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Robin Hood NOT

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Robin Hood not

Robin Hood (Not)

By

Barnwood

During my teen years I had a close friend, let’s call him Ed. From Grade 6 until the end of High School, we were inseparable. The first day I was invited to Ed’s house I was amazed. This guy had more games than a small store! You, well some of you, do remember the days of board games: Monopoly, Risk, chess, table hockey…

But first I have to tell you why two young boys were so free…Ed’s Dad worked hard in the bush. Back then the men didn’t come home every day, they stayed at the bush camp for months. His mother was a nanny for some rich people. His older brother who wrestled with us and played his guitar in his bedroom wasn’t always around. That left his grandpa, who didn’t speak a word of English. His room was the car port converted into a bedroom and he was deaf.

Ed had a brand new Hitachi stereo in the living room and we had endless days to play games! We would listen to the newest: Led Zeppelin, Carlos Santana, Uriah Heep and the Guess Who records. These brand new albums back in the early ‘70s were cranked up loud, very loud while we played all six colour pieces in Risk or all eight figures in Monopoly. A note book kept all the stats from every game we ever played. Ed was very competitive and would have gladly beaten me every game he could. In table hockey and table football the detailed stats told a story how the games unfolded. The vibrating table football had notes detailing players, plays and notes on the opponents. This was very serious fun. Ed was my nemesis. He was a little older, a little wiser and he had home field advantage all the time.

Where I could hold my own was the more athletic games like table hockey, tennis, target shooting (unlike chess, cards or board games). In Ed’s back yard a giant piece of plywood with a target was erected. Ed had a gun, ok, just a pellet gun. Hour after hour the target was pelted. It was fun but eventually it got boring even after we put the most villainous faces from Life Magazine. Along with the pellet gun, we had a couple of bows. This too provided a contest at first requiring more physical strength. But the smallish back yard with our increasing skill left us without challenge.

I’m not sure whose idea it was but I’ll take the credit. I’m sure all of you have seen epic fails on YouTube. If there had been internet back in the ‘70s and a kindly neighbour filming, it would have gone viral. Since target practice had become a little dull the idea was to go into the front yard, bow in hand and shot arrows at each other! The front yards were about 40 feet across, with no fencing between the houses. Ed went a couple of houses down to shot. At least 80 feet away. He had a nice new 45lb 60 inch Shakespeare Wonder wooden bow laminated with fiberglass and I had an old Super Jet 30lb 60 inch fiberglass bow. We had protection of course. What person in their right mind would shoot arrows at each other without an aluminum garbage can lid as your shield?!

This all went well at first. The freedom of youth to play, explore and lob arrows at each other! My bow being weaker delivered a smooth arched flight. If I could ask Ed one question I would like to know whose idea it was really after all. He had the stronger, faster bow. Ed knocked down my every attempt with ease. My buddy on the other hand, with the stronger bow, had a more direct path. On Ed’s third attempt, I missed. When I did not hear the clank on the garbage can lid I looked down to admire the arrow firmly planted into my upper thigh. I staggered around the front lawn for all the neighbours to witness. A little dizzy, I pulled out the target arrow that was embedded an inch into my muscle. Missing anything vital, a dime sized hole appeared. I don’t remember any pain, just anger. I lost to Ed again!

Humour

Butt Cheeks

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I want to talk to you about butt cheeks, specifically, mine. My tale is this: I ask how much do you pay attention to butts? I have to be honest, I have looked at a lot of female behinds in my day, but have paid zero attention to my own behind.

This little tale is about my butt or rather the disappearance of my comfy cushion, let me sit anywhere in comfort, from the hardest wooden stool to, well, a rock. I never thought anything about this. You just sat down on your butt.

I was startled on fine day, after wiping my butt successfully, to find some of it had disappeared. I’m sure it was noticeable in the preceding weeks, but it was that specific wipe that had me shivering. I had lost a lot of weight in a few short months. No diet or secret. I simply gave up sugar and a few carbs. So voila! Now I look better, sort of. My pants don’t fill out anymore.

