrench, Tony! Get that thing.”
“ The screwdriver?” we looked at him all silent, “ You mean the @#?! Screwdriver!!” We all cheered.
“ Yea! Now let’s rip this puppy down!” In my defense I had not touched a tool yet, and never really did. It was inspiring, six yelling guys, one broken truck and me yelling out car parts, I would name it and they would take it out.
Three hours later we were talking about how we should quit this job and open a garage when our boss walked in. “ What the hell!!” He yelled as he looked at us covered with grime and the insides of the engine spread out over two thousand square feet of floor.
“ We are fixing the truck.” Bob turned to where I had been sitting. “ Ben?” He looked around confused. Driving home I felt a little guilty but hey, they were learning, I’m sure they will mail me my last check.

Back to the trip, this was to be the trip of all trips, California or bust! Another fine lesson in life I learned was that no man especially a Hidell needs a map, apparently our sense of direction is so good that a map would just confuse us. Lost hell no! your only lost if you think you are, but if you think you know where you are your exactly where you are. Don’t try to look too deep into that last statement, My brothers and I have all lost girlfriends over that logic, but they really weren’t lost they were …..never mind you get the point. So we pulled into Sydney Canada and found a camping site in a dry river bed and set up shop. I looked at all the Disney and special attraction brochures and sighed, I secretly was hoping that this was one of dad’s short cuts, I’ve been lost in many states, but dad was still a pro he lost the entire UNITED STATES! He also found that when crossing the Canadian boarder and they ask if you have anything to declare you don’t respond by saying Yes is the turnpike just ahead. The reason for this is you can fit a hell of a lot of stuff in a microbus, and trying to repack it under the watchful eyes of a garrison of boarder patrol police can put you in a really foul mood.
With slight relief we finally sat don and took a few minutes to enjoy our camp site. The microbus was still in one piece, we were in the woods, and I had realized that there was no way in hell we were going to see California. The camping area was a little crowded and there were people milling about every so often walking bye and saying things like, there is a storm coming in, looks like rain, and other weather related statements. All I could figure was that up here in Canada the weather was more than just another topic it was the only conversation. As the sun started to set we had a problem, the microbus slept three, two on the bed and one in the pop up on the roof. This meant that since Dad and Cindy got the bed, each night two boys slept in the tent and one in the pop up. I am just going to say this, thank God I was the one who got the long straw, because when it started raining, thundering, and blowing, and at one point I thought I saw the armies of darkness marching through our little riverbed compound, all hell broke loose. The once dry bed turned into a rushing brother taking river. As all, even those on high ground were running for cover we were chasing a tent down hill. From that time on we slept two in the front two on the bed and one in the popup.

The great Canadian trashcan race

There are times in your life when you watch a bunch of people doing something that defies reason and say “ look at those fools.” Then there are times in your life when you see a bunch of people doing something that defies reason and you say, “ Boys quick empty the trashcans so we can join them.” This was one of those times, I have to say this was and is one of my greatest memories. We were just driving around in circles on a bright day when out of nowhere there was a stampede of about forty people hauling trashcans bags boxes you name it. The funny thing was that they were not just jogging or bustling along this was a full out life and death something big is coming and it’s gonna gut us run. Dad hits the breaks, jumps out of the car, whips the door open and yells, “ COME ON! QUICK!” He didn’t have to say another word we were out of there in a panic. He hauled out the trashcan ripped the bag out and started running, I got a bucket and followed. Whatever wanted trashcans that bad was not going to get my bucket! “ HURRY!” Dad was gaining on the masses, Cindy was right beside him, Brooke fell I stopped and picked him up, WE GOT TO GO! IT”S COMING!” I threw him in front of me and continued. I heard Cindy yell at dad in fear.
“ Where are we going! What’s after us!” They were over taking some of the runners, they obviously didn’t have plastic trashcans but the heavy metal ones…Poor bastards…..someone’s got to be the first eaten.
“ I….DON’T…..KNOW!” Dad yelled as he shoved his way to the front. Cindy stopped, I stopped, we just stood and starred.
“ Boys that is called mob mentality,” Cindy looked at us sadly.
“ Will he be alright?”
“ Nothing is after us?”
“ Is dad crazy?” We all had our questions.
“ Let’s get the car and see where he went.” Cindy loaded us in and we followed the swath of grass flattened by the runners. We finally pulled up to see that the people were all on a dock and the workers were filling the bags and cans. Cindy walks down and sees dad. “ What was that all about?”
“ King Crab boats just came in see.” And the thirty gallon can was filled with crabs like I had never seen. So big I had to use two hands and hold them over my head so the feet wouldn’t touch the ground. “ Let’s go eat.” Mob mentality or not, that was one of the best meals I had ever had, dad said he knew nothing was after us all along. But I’m pretty sure that he was wondering.

