Hank Ketchum the creator of the “Dennis-the-Menace” comic strip would
have loved to have access to this story back in his heyday. And in fact, if you were to sit down and
review our childhood antics and the comic strip, you would find any number of
similarities. I have often wondered if ol’
Hank didn’t drive from the Monterey Area up to Livermore several times a week
and charge the cost off as research.
That said, and knowing that many a boy fantasized about this, allow me
to relate the summer that my brothers and I tied the baby-sitter up and
threatened to burn her at the stake. I
know, it sounds too “made up”, a fictional recollection of blended pop-culture
and personal fantasy. Trust me on this
one, as the saying goes, “truth is stranger than fiction”.
That spring, as in most springs before, and some after, my brothers and
I argued loud and long with our parents.
Our contention was we didn’t need a “babysitter” during the summer and
that we were quite capable of taking care of ourselves. Our parents contention ultimately boiled down
to the fact that we might be able to take care of ourselves, however, without
supervision, they feared that the town, valley, and county might not be up to
the task.
“Susan” our regular sitter for the past couple of years had just graduated
from High school. We boys were old
enough to find her attractive, and young enough to be greatly intimidated by
the fact that she had been valedictorian of her class.
And, as I said, we all knew each other.
She had watched over us before and as much as Barry, Jeff, and I hated
to admit it, she was mostly a fun person to be around. But, no matter how smart, pretty, and fun;
she was the dreaded “babysitter” and we wanted no part of that.
This would have been the summer after 6th grade for me I
believe. By that time I had come to realize
that I would never have a career in music and I had moved on to vaudeville. During the school year I had acquired a
ventriloquist doll and spent hours practicing to talk without moving my lips. And while the allure of a life of making wisecracks
at someone else’s expense appealed to me, the mirror in front of me told me it
wasn’t in the cards.
“Not in the Cards” got me to thinking, so I started reading up on Harry
Houdini and all the great magicians of by-gone ages. I bought a book on close up magic, card
tricks, table tricks, and sleight of hand.
I bought a book on grand illusions and escapes.
I figure Barry was sneak reading my books.
Being the oldest may have its privileges, but it carries its burdens as
well, so I blame Barry for the idea of tying Susan up. You might note that I do that a fair amount
in these stories and I therefore have to admit that while I blame him for this
particular idea, I have to acknowledge that all three of us took part in the
planning, and implementation. The only
innocent party was the poor girl.
And in truth, the whole “burn at the stake part” really wasn’t part of
the plan, it just spontaneously ignited in our brains if you’ll pardon the pun.
Call the genesis of the idea however you want, the upshot was that
Barry, Jeff, and I entered that summer intent on tying Susan up.
We began by spending a little time each day in the living room
play-tying each other’s hands in front of our selves. We practiced and struggled with learning how
to use our teeth to undo the knots. Then
fingertips and pressure against other objects, and slowly over the course of
several weeks we transitioned from tying hands in front, to behind backs, and
then into chairs. Flexing our wrists and
working to shed ropes with what approximated the speed of a semi-professional.
Each day we tried to get Susan to try it as well. We cajoled, and teased, and badgered, and
pestered.
All to no avail.
June marched onward.
July flew past on a hot dry wind.
August was grinding out the tail end of summer before one day, after
watching Jeff escape from being “securely bound” into a ladder-back style wooden
chair, Susan suddenly stood up from the couch where she had been watching all
these weeks and said; “Let me try”.
We boys looked at each other in stunned disbelief. Sure, we had had a plan, but the plan was
kind of like one of those dreams of falling off a cliff, you know, the ones
where you never hit bottom.
Susan obviously wasn’t paying enough attention because she completely
missed the “overly nonchalant” manner that we took to her joining in.
Looking back on it, I have often wondered if that wasn’t the beginning
of my concern over the quality of the education I was receiving. If the best and brightest that our public
schools could create was foolish enough to let three heathens tie her in a chair,
I am not sure what value the educational system provides in return for the bottomless
pit of tax dollars thrown at it.
My issues with public education aside, we boys instantly jumped on the chance.
Susan seated herself into the ladder-back chair. No practice rehearsals of hands in front, no
hands behind. No deep-knee bends,
jogging in-place, or warm up of any kind either. Just plopped herself into the chair and said;
“tie me up guys”.
At that time I am sure my brothers had the same thought I did…”dang, we
only have a couple hundred feet of rope here”.
But we used that couple hundred feet of rope to good avail. Susan didn’t quite look like a butterfly
emerging from a cocoon when we got done, but close enough that anyone short of
a certified entomologist wasn’t likely to notice the difference.
And that’s when it happened. I
can’t blame it on Jeff, though I’d lay odds that’s where it started. Nor can I blame it on Barry. And as much as I would have liked to have taken
credit for the idea back then, I can’t claim it was mine either.
But one of us reached out and started wadding up newspaper into balls
and tossing them under the chair.
Next thing you knew, the chair was surrounded by a pile of crumpled newspaper,
and Barry, Jeff, and I were dancing around the pile with wooden matches
chanting that we were going to burn the babysitter.
Yep, the plot progression in Lord of the Flies came as no
surprise to me years later when I finally read that book in high school English. I’d been there. Many a time I’d seen the rapid devolution of boys
into blood-thirsty savages long before high school English came along.
But, after a while we tired of the game of watching Susan’s terrified
eyes and useless struggles, so we went out to chase crayfish in the arroyo
outside of town.
Not being entirely stupid, we got home before Mom and Dad were to
return from work and set Susan free in time to clean up the mess and
ingratiatingly plead for forgiveness.
It didn’t entirely work.
To this day I really don’t think Susan was particularly mad at us as
strange as that might sound. Maybe there
was a bit of Stockholm Syndrome at work there.
In any case, while she didn’t seem mad, she did decide that she should
report the event to our mom.
Lord amighty, you would have thought the world was coming to an end.
Alright, admittedly, mom had some justification for being upset, but I
figure it wouldn’t have been so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that Susan was
the eldest daughter of our dad’s boss.
Yep, you heard that right, we tied up and threatened to burn the apple
of the eye of the man who decided if our dad continued to be paid.
And that might have been a real crisis I suppose.
Except when Susan related her day to her family around the dinner table
that night, her father started laughing so hard he fell out of his chair. So, seems like there may have been a family
related inner ear problem that we had unwittingly helped out with there.
Maybe we should have stopped by and offered to tie him in as well.
On reflection, it seems as though, for that summer anyway, Mom and Dad
may have been right about our needing supervision.
But you all have to admit, even if they were right, they failed
completely in providing it.
© Copyright 2015, Marty
Vandermolen, All Rights Reserved
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