1 post tagged “summer vacations”

When I was 9 years old, my parents had planned a quick summer vacation to Knoxville, Tenn., for the World's Fair. (This is the same World's Fair made even more famous by "The Simpsons" -- once when Homer fires up a "Knoxville World's Fair" cigar in a movie theater, then again a few years later when Bart, Milhouse, Nelson and Martin travel to the former Underwear Capital of the World under the misguided notion that the 1982 World's Fair is still going on.) Mom and Dad already were loading the car, and the family was all fired up to see the fair and explore its theme: "Energy turns the world." (I'm guessing they didn't talk much about peak oil back in 1982, eh?)

However, my family didn't make it to Knoxville that summer. One day -- one stinkin' day -- before we were supposed

to leave, my brother Andrew and I were outside playing by a rain-swollen creek with two older neighbor kids. I had crossed the remains of an earthen dam to the far side of the stream, where the bank was much steeper. I lost my footing and started sliding down the sloppy slope toward the raging torrent. (OK, it was all of 2 feet deep, maybe, but I was getting muddier by the second, and I knew Mom would kill me for turning into Pigpen a mere 15 minutes after going outside to play.)

I called on Andrew for help, but instead of coming to my aid, he stood, pointed and laughed with the other boys, trying to impress them with his indifference and apparent cruelty, I'd wager. Arseholes, each and every one of them. As I struggled to grab anything to catch myself, my slow, inexorable slide into the muck continued. Soon, I was wet and covered in mud, no thanks to my older brother or the two neighborhood scalawags -- both of whom, I am quite sure, are now in prison somewhere for some meaningless crime that they no doubt thought was incredibly important at the time. ("Hey, Earl! We gots to steal this cigarette machine, then we'll be HEROES down at the pork rendering plant, and Chlamydia and her sister Syphillina will HAVE to go out with us!" "Yeah, dibs on the one with the hook hand!") Bastards!

After wading upstream a bit to climb out the shallower slope, I started trudging back to the house, but not before grabbing a good chunk of rock, about the size of my wee little 9-year-old fist. As the cackling continued down by the creek, I felt my anger building to Bruce Banner-like proportions. Finally, I couldn't stand it, so I turned and chucked that rock about 50 feet ... and it hit the ground, bounced a time or two and struck Andrew right on the ankle. Ouch.

Within hours, his ankle had swollen to twice its normal size. Doctors orders? Stay off his feet and soak his ankle every few hours. Obviously, there would be no traipsing around greater Knoxville, gazing at the wonders of the globe and eating funnel cakes, corn dogs and oh-so-many other deep-fried delicacies. (Why didn't that bloody sawbones son of a bitch just say: "Well, Mr. and Mrs. Castle, it seems your 9-year-old son has tried to slay your 11-year-old son in a rather Cain-like fashion. He has ruined your family's vacation, and if I were you, I would lock him in the cellar and feed him table scraps before he succeds in one of his homicidal rages. Once he is 18, you can have the would-be murderer locked away in a gulag or proper insane asylum. Here's a list of a few Dickensian workhouses to get you started ...")

No World's Fair, no vacation of any sort that summer -- all because my temper and thirst for vengeance (I reluctantly stopped calling it "justice" a few years ago) for just a moment overwhelmed my gentle, kind-hearted spirit.

Who gives a damn, though? The Sunsphere was overrated anyway, and I'd rather go to Dollywood.