A HIGH VOLTAGE SUMMER

We arrived home in just over two weeks, the trip to California was to be all summer but somehow it seemed to slip to the other side of the country. Mom was glad to see us and was a little thrown off by our stories of Canada but all seemed fine. She and UJ were happy to have us home to do some work on the farm, the first job was to put up the electric fence. Ever since I had been a kid I had always heard, don’t play with electricity, don’t go near it, you throw that toaster in the tub your in big trouble mister. Now contrary to all my learning, what were we about to do, surround ourselves with metal wire that has electricity running through it! Yes! Let the good times roll. It took some time but when it was done it was beautiful, UJ put the juice to it and we tested the voltage, 7,500 volts! And that was on a dry day, we figured a wet day the thing would blow your head off. I actually pictured wolves touching it and exploding, we had the deadliest jungle gym in the world.
Our first human test in the wonderful world of high voltage was UJ, I guess the thought was he put it up so he should be the first to feel it’s wrath. Scientific law states that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, if we had known this we probably would have scrapped the experiment, but we hadn’t learned that helpful little tid bit of knowledge. Oh, and just to let you know the law is wrong, the reaction is far worse than the action. UJ had the entire fence up except for a small part by the barn, we had just jumped off the school bus ( timing is everything). All he had to do to complete his fence was to connect the last wire to the end of the others, this is what we walked up upon. UJ was so busy grunting and pulling on the wire to stretch it to the other that we approached unnoticed, ( us being anywhere unnoticed is an oddity in itself). Without a word my younger brother and I had formed a plan, I would walk up to UJ and see if I could help. Knowing his response would be “ No, you’re mom took the car so we have no way to get to the doctors.” I would stand behind him and urge his efforts on, Brooke would quietly make his way to the switch that was hooked to the charger. As I urged for a connection Brooke placed his hand on the switch, the game was afoot. Just for a minute let’s refer to the endless television shows that we all have see where some novice electrician is wiring some light up and gets zapped. In this event we see him hang on and yell, this is what we though would happen. What we didn’t know was that the way that a electric fence works is it zaps every second or so, giving the recipient of the zap time to let go and look for a weapon, ( shovel, stick, pitchfork, thirty-thirty) you know anything handy at the time. Back to the game, UJ had worked up a pretty good sweat by this time and with my urging was inches from the connection. I held up a hand like a flag to single the right moment to come real close to ending our lives, he touched the wires I flagged and broke hit the switch. The next thing I remember was being under a mad German, looking back it must have been the initial jolt that threw his body in the air landing on top of me. Brooke on the other hand was fast and had at least ten acres of field to sprint before he got to the safety ( No at this point safety was not an option) of the house. With a lurch UJ was off me and half way across the field. I figured that the electricity had given him a little more juice and he caught up to Brooke . It was at that point our savior pulls into the driveway, With the car full of groceries and a worried look on her face. From the moment UJ said “ If your mother wasn’t here I’d tie you to that fence.” We never even thought about using him as a voltage meter again.


