Kids are troublemakers. That's a fact no sane adult can deny. Mischief is fun, but can have its consequences. I know this all too well because I created, caused, and covered-up said mischief. This chapter will contain some of those tales, told and untold. They will also be in no particular order. We shall begin with tales from the country club.
It was a crisp fall evening. The sun was just beginning to set. My siblings and I were all playing in the northern part of the woods not far from the maintenance garage. We were joined by Zack and Abbi. The garage was all locked up for the day and being curious kids, we noticed some decent sized piles of gravel not far from the garage. Being very imaginative children, we crept on over and climbed the gravel pile. We treated the pile as our ship and we were brave sailors, hunting great ocean beasts. A couple of us actually had pretend spears. These spears were 1"x1" wooden garden stakes tied to a long rope. Whenever we pretended an ocean creature passed by, we would hurl our spears as far as child arms could toss them, yell GOTCHA, and then quickly haul our catch back in. Rinse and repeat. Technically, we weren't supposed to be there. The garage area was off limits as a lot of big equipment was used there and it really was no place for children. But all the doors were locked, no one was a round, and those gravel piles were begging to be climbed. Suddenly, as we were about to sail the 7th sea, the sound of a golf cart motor rumbled in the distance. It grew increasingly louder. Before we could react, two scary looking guys came flying around the building in a golf cart. As soon as we saw them, we all bolted. As we fled for our lives, a "Hey you kids get out of here!" was shouted after us. We managed to retreat to the woods without further incident, but poor Abbi was the last to escape and she was upset that we had "left her behind". I can't confirm whether our mischief was reported to our parents, but that was a situation I chalked up to a no harm no foul type of deal.
Continuing on with the garage, the areas around the dumpsters had many things that a child would fancy. Cool metal parts and pieces from worn out equipment, old golf balls and golf tees, poker chips, and other sorts of "treasures." I loved to sneak over there on a regular basis, but the problem was that I'd have to do it during the day while work was still going on. This was because I wasn't allowed out long after dark. I'd have to make sure that the workers were completely out of site and that no one at the main building was out on the patio where I could be spotted. Then I'd slip through the woods and the moment I stepped out, I had to make a mad dash for the back of the dumpsters. If I was successful up to that point, then I'd have to carefully creep around on the ground searching for the goods while keeping an ear open for anything that would tip me off that someone was coming. Then, as I showed my siblings and Melinda and Joanna my hauls, they wanted in on the action too. Well I didn't want to risk them getting caught and blowing up my whole operation, so anytime they were around and I went for a haul, I had them stay at the edge of the woods while I went in. I usually had to act quick for fear that one of them would make too much noise. But things managed to mostly work out. The closest I came to ever being caught was a time where I discovered more golf balls had been deposited near the front of the dumpster. I crept out from the back and laid down in front of it, working quickly to collect as many golf balls as I could. Suddenly, the hair on the back of my neck shot up. I heard nothing, but I popped up and bolted behind the dumpster. About one minute later, a single golf cart came cruising in from behind the building very slowly. A man in a gray hoodie and dark sunglasses was at the wheel. He drove slowly through the area and took a long look at the dumpster. I thought for sure I was toast. He eventually drove on and out of view. I waited a few more minutes before fleeing my hiding spot and back through the woods, golf balls and all. I'm pretty sure that was the last time I attempted that stunt.
As you know by now, we came up with many uses for walnuts. The day is discovered they made loud popping sounds when crushed under heavy weight was a game changer. The entrance and exits to the country club were two separate and narrow drives which ran along the edge of our front yard and never had a lot of traffic, except on the weekends. One lazy summer afternoon, I scooped up a shirt full of walnuts and went down by the exit drive. I made sure the coast was clear, then proceeded to strategically place walnuts on the exit drive, making sure to look like they simply fell off a tree. When a car came, I would duck behind the nearest tree and wait. Unfortunately for me, some of the walnuts rolled off and others were simply brushed by passing car tires. After a handful of failed attempts, I replaced them one more time and added more to make sure that at least one would be crunched. As I was doing so, I heard the low hum of a car engine. I turned around and saw a light gold Cadillac headed towards me. No time to hide, I quickly moved off the road and acted like I was playing with nearby sticks. Not my best of ideas, but I had no choice. I slightly turned and watched as the car rolled slowly towards the walnuts. Keeping its speed, it hit two of them in succession. POP! POP! The echo through the pines amplified the sound of the tires crushing them. I was so happy. But then the brake lights came on. The car came to a complete stop. A fairly old gentleman got out. I became frozen and dared not breathe. He walked around the car, carefully inspecting each tire. After he had looked at all four, he turned and stared at me and I gave him a confused look. But I was terrified. He then turned around, got back into his caddy, and drove off. I breathed a sigh of relief, started laughing, and then promptly reset the remaining walnuts with the hope that they too would soon be crushed. However, dinner was now ready and I had to leave my harmless prank behind without a witness.
