Little Boy Lost: Volume Two

Berkshire Place Beckons: Chapter 2

     I'm pretty sure that I mentioned back in volume one of this writing, Rockford Court Recollections, that at times my parents could be quite creative when it came to such things as behavioral management. One of my mother's favorite things to do was buy us those little toy wooden paddles. You know, the ones with the little red rubber ball attached to them by a length of elastic string. The objective was to hit the little rubber ball to where it would go out, the elastic string would pull it back in, and then you would try to hit the ball back out again. If you were really good at it, then you might be able to keep it going for a minute or so, too, hitting the ball over and over as the elastic string kept bringing it back each time. This was a pretty common and rather inexpensive toy back in those days. It might still be today, too; I honestly don't know.

     My mother REALLY liked buying us these, though. And we would play with them for a while after she did so each time, of course. Inevitably, however, that little elastic length of string keeping the little red rubber ball connected to the thin, wooden paddle would break, leaving the toy effectively broken and useless, right? WRONG. After the elastic string broke, the paddle then immediately became our MOTHER'S. At this point, it quickly stopped being an instrument of joy and fun, as well. Those paddles weren't big, and they weren't thick, but they were made out of wood, and those suckers would STING! Trust me; you did NOT want to have one of THOSE things being repeatedly applied to your exposed rear end, and especially not in quick repetitions. Just how much did those paddles sting? Enough to where I went and buried one of them in the backyard after the failed blender/milkshake attempt...

     While we're still in the kitchen, I'll go ahead and share one more story. About my sister this time, too. Now, after my mother started teaching, she was no longer able to bake cakes like she had done back over on Rockford Court. She would still bake them on occasion, though. As a result, it wouldn't be unusual for her to keep a small container of icing in the fridge so that she would have it handy just in case she needed it. Coincidentally, these small containers of icing were also amongst my sister's most favorite things in the whole refrigerator, as well. She wouldn't just upon up a container of icing and simply eat it all in one sitting, however. No, she would open that container of icing, run her finger in a full circle around the inside edge of the container's circular interior, pop it into her mouth, and then nonchalantly stick the container back into the fridge like nothing had ever happened. And she didn't do it all the time, either. She just did it on an occasional basis. Of course, then, when my mother eventually did bake a cake and needed the icing that she had been keeping in the fridge, she would open the container only to find that all that was left was a little round island of icing jutting up in the middle of the container. Because my sister had eaten the outer perimeter of it all the way down to the bottom of the container, one little finger swirl at a time.

     Whenever I think of my older brother during this time period, however, one of the first things that come to my mind continues to be music, especially piano music. And my sister continued to pursue music as well, playing the French horn in the school band and getting rather good at it. My brother was only getting better and better at the piano, though. Music has simply always been one of his deepest, most guiding passions, I guess. The song that I remember him playing the most at Berkshire Place was a fun little number called "The Entertainer," which was from the soundtrack of the early 1970's movie "The Sting." My brother would sit and play the piano in the living room, and the sweetest notes and catchiest melodies would circulate throughout the entire house as he worked his hands and fingers over the piano keys. Indeed, at times you could actually hear him playing from all the way out in the front yard. I remember playing with my toys in front of the house as I simultaneously listened to the music that he was making.

     And I guess that because he was getting so serious about the piano, he began to accumulate more piano paraphernalia. I remember these little high-tension handgrip exercise tools in particular. They were two plastic grips attached by a high-tension steel curlicue-like spring. The objective was to squeeze the two plastic handles together while only using the fingers and thumb of one hand. You would do this repeatedly, giving your hand and fingers a solid workout, and then switch hands, similarly exercising the other one. And for the record, I COULD bring those two plastic grips together, too. It just took me both of my hands to do it, is all. And I don't remember ever trying to do it twice in the same day, either.