Setting the Trap ( Persuasion and it’s many uses)

When your in the sixth grade life can be tough, but holding the knowledge that you had harnessed electricity, made it a little easier. I smiled a little more and walked a little taller, these poor fools thought I was just a happy go lucky sixth grader. Little did they know that at any given moment I was picturing them grabbing the fence and being blown out of their fancy new top of the line Nike’s. The games we played at recess became sort of a weeding out process, here’s an example; thether ball, I was short and would be beat by the taller kids, upon being beat I would, A. accept the defeat and walk away, or B. I would smile at my defeat and ask them if they wanted to come over to my house and play. The next day I would rule the thether ball game.
The height of the electric experience was when I found out that the human body could conduct electricity!! Who said you never learned anything useful in school, especially that could be applied to friends. The theory was that if you were to grab the fence and another person close to you the electric shock would go through you and shock the other person. The hard part is doing it the first time, Inadvertently touching the fence was a part of life on the farm, but reaching out and grabbing it on purpose takes a hell of a lot of either courage or stupidity. The other side to this was if indeed I did reach out and grab it this was only half the battle, the other part was to coax my little brother to watch his idiot older brother purposefully allow seventy-five hundred volts course through his body. With a few choice words I had him stand there and watch as I did the deed, a little hint; if you are intending on grabbing someone in efforts to shock them make sure you know two words, arms length. I reached out and grabbed the wire, Brooke stood and watched me wave my hand about trying to get him as I felt the sting, I could only think that his smile was due to the fact that he was watching the fillings being blown out of my teeth. Three days later I had stopped drooling, my brain synapses were again firing and I tried again. By this time my brother had told his friends and they gathered to see the effects high voltage fence work on a low voltage human. This time I had no fear, I grabbed the fence and the closest person too me who grabbed in fear the closest person to them and so on until the last one grabbed my brother, Bam!! It worked, until the last person let go of Brooke and so on as they got zapped until it got to me again, although painful for a second time. We all learned that it was possible to alienate all your friends by grabbing the fence and them, and realize that some talk about a bubble or personal space as a small area around them, we had acres of personal space from that day on. Yes that fence gave us years of enjoyment and let us remember the special times with our friends, I wonder where they are now?

Misery Island ( Bonding between Father and sons)

