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6:03:00 AM EDT
Peace on the Cul-De-Sac
I remember an unusually peaceful Sunday evening when I was about eight years old. It was one of those rare moments when we settled into a suburban approximation of Nirvana. There was peace and quiet, the smell of our fresh-cut lawn, and a gentle breeze blowing through the trees. Dad's yard work was done, and Mom was finished preparing our spaghetti dinner. My big sister Lynn was done with her homework. My little brother Quince had suffered an upset stomach that morning, but this had passed, and was now a distant memory. My stomach was fine, too, as I had learned to stop worrying about homework.
Our Belgian-Shepherd reflected our contented spirits, twisting on her back in the fresh-cut grass and growling, perhaps imagining some life-and-death battle with some super-villain stray dog. Engaged in such combat, she would freeze momentarily with all four legs in the air, when some slight sound from reality intruded on her joyful struggle with her imagined foe. For this moment, we were all safe, sound, and relaxed.
It was in this lull that we all sat down to dinner. Our dog was still wrestling with her imagination in the backyard. The spaghetti was served and the conversation was started, and Lynn began discussing her upcoming high school play. Little Quince eventually commented on the play, in a manner which made my parents laugh, my sister blush, and me jealous of the attention he got for his naïve moment of ingenious wit.
The conversation moved on to other subjects, briefly touching on my poor performance in school, Dad's co-workers, and Mom's ideas for stories to write. I looked out the window, and watched our dog pick out a chewing stick from the woodpile. Bang! Bang! Bang! Three knocks exploded from the front door, rattling it violently. I spilled Quince's milk in his lap. Dad's fork landed on the table, bounced several times while ringing, and fell to the floor. Mom and Lynn gasped in unison, as if they had been secretly rehearsing the perfect sound of astonishment. Our brave dog dropped her new chewing stick, and ran behind the bushes. I thought it might be the police at the door.
Dad got up from the table, and walked briskly to the front door, mumbling some words that I will not repeat here. He grabbed and twisted the front door handle, and yanked the door open. He looked straight outward, then down to the level of his waist. He was greeted by a small voice asking confidently, "Can Don come out to play?".
I could only see Dad from the back, but I imagined the look on his face. The expression must have been one of transition from his special-forces half-beast-half-superhuman glare to a more paternal look of, "Hello, little fifty pound neighbor kid". I later imagined a thin wisp of steam escaping from his forehead, as he looked down at this smallish being who had just disrupted our dinner with the most innocent of intentions.
"Well, we are having dinner right now. Maybe in a half hour", was Dad's restrained response. Dad closed the door, and grumbled something about, "That wild kid". Little brother was now crying, with a milk-soaked lap. I felt assured he would offer no more witticisms at this meal. Mom was attending to the spill with a dish-towel, recounting how many times the neighbor kid's rowdy older brothers and sisters had required stitches or had broken their bones. Lynn had her stories too, of the colorful variety of injuries the family next door had demonstrated.
We finished our meal, Quince changed his pants, and I was allowed to go next door. I rang the doorbell at the rowdy-house, and "that wild kid", Gary, came out to play. We tossed a baseball back and forth as the sun went down, debating whether Spiderman could beat up the Incredible Hulk. Though his percussive visit upon our door had upset our family, Gary and I were still friends, and peace was easily restored on the cul-de-sac.
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Stories like these are the reason you are in my 'Favorite Places'!!!!
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Don
this is a very good story. :) -
Don
One of your very best. You never stop amazing me, this was what was needed to give me a big warm smile. I think I will save this entry to my favorites...I will want to revisit it many more times to find some peace in the written word.
Always, Carly :) -
Reminded me of our family dinners. Seemed like whenever we would sit down to eat the phone would ring or the doorbell would chime. We learned to ignore the phone and check to see if it was friend or salesperson at the door. One thing I always enjoyed was having a family dinner. Amazing how much bonding happens at the dinner table. That's where I learned not to cry over spilled milk but to laugh at the clumsiness with everyone!
http://journals.aol.com/gotomaria/TheLittleThings/
8/24/05 11:01 PM
That was truely the most fasinating storie I have ever read thank you for making my month. Dude you rock!!!!!!!