Pee-Wee Memories of Blood and Geese

When I think of growing up at 851 Nebraska, a lot of memories flood back into my mind.  Some are great, but more than a few are pretty bloody.

To this day, if you type in our old address into showmystreet.com, you will see the big iron wagon wheels that Dad cemented into the ground beside the front porch. Mom used them as trellises for her rose bushes.

When I was two or three, I fell into those roses and was suspended in mid-air, trapped and bleeding for what seemed like an eternity.  I’ve hated rose bushes ever since.

But the blood loss in the rose bushes paled into insignificance when compered to the storm door incident when I was four or five.

My best friend Steve Madden and I were racing through the house, probably screaming ‘ponado coming, as you do in Oklahoma.

Steve ran out the back storm door, as always. But this time I was just a microsecond too slow.

The door closed and latched.  So when I hit the glass, at full speed, my right arm went right through it, slicing the entire underside open to the bone.

I remember Mom wrapping my arm in a white towel that was blood red by the time we got to the doctor. 

I still have the cool scar, and there was no lingering mental trauma. That was reserved for Pee-Wee.

Pee-Wee The Evil Pecker 

One Easter, somebody gave my older sisters and me cute little chicks, all dyed different colors. 

The chicks usually died in a day or two. Mine did not. 

Turns out he wasn’t a duck.  He was a gander goose, who grew bigger and meaner by the day. 

If I dared go outside, Pee-Wee would spread his wings and start honking, then charge and thwack my big head with his evil beak. 

I was only two or three years old, and it was a terrifying thing.  It even gave me nightmares.

Pee-Wee got disappeared one day by my Dad, after he’d drawn blood with a particularly vicious head-thwack. 

Even though I was terrified of that evil creature, he was mine. I  cried and cried when he was gone.

At least until my parents made up a story about taking Pee-Wee to a lovely farm, where he beat up the resident goose and assumed a whole gaggle of girly geese.

He was the boss of the farm and very happy, indeed.

That made me feel much better.  When you’re little, you need happy endings.

 




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