It was a weekend to remember, mostly because we had just gotten ours back, after about a million volts the few days before left us in a slightly bewildered state. Dad has and always will be a great sailor, and I hope he has fun doing it ALONE in his many days to come. The basis for this is he only liked to sail when storms were raging, I believe his philosophy was; What sail on sunny day’s anyone can do that. The criteria for a “ good sailing day” were as follows; One, the wind has to be at least at a gale force. By gale force I mean trees are being ripped out of the earth by their roots, and the warning sirens can just be heard over the noise. Two, Visibility should be at an all time low, if you can see your hand in front of your face then you should just go the shelter and mingle with the other hurricane victims. And three, a great potential for death must be present in the air, fully armed National Guardsmen, armies of darkness marching over the land, blood red rain etc. If all these are met we’re off to the harbor. On this particular day the raging storm was shaping up for one of the best sails ever.
“ Boys, after you board up the windows we are taking a little sail to Misery Island.” He was exited as he tied down the car.
“ I feel sick.” It was a shot.
“ Don’t be silly it will pass as soon as we are on the boat, look out for the trees there are coming down fast.”
Maybe he was right, if we make it alive to the boat and set sail in god knows what direction with twenty foot waves breaking over the boat the sick feeling I have might go away and be replaced by sheer terror! “ Is Cindy going?”
“ No she has to stay here.” Of course she does, I mean what was I thinking who was going to identify the bodies, silly me.
As expected finding a parking place at the harbor was not as difficult as you would imagine we loaded the boat, which was a task in itself. Loading a boat in a storm takes a bit of skill, you have to time the transfer of supplies to the motion of the waves. One person stands on the boat and the other sits beside it in a flimsy half swamped plywood dingy and waits until the wave breaks over them. Then when the sailboat is about six feet below you and your riding the crest of the wave you squint so the outline of the boat is just visible and throw the bag at the pair of wide eyes below you. It sounds hard but after a few times it becomes old hat. We finished loading and boarded it ourselves. Luckily the dingy was disposable, and it biodegraded just seconds after we left its safety.
When you are standing on the deck of a twenty foot boat and suddenly get the feeling that you are alone, this is known as, in my fathers words “ High visibility.” “ Ben get the mainsail, Brooke, Brooooke!”
“ I’m right beside you.”
“ Oh, couldn’t see you, get the Jib, I’ll steer us out of here.”
“ What should I do?”
“ Who said that?”
“ Me Chris.”
“ Oh you did make it, good. Stand at the bow and look out for moored boats.” Dad took the tiller and we were off. Dad liked to sail using an age-old navigation practice called Dead Reckoning, This was to pick a point you know was there before the storm and aim for it. Another term is Sailing Blind, in this you hope that you are at least heading in the direction of said point cause if you aren’t I reckon your dead. I have to say this he was a pro and before we knew it we were out of the harbor and beyond the point of no return.
Sailing in a raging storm is really no different than sailing on a beautiful sunny day; okay, I made that up. The truth is no matter what you do you are going to be going where the storm wants you to, add hundreds of gallons of water bashing against your body at set intervals and you tend to start to feel slightly out of control. So we were pretending to steer the boat and just enjoying the time left we had as a family when I heard sloshing in the cabin of the boat. Our idle chat ceased and dad told me to take the tiller he was going to check it out, if there was ever a time in my life when I should have never even thought more the less said those words out loud this was the time. “ Things can’t get any worse…..right.”
“ Boys,” Dad emerged from the cabin and was soaked, the storm was letting up a bit which was a relief but water in the cabin was sort of evened out the playing field. “ It might just be water from the twenty foot waves breaking over the boat.” He smiled weakly, yea that made us feel better. “ I’m just gonna look around,” Chris hand me that diving mask.” Dad disappeared and we watched, a sleeping bag floated out of the cabin, and we watched, then like magic dad broke the surface and took a big breath. “ Well,” he always says that when there was bad news, like, well, let’s go sailing. “ Looks like there is a small leak in the boat.” We did not say a word we just all took a collaborative deep breath. “ The toilet is leaking.
“ The toilet!” I yelled, oh, no, I used it last, you can’t tell me that I just killed my hole family because I had gas. In those days the head released right into the ocean, this came to mind that if indeed it did then if the toilet were to over flow there was not just an eight gallon tank to empty out…….it was the ocean! “ Did you try wiggling the handle!” I was panicky and feeling a touch guilty.
“ What are you talking about?” everyone looked at me.
“ Sometimes if you wiggle the handle…Alright I was the last one to use it…I thought it flushed!
“ Ben…Ben, relax.” He put a wet hand on my trembling shoulder. “ It’s a screw that holds the toilet down it popped out.”
“ So it did flush.” I was relieved it wasn’t me, because at that point I was prepared to never go again, I didn’t want to take another life, the bathroom killer I was not. “ It was you!!! You put the screws in. ha! You killed us!”
“ Shut up!” Chris looked at me with a green face. Just then the stay that held the jib on the boat broke and it started flapping in the wind.
“ Danmit!” I guess loosing a sail was not good. “ We have to sail back before we sink. Bennett, you need to go up to the front and put this pin grab the sail and put the pin back in.
“ Me! I’m sure the screw was defective it could have happened to anyone!”
“ Forget that, We need this done, here tie this rope around your waist and I’ll hold it.” Dad was starting to look ill as well, we were in serious trouble and he was now fearing for his sons lives.
“ Don’t let go” I crawled up along the deck slowly the jib ahead of me snapping in the wind, knowing that we might sink if this was not reattached. Waves breaking over me I continued, grabbing the stay I fought the sail until I had it where it needed to be. The pin was in my mouth, I took it and with all my strength grunted to get it in. Little to my knowledge the boat had just run up the back-side of a wave and as the pin was working it’s way in I felt the boat lean bow straight down. As I looked down at the water coming fast the last words I heard were Bennnnnnnn! All I know is that about three-quarters of the boat went under, when it popped up the pin was in and I was hanging onto the mast so hard my arms hurt.
“ Good job.” Dad gave me a hug.
“ Thanks.” We made it back and tied up as the boat sank out of sight at dock. We never saw Misery Island, and I really don’t care if it dies exists, but I always make sure to wiggle the handle, just in case.

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.