One summer we had a camping experience at Al and Sue's. Me, my siblings, my parents, Cam and Chalene, Matt, Curt, Missy, Alice, Melinda, Joanna, and two other young children whose names I cannot recall, all camped in the woods across the creek behind Al and Sue's house. We spent the evening goofing off and being carefree kids. At one point, a few of our group, who shall not be identified, wandered off. I eventually located them and asked what they were doing. One person had a small bottle of vanilla extract. Someone had mentioned that there was alcohol in vanilla extract and being dumb kids, it was a "cool" thing to try. I thought it was stupid because it was a cooking ingredient and I didn't believe it actually had alcohol (it does). They said to try it anyway and my curiosity got the better of me. Vanilla extract smells really good and does wonders in the world of baking, but after taking a small swig of the stuff, I discovered quickly it wasn't worth it. I ended up with a weird taste in my mouth and my nose stung. That was the first and last time I drank vanilla extract.
The camping adventure actually contained a second set of mischief. Some in the group thought it would be funny to pull some scare pranks on the smaller kids. When everyone was in their tents and winding down, those few snuck out and began creeping through the woods. They began making animal sounds and chucking small objects at some of the tents. Their plan worked as some of the smaller kids were convinced bears were nearby. Their cover was nearly blown as some adults went to investigate, but they managed to lay low until the flashlights passed and were able to make it back to their tents unspotted. I only got the full story the next morning.
KB Toys was a popular toy store franchise in the 90s that sadly no longer exists. There was one in our local mall and our parents would take us whenever we went because a number of the toys could be tested without having to buy anything. For a long time, there was a particular toy that was a staple to that store. It was a rainbow colored talking parrot on a plastic log as a perch. It was motion activated and the moment you started talking to it, it repeated back to you what you said in a parrot-like voice. Now there was a whole aisle of these things and every one had batteries. So you can imagine the torture the store employees went through every time kids set them off. Thankfully the makers of this toy had the sense of mind to make the parrot speak gibberish if someone tried to get them to repeat something vulgar. When we first discovered it, instantly it became the coolest toy in the store. One visit became hilarious for me and awkward for the guy at the cash register. They had one of those parrots up there and my brother Tim and I took turns saying phrases to it and laughing as it spoke them back. Well I took this perfect opportunity to take a shot at Tim. Once my turn came, as soon as the parrot fell silent, I half shouted "Timmy is a dumb-head!" The parrot squawked back "Timmy is *gibberish*head! Timmy is a *gibberish*head!" The parrot garbled the word "dumb", but I swore is repeated the word pretty darn close. I was laughing, my brother was not. Nor were the store employee or my parents. My mom told me that wasn't nice and we made our way out of the store. Normally I would feel bad, but I couldn't get over the fact I got a toy to call my brother a silly name.
This next tale tells of a time when I caused trouble, blamed it on my sister, and got away with it. It was one of our first years in the ranch house in Abbottstown, PA. My parents had a large Christmas tree in the living room. It was fully adorned with large and colorful ornaments. And when I say fully adorned, I mean they were even hanging on the lowest branches, not far from the floor. On a day I was bored, I had a small ball in my hand. I glanced at the tree and noticed I could create a game. The goal was this: roll the ball as fast as I can across the living room floor and right under the tree. That was it. So I began sending that little ball across the faded green carpet and under the tree, over and over. But then it happened. The ball hit the back wall, took a bad hop, ricocheted back, and knocked a metallic bauble off the tree. It was so frail, it shattered. I was horrified because I knew I was a dead duck. Thinking quickly, I took the ball and gave it to Sarah who was playing nearby. She couldn't really talk yet so all I had to do was spin my story straight. I yelled for my mom to make it seem like I had made a discovery. She came in and noticed the shattered bauble mess on the floor. "What happened!" she cried. "Sarah was playing too close to the tree and she knocked it off." I replied. My mom sighed and moved Sarah out of the room. She came back and began picking up the bigger pieces. Finally she returned with the vacuum to finish the job. The bauble wasn't an important one so no major loss, but I didn't get in trouble. And the ornaments on the lower branches were moved higher on the tree. Mischief achieved.
Most of the other mischief I can recall before my teenage years was nothing spectacular. Just a bunch of typical, petty pre-teen stuff. The teenage years is where things got a bit more crazy. I may do another "tales" entry, but most will be sprinkled in as I continue along. Stay tuned readers, because rough seas will soon be returning to these pages.
