As I inserted the key into the door, with a flick of the wrist and a twist of the knob, I entered a portal to childhood. Three pairs of shoes lay on the rug. Mom’s were stylist black strapped heels. Placed perfectly next to hers, stood a smaller pair of Spiderman action shoes. My searching eyes encountered small dingy tennis shoes, just pitched on top of the other two.
I noticed toys deliberately designed as an obstacle course. The enticing toys whispered, “Play, Play, Let’s… Play.”
Suddenly, a fire truck went off the sofa ramp and flew through the air virtually striking my derriere. It was Cody the two-year-old tool-man, trucker-boy. Darting around like a hooked fish on a line and bellowing at the top of his lungs, “Meme, Plaay.” Appropriately, nicknamed Codster the unpredictable or Cody Houdini the champion child-seat escape artist. He took off in a wobbly haphazard squat with a high butt waddle and super glued hands holding a bright red fire truck on an emergency run. Predictably, he stumbled and crashed hitting his head smack-dab on the floor. Slowly rising from all fours, he shook it off, reared back his head, and exploded into outlandish laughter.
As I slanted my puzzled head and stared with switched troubled eyes, I murmured. “Codster is CRAZED!”
Cody’s sapphire blue snake-charmer’s eyes looked up, “Plaay, Meme, Plaay.” With a bold crackling giggle he said, “OW Dhis, Dhis, Plaay.” Coming to a screeching halt, he plopped down adjacent to the fire truck. Looking with those deceptively innocent eyes he patted the floor and playfully uttered, “Plaay, Meme, Plaay.” I smiled, bent over with a growling bear hug, and gave him a kiss. Then the earsplitting siren began. “Urrrrrrrrrrrrr, Urrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”
“Yes, it was Cody yelling to the Nth degree.” He motioned for me to join in. “Urrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Urrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.” I on my knees, and Cody on all fours, we pushed the fire engine all over the floor. Faster, and faster, and faster we went. Chasing each other as if playing, Tag, your it. I’d catch up and then he’d run. He’d catch up and then I’d run. I’d catch up and then he’d run. He’d catch up and then I’d run.
Cody’s brother responded to the racket and came to spy. He snuck in and scared us with an excruciatingly loud, wet you pants. “Boo!” Then the pursuit began, multiplied this time by three. Running in circles and chuckling aloud.
We unsurprisingly becoming faint and lightheaded. As we burst into teary-eyed laughing we tumbled into one horrific twelve-limbed stack right in the middle of the carpeted floor.
Compulsive cleaning Mom unexpectedly interrupted our clowning around. She started to chuckle, but held back her laugh, because of the chaos. Trying to keep a straight face she began her speech. “OK, that’s it. People can hear you three houses down. Timeout, Timeout, I say. Cody get on the sofa, it’s time for your nap. Meme on the chair, pull back your hair. Trent, go to your room. I think you all need to…Calm…Down.” Turning away she could hardly hold in her laughter.
Dramatic Cody bellowed, “Bruder, Bruder.”
Trent stomped off mumbling with his lip dramatically lowered at least an inch, “It’s not my fault; I didn’t do anything, Why do I have to go to my room?”
Cody crawled into the couch’s corner to hide and then sobbed himself to sleep.
I quietly sat in the chair projecting my innocence; hoping she would not guess, I instigated this rowdy mess.
After quiet time passed, I went to the class jester’s room. Trent, so tall and lean with his black velvet crew cut, engaged in advanced level computer games. “I remember when he beat his teenage cousin in a competitive play station bout.” Leaning over I gave him a peck on the cheek, and a huge bear hug squeeze. A six-year-old computer whiz with a quick mind and agile fingers, he played mouse clicking through every obstacle.
I said, “Come on Trent, Let’s go outside and play baseball.”
Little brother perched at the door heard everything. Dashing around and out the backdoor, we gathered everyone to play ball. Pitch and hit, catch and throw. Codster kept inching closer every time and patted his chest for Brother to include him.
“Cody you are getting too close,” uttered concerned Mom. Trent, listen and stop swinging that bat. Watch out…for…your…brother.”
Crack went the bat with a crushing blow to his forehead. Stunned and wide-eyed Codster let go with a faucet of tears. We thought he must really be hurt, but NO. After a few minutes, he turned it off and motioned for the ball from his remorseful attacker.
In a flash, a memory came back. When I was a young tomboy, I would play baseball with my brother and his friends. One time they let me play because I was a fair catcher even though I played with a right-handed glove, on my left hand backwards. Dad said once, “When you can catch good, you will get a left-handed glove to play with the boys.”
Distracted for split second of a moment, then smack went the ball and pulverized my eye. Knocking me off my feet, I laid flat as a board. I gasped for a breath and let out a continuous trail of tears as my eye turned instantly deep black and blue. My brother took one look and said, “Oh No! It is swelling up like a balloon.”
I remember it well because my brother dragged me home by the wrist. “Mom is going to kill me for this. Couldn’t you pay attention and catch; you look like you got hit by a bat.”
Mom grounded my brother for two weeks and she gave me an ice cream treat.
I realize in visiting my daughter’s house, I have a key to childhood.