Gene Therapy

Doomed, a funny word when said out loud, but then again I was six and really didn’t know what doomed meant. But again I had heard the word and was sure that this was what I was. The morning had gone well, I stayed in bed long enough for my mother to give up yelling at the bottom of the stairs and come up to make me get out of. I had brushed my teeth, washed my face and looked out the bathroom window of our house, our house that I learned just the other day, was located at One-eighty-six North Main Street. It was a cold winter day and the snow had not fallen yet, but you could see by the way all the bare branches on the trees looked stiff in the wind it was raw. I went to the window and placed a wet warm hand on the pane to watch the fine art work of Jack Frost melt in the intense super heated power rays that I was sure that I had in my hand when I saw him. This is where I thought of the word doomed, my father crouched low to his car on the drivers side and my mother with about thirty feet of extension cord trailing from the house, the cord was plugged into a hair dryer. It seemed that the lock to my dad’s car had frozen, in effort to blow into the hole and unfreeze it he had (doomed) ended up with his lips stuck to the metal. It was terrible, couldn’t dad have waited just a few more years before I found out that there was a sticky situation/accident prone gene coursing through his son’s body. My little brother Brooke came into the bathroom, he was four, quickly I ushered him into the other room, I knew that it was my job to save him from finding out. He was only four, he needed a few more years, (live my young brother, live happy and free, ignorance is a virtue!). Me on the other hand, I was affected almost immediately, (Although I would use the knowledge that wet lips stick to cold metal on him in later years at the time he needed shelter).

Cultivating the Gene

LaMark said it best, use it or loose it, I guess my father seeing that we had defeated natural selection felt that it was time to hone this sporadically used, (bike crashes, stove top fires, near death of a friend) gene into the awesome machine it was meant for. The covert destruction of ones self and other close to you unintentionally. Point in case, marking; now you may think if marking like branding or tattoos but the true markings are those of play. My dad chose a tire swing, It was awesome. The three of us, my older brother Chris, Brooke and I watched as dad used a chainsaw to cut a tire into a swing, When he was done it was beautiful, we cheered, he found two ten foot lengths of rope and looked around. We being the ones who would surly ride this great creation suggested a tall oak tree that stood outside, clear of any obstacles that we may have hit during a high swing (silly us, where’s the challenge). But sensing that this was a good way to teach us about pain and humiliation dad chose the inside of the barn, we questioned this course of action, but then again, he’s our dad (and was about to make sure that everyone knew it). Our barn was big and old, the inside had been cleaned out, (this meant sharp objects placed in dark corners) and the bricks stacked up the walls and the large dory set off to the side. He tied the rope to the center beam and the swing to the rope and smiled. Now, I can sit here and say this now but the point hadn’t crossed any of our minds, when you tie a ten foot rope to a beam eleven feet of the floor and there is a wall of bricks nine feet away, there is great potential for disaster. But nooooo, we wouldn’t dream of letting simple though processes get in the way of our fun. It was at that point David, one of our neighbors came in, (remember, those close to you) saw the swing and smiled.
“ Can I go too?” he gleefully asked.
“ Sure” My dad said.
“ Can he go first?” My older brother said nervously.
“ No, I made this for you guys.”
“ Oh.” Chris said with a shaky voice.
I was in awe of the persuasive techniques used by my dad to get Chris onto the tire swing of death, with a slight bit of reverse psychology he was able to get him to mount the swing on his own accord. I had to admit, it looked fun, higher and higher he went finally yelling.
“ Higher daddy!”
“ Here we go!” dad was laughing, Chris was laughing, it was a scene from any wonderful childhood back yard.
Then it happened, since we hadn’t really thought the bricks would come into play, why in the world would we think about the beams (sure they were there but we were having fun). With a great push the swing rose, the ropes caught on the beam a few feet in front of the swing causing the swing to launch into a rocket-like upturn. I am sure that if the next beam was not placed at exactly where we heard Chris’s head crunch he would have been propelled into the barn’s loft and safely land on the soft hay strewn all over the floor. There was a blood-curdling scream and he came shooting back hitting my father the shins almost toppling him onto a now bloody Chris. Dad always the trooper showed his calm in dire situations, he unloaded the first damaged body set him on a bench off to the side handed him a handkerchief and looked painfully at me.
“ Ben, Your turn.” He winced as he spoke.
“ Yea.” My voice was low as I looked at my semi-conscious brother. I really don’t know what made me do it, maybe it was fear, but I mounted the swing, holding back tears. How could I not we were having fun with our dad…quality time. There was really no need to yell higher daddy; there was no need to talk, just to wait until this was over. Later as I look back at this I realize that this was a rite of passage into scarred manhood, and a good lesson in if your brother almost gets decapitated are you going to follow him? (Of course! I’m an idiot….swing on!). Dad was getting pretty good with the swing, it only took three pushes (a better ratio of weight of son versus height of beam) to give me my mark of manhood. I was set next to Chris and we shared the handkerchief and laughed about our near death experience and talked of the good time we had on the swing, because in our short lives so far we now had a scar and a story to tell the kids at school. Brooke was the toughest to get on the swing, he wined a bit, something about wanting a memory, but we convinced him that it wasn’t that bad to only live with a damaged short term memory. And how the feeling of not knowing who you were and where you were for about ten minutes was sort of cool. He finally mounted the swing and within two pushed he was wondering around the yard with the rest of us (brothers to the end…I think). Then our day of fun took a turn, David seeing how much fun we thought we were having wanted to ride. Dad looked at our little neighbor and smiled, I think he knew that marking a neighbor boy like he marked his sons would be wrong. So he changed his grip a little and heaved, one push, one large grunting push was all it took. The ropes hit the beam and something different happened. David was no longer in the swing, we all watched with a blurred amazement, as David hit the bricks about halfway up the wall and stopped. He then he bounced backwards landing in the boat, this would have been fine but the bricks fell at once and covered him. After reviving him, patching him up and sending him limping home (Funny, we didn’t see him for about a month), we went inside, cleaned up and had some soup, to this day we all have little scars on our forehead, and an intense fear of tire swings. It was that day that we were shown the use and potential danger of the gene and it was our turn to use it and practice using it until we had harnessed the power.

