I do.
I was five, had just woke up and looked out the window of my room on the second floor of our home on Cudahy Avenue. At that point I actually said to myself, “this is just like a story book”.
On this one particular day it happened to be sunny and warm outside. I was looking out the window of my second floor room. I decided that if there were ever a fire in our house I would toss all of my stuffed animals and favorite dolls out the window. This followed by the thought that it would be much easier if all of my toys were tied together, that way I would only have to throw one out the window and the rest would follow.
I went to great lengths to make sure all of my prized positions were carefully secured to one another. I had a huge pile of toys combined and ready to go at a moment’s notice – all shoved under my bed. That would do it. Thankfully I never had to work out my plan, but if a nasty fire started – I was ready.
Where was I? Oh yeah, the start of my memory. If I was going to start remembering things, I chose the perfect day to begin. It just so happens that this day would lead to an epic event, one that would solidly stay with me the rest of my life, a journey showing that I craved adventure – regardless of cost.
I dressed quickly; grabbed two socks from the sock box that I am sure didn’t match because I literally just grabbed two socks, and ran to breakfast. Dad had already left for work and Mom was in the kitchen drinking coffee and having a cigarette. I gave her a quick hug and headed for the toaster. “What are you going to do today?” mom asked. “I am going to head out on a safari” I told her.
I had started watching old Johnny Weissmuller Tarzan episodes and safaris were my new ‘thing'. I proceeded to purposely burn my toast, It was the only way I liked to eat it, spread some jelly on it and shoved it into my mouth. I washed it down with a glass of milk and ran out the back door with a quick ‘bye mom’ over my shoulder.
Outside the sun hit my face, I ran past the large evergreen tree my mom had planted in the middle of the yard and back to our small garage. Inside it was my freedom, my trusted stead, a red, slightly rusty, tricycle. Peddling next door to my friend, Patrick’s house I hummed a non-distinctive hum, nothing specific. My mind was already thinking of the day – safari, we needed to find some wild animals. I knew there had to be some in our small Cudahy town.
“Can Patrick come out?” I yelled through the back screen door of his home, it was a simpler time and yelling in back doors was just a normal part of the day. I waited for what seemed like hours as Patrick finished his breakfast, washed up and came out to join the expedition. Patrick was a thin, “Howdy Doody” looking kid. He had lived on the block longer than I had, but we had just recently decided it was ok to hang out together.
“Hi, what do you want to do?” Patrick asked. “Safari” was my one word reply. “Let’s go get Tommy”. We hopped on our bikes and were off to the adventure of a lifetime.
Adventure – that was the word – it was probably the best way to describe me – always looking for adventure.
Patrick and I headed out of his yard and down the alley.
Traveling down alley’s was the kids expressway. We needed to pedal fast as we could – daylight was wasting and Tommy lived at the end of the block. Thankfully for this trip the alleyway slopped downward, making our trip even faster.
“Tommy! Come on! Hurry up!” came our shouts through his back door. Tommy, was slightly taller than Patrick. He had jet black hair and in my mind always seemed to be wearing a striped shirt and blue shorts. He lived in a large white house and had the best club house you ever saw. It was actually his sisters, but we had claimed it many times over as our own meeting place. Patrick and I headed to the little white house with the pretty flower boxes and went inside. We needed to plan our safari so that we could find the wild animals.
Patrick and I sat in the club house talking about something (my memory is only so good) and waiting for Tommy to arrive.
Our neighborhood was only one block from Sheridan park. None of us were allowed to go there without an adult. So, of course, it became the goal for our day. In order for it to be a true adventure, we couldn’t ask for permission – safari’s, after all, were serious business. Besides, it would compromise the mission if we had to wait for an older sibling to come with us.
Finally, Tommy came into the club house, we told him the plan and headed out.
We made a quick stop at the house next to Tommy’s to get a supply of grapes. The woman who owned the house had once made the mistake of telling me I could help ourselves to them, this of course, in my mind meant for the rest of my life I would be able to help myself to her grapes.
We headed to the corner and crossed. Note, I did not say “waited for the light to turn green" - adventurous safari hunters do not wait to cross – but we did look both ways, I think.
We continued into the park, checking trees – yelling if we found any evidence of wild animals. “I found some tracks”! came a yell. We followed the tracks (I am sure the belonged to a large dog, but in our mind it was a tiger) all the way to the pond; the tracks started trailing into the water. I was so focused I didn’t realize that I had peddled in as well, following the tracks.
OK, in reality, I wanted to see how far I could ride into the pond, imaging I was Gilligan the time he rode his tricycle into the pond up to his hat. I wasn’t so lucky. The front tire of my tricycle got stuck in the mud, I dismounted and walked back out, leaving my it behind. I would have to travel by foot at this point.
We searched the banks of the pond for more tracks and were able to pick up the hunt at the other end. This new trail led us down the bike path, sloping lower and lower; until we finally ended at the shores of Lake Michigan. Truthfully, this part was not imagination. Sheridan Park in Cudahy ends at the Lake Michigan shores. Now you may understand even better why we were not allowed to travel to the park on our own.
When we hit the beach I realized our group had become smaller. One of our team did not make the treacherous trip down the path. I had failed as a safari guide.
“Patrick!”
We called trying to locate our friend.
“I’m not going down there, I’m not supposed to!”
Patrick’s reply came from on top of the cliff. He had chickened out, but not wanting to dessert us, stayed at the top of the cliff as a look out while Tommy and I continued on the safari.
We had tracked the beast all the way to the lake, but then the tracks disappeared into so many pretty rocks, sand and dead fish. We forgot all about the safari, distracted by the rocks, and instead began throwing them into the surf. We did this for a while, then we heard the scariest sound of all.
“There they are!”
Yup – Patrick, the world's worst look out had ratted us out.
The color drained from my sunburned face as I looked up to see my mom, along with Tommy and Patrick's looking back down at us. I smiled and waved.
None of them looked too happy.
Now, I could go into great detail about what happened next. Instead I will give you a moment to let your own imaginations think about it.
Nope, worse!
My mom's search party had found my tricycle in the pond and had concluded the worst, then they spotted Patrick and their fear grew.
I was grounded to the house for a week, lost the privilege of riding my tricycle for a month, and had to apologize to Patrick and Tommy’s mom for being the ringleader.
That was it, the start of memories. But what a great way to begin.
That is hilarious!
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