Southern Battle
I was a preacher’s kid for most of my growing up years. I was a PK before Promise Keepers stole the acronym. (No resentment there.)
When my parents befriended a family that had begun to attend our church, my siblings and I naturally were thrown together with these new kids. I remember the two boys’ names, but can’t quite put my finger on the oldest daughter’s name. Anyway, the boys were Robert and Bradley. I was older than Bradley but younger than Robert.
When my family went to visit them at their rather small apartment, my brother (boy #2), Robert, Bradley and I were sent outside to play. All the space available to us on the apartment grounds was mostly the filled parking lot for the building.
Robert got the great idea to have us all climb the six foot privacy fence and go into the almost empty lot where some contractors had dug up the dirt a bit and left a “porta potty” standing grandly in all it’s aromatic glory.
The hot southern sun had baked the once wet dirt beautifully. It left us with an endless supply of the most perfect dirt clods a boy ever threw with all his might at his little brother. Yes, we had a dirt clod fight.
Since Robert had started the thing, he found himself all alone facing the rest of us. We naturally had him ducking and dodging. He was getting dirty twice as fast as we were, and I was thankful I would only have to answer for getting him dirty instead of being so dirty myself. It would have been hell to pay if mom saw us as dirty as Robert was becoming. Thankfully, too, it was Saturday, and we weren’t wearing church clothes.
Needless to say, Robert was feeling pretty overwhelmed by dirt clod impacts and began to focus on his own brother. He charged Bradley and flushed him from behind a small ridge of dirt, forcing him to take cover in the “porta potty”.
Bradley slammed the door and put the hook in the eye to secure it. My brother and I stood up to watch what would happen next.
Robert had accidentally or on purpose, gotten a rock and threw it with all his might at the “porta potty”. We saw a gaping hole in the thing, and the only sound heard was the whining of the bugs in the trees. There was no other sound.
Bradley’s hand appeared from the hole waving a foot of toilet paper, and he cried, “I surrender!”
When my parents befriended a family that had begun to attend our church, my siblings and I naturally were thrown together with these new kids. I remember the two boys’ names, but can’t quite put my finger on the oldest daughter’s name. Anyway, the boys were Robert and Bradley. I was older than Bradley but younger than Robert.
When my family went to visit them at their rather small apartment, my brother (boy #2), Robert, Bradley and I were sent outside to play. All the space available to us on the apartment grounds was mostly the filled parking lot for the building.
Robert got the great idea to have us all climb the six foot privacy fence and go into the almost empty lot where some contractors had dug up the dirt a bit and left a “porta potty” standing grandly in all it’s aromatic glory.
The hot southern sun had baked the once wet dirt beautifully. It left us with an endless supply of the most perfect dirt clods a boy ever threw with all his might at his little brother. Yes, we had a dirt clod fight.
Since Robert had started the thing, he found himself all alone facing the rest of us. We naturally had him ducking and dodging. He was getting dirty twice as fast as we were, and I was thankful I would only have to answer for getting him dirty instead of being so dirty myself. It would have been hell to pay if mom saw us as dirty as Robert was becoming. Thankfully, too, it was Saturday, and we weren’t wearing church clothes.
Needless to say, Robert was feeling pretty overwhelmed by dirt clod impacts and began to focus on his own brother. He charged Bradley and flushed him from behind a small ridge of dirt, forcing him to take cover in the “porta potty”.
Bradley slammed the door and put the hook in the eye to secure it. My brother and I stood up to watch what would happen next.
Robert had accidentally or on purpose, gotten a rock and threw it with all his might at the “porta potty”. We saw a gaping hole in the thing, and the only sound heard was the whining of the bugs in the trees. There was no other sound.
Bradley’s hand appeared from the hole waving a foot of toilet paper, and he cried, “I surrender!”
posted by praiseage at 1:21 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home