hey

You know its funny how long it takes someone to accecpt the fact that if you want to do something you need to do it or just hope it happens. Well, instead of telling people about my writing I will just post it.


Lleaping for Llamas


I was going through some papers, you know the ones that you want to save but in the back of your mind know that they should have been tossed about five years ago. Pulling out a crayon drawing of a man with a cape and twin ells on his chest, I smiled. How a poorly drawn picture is able to bring back such vivid memories, but more than memories, life changing events, one that made a mild (and slightly crazy) mannered man into a super hero, but not just any super hero, Llama Man! Defender of small children and exotic animals! I sat down on my couch and laughed out loud, this was one of those insane chain of potentially dangerous events that in the end turned all the players into hero’s that to this day are still talked about, (most likely as in, I knew this idiot once).
My girlfriend (at that time) her daughter and I had pulled up stakes in Vermont and headed back to my Home State of Maine. Not only did we come with a lot of furniture; we came with two horses, two Llamas and a dog (a potential traveling road show to say the least). We were lucky enough to find a farmhouse in the small town of busted had land and room enough for all. She immediately found a good job at a petting farm (I was thrilled to have more animals). I set right to work fixing up the barn, building fences; you know the general things you do when you seem to be collecting animals for the ark. And coincidences of coincidences the owner of the zoo had a Llama as well! Susan (name changed to protect the innocent) while in Vermont, had created a business called Llunch with a Llama. Now it may sound odd but people loved to have her take them out hike around and eat peanut butter and fluff sandwiches. After all at this point llamas were a rare thing to see In Vermont, and to go back to Connecticut and tell your fellow workers that you indeed did have a peanut butter and fluff sandwich in Vermont with a llama (we took pictures for proof). Was the ultimate in cubical one-ups-man ship. She decided it was time to expand, she would take in the zoo’s (six foot four, four hundred pound!) llama, named Pasta, and teach him to walk around and dine with out of starters. Our llamas…..Roy and Fred (Names are changed as well, they were innocent…. Pasta was defiantly not!) were happily grazing in the field (that I had just put an electric fence around) When Pasta arrived. He was big, strong and just a wee bit skittish (That should have been my first hint) but we put him in with the others and he seemed happy. It was at this point that his owner looked at me and said. “ You know Pasta has never been near an electric fence before.” I responded confidently.