Now I constantly shift from one cheek to the next, trying to get comfortable. I’ve stopped looking for the softest seat in the house and started carrying this donut to sit on. It was either that or strap a pillow to my backside. I do get a lot of strange looks but the alternative would be to go back to sugar to fill out my sugar butt.

By Barnwood

Humour, Uncategorized

I Saved a Life Today

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I did save a life today in my dog’s water bowl. This was not just any life, oh, no! This little teeny brown wood frog was struggling; nostrils barely above the surface swimming the sidestroke… I thought I saw a smile when Timmy, yeah, I named him, Timmy was air lifted out.

Timmy was not even and inch long, but I found a new home where he lives today. A little pond in the front yard teaming with mosquito larva and a granite rock to sun on appears to have given Timmy a second chance.

Any questions can be related to Timmy by yours truly. You know like what colour are your eyes? or How many mosquitoes have you eaten today? or How did you end up almost drowning in a dog’s water dish bowl?
…Unless you want to talk to Harold, the garter snake, who lives under my steps.

Humour, Uncategorized

Miscue

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The pool cue was hurled with direction and intent. As my two young siblings rounded the corner of the pool table, heading for the exit, screaming, I was visibly upset, ranting to the effect how could they have beaten me in a game of pool?! Once they were well past the target, I hurled the pool cue into the drywall…now before you judge me, let me finish…

I had saved up for a brand new Simpson Sears pool table. Made of wood, there were screws to adjust for warpage. The six pocket had a slight warp which played to my advantage.

I was seventeen, my siblings were eight and ten years my junior. Little sis was a happy girl, when she laughed she made a snork, snork sound, so I nick named her Snorky. I would chase her around the house as she screamed, laughed and inevitably snorked; my way of playing with my baby sister. Tall, cute and lanky for her age, she still needed books to stand on to hit the cue ball and make the shot. Little bro was the neighbourhood star, at least to the next door neighbour kids. My brother was the leader of a little gang of athletes that liked to play crocket and baseball on the front lawn. Two small Italian boys were in awe of my little bro’s athleticism. They were loyal followers ready for any games. Cleanliness was always forefront with these Italian boys. You could observe them washing their hair daily in mud puddles.

Through my adolescent brain, I had thought I could make their win in a pool game more realistic. I could beat them every time and this time I even set up the cue ball to their advantage. I had learned from the best. My old Uncle Setä used set up his stripes or solids in front of the pockets so that if I hit them I would pocket his ball. My plan was to let them win, have a tantrum, then they would have something huge to talk about. It was the last game of the day. A win would send them over the moon. After I lost the game, the pool cue was thrown into a portion of the drywall where a doorway opening was to be cut out to a new bathroom that this family of six desperately needed. A mini tantrum, some convincing acting so they can tell all their friends how they beat their big brother!

After my fake tantrum, I waited for them to pass as fast as their little legs could let them race around the end of the pool table. Then I threw the cue well past my panicked siblings and into the drywall. Not even close to a real threat. I was good at throwing things. From baseballs, footballs and later dart trophies would prove that. A dent from an accidental jumping pool ball in the drywall left a target. The dent, a little left of the centre provided a harmless target. Or so I thought.

I was an adolescent myself, clearly, not the best thinking here and they still children at seven and nine. This was long ago, forty years long ago. Why I write about this now is, well a few years ago this incident came up. My younger brother thought I was so angry that day that I threw the cue at them trying to injure. I explained my story, had a laugh and thought nothing else of it. Then just recently at my mother’s 85th birthday, somehow this story came out in conversation. My little sister, ten years my junior, thought I had intended to hit them. I tried to explain as best I could but am unsure of the results.

I had made this ill-conceived show of love and affection into thoughts of some evil, hateful brother. Of course I love them. They are the same flesh and blood. I could never hurt them nor ever did. I was stupid and careless. Now I wonder how much this incident, this lack of judgment on my part, has kept us apart. They remembered the event so vividly in their minds and how could they have known what was in mine? I love my brothers and sister. Be careful when they are young. A miss understanding can lead to a lifetime of regret.

Written by Barnwood