Friday, May 25, 2007

Golf Balls

For some reason today, even writing about most mundane things, like African rats the size of domestic cats, Rosie's sudden and unshocking departure from The View, or The "Sanjaya" Hoax, is a struggle.

I've been challenged, though, so I'll tell you a story.

My best friend Lon and I came from parents who grew up in the same generation.
They didn't have discipline problems with their children because they taught them to respect people (esp their elders) and they beat their asses when they didn't.
Lon and I were good kids. We got ourselves into trouble sometimes but it wasn't for a lack of respect.

One sunny summer day, we trekked several blocks to the big park and spent our time leisurely going from swings to merry go rounds and back again.
I was about 8 so that would make her 10.
You have to understand that we didn't have video games, cell phones or computers and we barely had cable. During daylight hours, we spent our time outdoors. I know this is a strange concept to kids these days.
Being outdoors meant we often had to use our imagination and come up with our own ideas for entertainment.
This is why when I saw a shiny new golf ball on the ground, I quickly snatched it up, imagining what all we could do with my new found treasure.
After picking up that golf ball, I noticed another one. Lon came over to inspect my find and noticed a third ball, then a fourth, a fifth and suddenly, we realized we were surrounded by golfballs.
We were in golf ball heaven!
We didn't hesistate. We grabbed the tail of our shirts, flipped them inside out and started picking golf balls like they were cotton and we were on the plantation.
I don't know what in the hell we were going to do with all these golf balls but we felt like we hit the jackpot and we weren't going to leave a single one behind.

I stopped because I heard someone a great distance away yelling. I realized that I had been hearing it for a while but in my excitement, I blocked everything out.
Lon heard it too. We both stood there, looking around to see who was screaming.
That's when we saw him. A tiny dot of a man at the end of the field adjacent to the park, waving a golf club over his head.
We understood immediately what this meant. These were his golf balls and he was coming to kick our ass.
Simultaneously, we dropped our shirttails and about 50 golf balls fell to the ground.
We looked at each other briefly not saying a word and took off running.
Lon swears she never saw me run so fast and she's probably right.

After about 4 blocks, we stopped, panting heavily and fell to the ground laughing.
See, these days, I could see kids stealing the golf balls anyway and saying "Fuck you, asshole," to the poor man trying to get some shots in on a nice summer day.
But, despite our questionable judgement (which would get us into some sticky situations throughout the years), we were GOOD kids.

I'm sure there are a few good kids left, right?

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