“ Don’t worry, our boys have never gotten out.” Now, looking back on those few words we spoke I just can’t understand why I didn’t just say, “ Really, well load that beast back in the truck before it destroys this quaint little town!” But I didn’t and he left shaking his head (or laughing).
Susan and I watched the three frolic in the sun for a while then decided to go in (lord knows we neglect the two pot bellied pigs, the baby kangaroo and the now two dogs!) and relax for a while. I will say this, if you haven’t noticed Mother Nature has a sense of humor, and she was feeling her oats that day. I looked out the window not a half hour after going in and it was dark as night, then it started haling, then there was a loud clap of thunder, then a loud scream and a car horn. I was sitting around in shorts and a tank top and we were talking about (oddly enough) how we would meet our new neighbors. We leaped out the door and saw our two llamas but no Pasta. I immediately threw on my boots and went to the barn cursing the hale as it pelted me, grabbed a halter and some rope and ran to where there was a stopped car. The woman inside was fine, she looked a little shaky, but good. For a woman who had never even heard of a llama never the less had one jump in front of her in the middle of a freak storm and spit on her windshield (quite a trooper in my book). I asked her if she was all-right, she just looked at me as if to say, well nothing she just looked at me. I turned and started down the road in hot pursuit, If you have ever had the wonderful opportunity of chasing a llama, then you know they are fast. If you ever had the chance of chasing a pure white one in the middle of a hailstorm…they are fast and hard to see. The only thing at this point (which was to neither of our advantages) that leveled the playing field was that we didn’t know the area (But that would soon change). As I was running a horn sounded once more, I turned to see Susan in a car, with a closer look I saw the very woman that was only minutes ago speechless (our first new friend). She was still in a daze and probably figured that she should listen to Susan and escape with the first opportunity. Susan yelled out the window that they would drive ahead and cut Pasta off, good idea, but then again it’s only in the movies that when being chased by a car you stay directly in front of it, and of course this only applies to humans! First stop. Town graveyard, (forgive me father for I have sinned). Hooves and soft earth don’t mix well, add a few headstones and you have a veritable maze of marble and granite posts on ice. The first to loose grip was Pasta, careening into a headstone; I was so horrified that I tried to stop and took out another. It was terrible, Pasta kept darting in and out of the stones, by the time we exited out the other side it looked as though some insane pilot had landed a seven-forty-seven in the place (I saw a lot of church in my future). Susan had exited the car by now and released our friend to speed away, and was running down the road towards Pasta. It was the next incident that made us move within a week of this happening. Pasta ran through another fence, this was bad enough, but helplessly watching the twenty head of cattle, three horses and a goat run through the other side to reek havoc on the rest of the town. Made me just want to turn and run, pack and drive. Susan ran into the now (so we thought) empty field and I hit the road, running for all I was worth yelling Pasta! Pasta! At the top of my lungs. I could only imaging what the neighbors thought of the new people in town.
“ Hey Martha! Come over here!”
What?”
“ Quick! Stay away from the window, he might see you.”
“ Is he yelling a recipe?
“ Lock the doors…I’m getting the gun!”

I actually started laughing, here I am in the middle of a storm, big clunky boots, tank top, shorts, covered in mud, and carrying ropes, yelling pasta. There was nothing else to do but laugh. Then it struck me, I had heard that there were cattle up the road, and what else? I was looking at Susan running through the field when it hit me with such a force it almost made me fall. “ Susan! Bull! Bull!”
“ What!” She yelled.
“ Bull! There’s a bull in the field!”
“ Fool in the field!”
“ No Bull in the field!” How the hell she get fool in the field? “ Get out of there!
“ I almost…” Not another word was said as I watched in amazement as she realized what I was yelling. She made a dash that would have made flash proud.
“ Where’s Pasta.” She said out of breath, like running from bulls is a common thing.
“ He’s stopped over there.” I pointed to Pasta just hanging out in the farmer’s driveway. I couldn’t help but take a quick peek at the house behind us, knowing that they were still watching.
“ Martha, now there’s two of them.”
“ I’ll get another box of shells deah.”
Slowly, painfully slowly I made my way to Pasta; I was about to grab him when the owner came running from around the house yelling. “ Out they are all out!” For some reason this scarred Pasta and the chase was on again.
Luck was on our side this time, llamas like many things, they are smart and very inquisitive, but they especially like dogs, and even more small dogs. To our benefit there was a small dog about a half-mile down the road chained to a post, and Pasta heard and found the little pooch. Susan was the first on the scene; Pasta was towering over a now scarred quiet poodle. All jumped when the dogs owner burst out of the door, terrified, not knowing what really to do, and in his boxer shorts. If that wasn’t enough humiliation for one day, Susan (always the professional) tells the guy that llamas like dogs (I know he was thinking, for what, Lunch). She instructed him to hold his arms up like he was a fence and wave them slightly (It is a well known fact that a mostly naked man waving his arms will stop a four-hundred pound llama) This would give her a chance to get Pasta. I was on my way over and realized that Pasta would know what I was coming for, Then I saw it (This is where you meet my sidekick...Alpaca guy) a school bus, My neighbor’s bus. I waved down the bus full of fifth graders and it stopped and the doors flew open to reveal a slightly amused Joe (Not really Joe and you know why).
“ I have a slight problem.”
“ It seems to look like that.” Joe laughed. “ How can I help?”
“ See Susan and the naked guy?” I pointed.
“ Yea, is that one of yours?” He saw Pasta.
“ I’ll explain later, I need you to drive up slowly so I can get Pasta.”
“ Are you serious?”
“ Yes Joe, unfortunately I am.”
“ Jump in.”
“ Great.” I boarded the buss and turned to see it full of kids, kids who were dead silent at the sight of this dirty rope toting thing looking back at them. I just sighed and turned looking through the window. “ Joe…after that llama!” To both of our delights every kid on that buss leaped up and cheered at the top of their lungs. Joe slammed the door closed and jammed the llama mobile into first. Now kids, especially young ones like to make up songs, and this was no different. For a half-mile we heard “ We’re on a llama hunt…. We’re on a llama hunt, all in unison.
“ Should I pull up like I’m letting kids off?” Joe asked seriously.
“ Yes.” It wasn’t like Pasta was going to go, hey here comes the…. Wait a minute this is a trick.
“ Here we go.” Joe started to slow. I turned and all went silent in a somewhat petrified awe, to be honest I did feel a little like a super hero, dozens of little eyes on me waiting for me to take on the evil Pasta. We stopped and the door slowly slid open, there was slight murmuring from the kids as I stepped calmly and slowly from the bus. Susan couldn’t believe it; naked boy stopped waving his arms and somewhere off in the distance the hooves of a runaway horse could be heard. I was the one, I was going to bring this llama down, Pasta looked at me, I at Pasta and he bolted. No way! You are mine! I ran along the side of the bus to cut him off. I hadn’t noticed but all the kids had their heads out the window and started yelling.
“ Go llama! Go llama!” I dove (For the kids man! Do it for the Kids!) Kids screamed, Susan gasped, naked boy picked up his dog and ran like hell, and I got him. Pasta kicked whined spit and I struggled swore (Sorry mom) and yelled, finally we came crashing to the ground, tired dirty and sore, I had won. Not only had I defeated the evil Pasta, I gave a busload of small children (and the now famous Alllpaaaacaaaa! Guuuuuyyyyy!) A story that no one would believe unless they were there.
After vet bills, apologies, promises to leave town, all was once again quiet in our little part of the world. Susan’s daughter came home and smiled she was the most popular kid in school, (after all how many kids live with a super hero) she handed me a stack of drawings, of a man in a cape with two ells on his chest flying through the air. As for Joe, he is the most popular bus driver ever at the school, I think kids feel that there’s a better chance of running into exotic animals when he’s driving. Naked boy, well, He has taken to wearing clothes when his dog is tied out, and me, I don’t really care for llamas that much, but somewhere deep inside llama man still exists. Besides I have friend that raises Emu’s, you never know, they say super heroes never really retire.