A-Tisket, A-Tasket (A Snip-It)

A-Tisket, A-Tasket (A Snip-It)

To my Mother’s absolute dismay, I rather enjoyed being a naked kid. Not butt naked, I did have a little bit of humility. I just liked to run topless when out in the wild. And, by out in the wild I mean running around our massive yard with my flat-as-pancakes boobies on display for all the squirrels and blue jays to see. She’d shake her kerchiefed head whenever I’d zoom past her out the side door. I saw my brothers do it and my next-door boy best friend baring their chests so why couldn’t I? I refused to listen to the simple reason that I shouldn’t, therefore I did. I think she gave up arguing with me and let me go since there was no one to really bother us that far into the sticks in those days. There are countless snapshots of me in the family albums bare-breasted. Having said that, it’s important to note this little quirk pre-dates my raging body image problems that I carried with me into adulthood. I’m talking the age five and under. I was free as a bird. It came to bite my Mother in the arse.

The day we got our enormous driveway paved was just as exciting as the day we got cable. I envisioned myself then with a brand-new bicycle to drive, with a fancy banana seat, handlebar tassels, and a jingly bell (all before discovering the sleek reality of a BMX courtesy of my next-door boy best friend). That day though, I was still running around on a tricycle that I was fast growing out of. I sat in the living room bay window on the lookout of the workers. Around nine in the morning, I watched a decrepit truck, full of gear, with an able crew of dark-skinned men, some much older than the others, pull into our driveway and announced happily, “The pavers are here! The pavers are here!” I ran to the side door and hung out while my Mother greeted the hard-working company trying to shove me inside and out of the way. They spoke for a few minutes. My Mother told them if they needed anything to let her now and they got down to business, the business of paving our gargantuan driveway where my future bicycle would glide. My Mother looked at me and said, “You stay in the house and leave those men alone. You can watch them out the front window but stay inside and out of their way, do you hear me?” I nodded dutifully. I watched them for the longest time from the kitchen window until my Mother booted me off the cupboard so she could get some housework done. I moved onto the front step where nearly no one ever went but it obstructed my view of their diligent albeit stinky work. The smell of the asphalt made me a little queasy, but I wanted nothing more than to be right out there in the thick of things. Pretty soon my Mother found things for me to do and I almost forgot about our friends turning our gravel driveway into a smooth mall parking lot. Almost. They went quiet. And, at the same time, my Mother was AWOL. And by AWOL, I mean she probably went for a pee or was quickly unfurling her curlers on instinct that I might get up to no good. If that were the case, her gut didn’t lie.

I escaped Alcatraz out the side door and went to make friends. My Mother offered them something cold to drink earlier. They politely declined but she left it in the fridge incase they changed their minds.  Artfully, while not under the watchful eye of the Warden, I lugged the hefty pitcher of juice (probably Tang that belonged to Brother ‘n’ Law – he was addicted to the stuff) filled to the brim with ice-cubes to be hospitable. It was the well-mannered thing to do after all. And, if my parents taught me anything at that point, it was that manners mattered.

My Mother came looking for me shortly thereafter. She found me sitting on the hill in the front yard under the willowy arms of our shady front yard tree with my new pals, scarfing down Kentucky Fried Chicken. When I went out to see if they were thirsty, they accepted. In exchange, they offered to share their lunch with me. There I was, my two long dirt brown pigtails and red shorts, sitting with Ernie and Earl, gnawing on a drumstick like it was no big thing. I told them the very same hill we were sitting on was the one my Rock Star brother used to teach me how to ride a two-wheeler. He didn’t so much teach me as gave me a swift shove and hoped for the best. His intentions were good I suppose. It was also the hill that not long ago bore a giant hole. Something to do with our well. My cousin and I were outside playing while our parents visited. Her older brother was in toe too. He was being a bit of a jerk. My cousin, his sister, same age as me, hauled off and shoved him down in the hole. It was the only time I ever saw him cry. We rolled around in the grass laughing.

My Mother came around and saw me, I beamed up at her, raised the greasy chicken bones in my slick hand, “We’re having lunch! And I brought them juice!” My new friends didn’t know what to do or think. My Mother told me it was time to come in thanked Ernie and Earl for sharing with me. It should be noted that both Ernie and Earl gave my Mother a knowing nod. They were simply minding their own business, taking a break from the grueling heat and work to nourish and cool themselves not expecting to be confronted with a shirtless five-year-old eager to ask them a million and one questions about how exactly pavement was made. I can’t recall what they said but they did a heck of a lot of awkward chuckling. Their regret was implied. I feel bad about it now since I’m sure it wasn’t exactly comfortable for a few grown men to have taken a long overdue break from paving to enjoy a bucket of chicken only to have a five-year-old shirtless kid, a stranger kid, crash their party.

My Mother gave me a bit of a what for, a gentle talking to so as not to alarm me but on the inside she was fainthearted.  She reminded me that it would be better if when we had people by to work on the house or yard, strangers, it would be preferable to wear a shirt. I’m sure in that moment she wanted to send me outside to play in a one-piece snowsuit.

And, thank the ever-loving Jesus Nan wasn’t visiting us on that day.

Father Mine would have had a stroke.

In the end, we were left with a spectacular paved driveway and a funny story to tell all these years later.

***

I was pooped last night when I went to bed. I haven’t been feeling well the last few days. A summer cold grabbed me late Saturday night and put me out of commission all day Sunday. I missed the bulk of Father’s Day aside from my annual post to Dad in Heaven and the other awesome Dads I know. I was out of order. Kaput. Yesterday, my ears were still drumming, head still pounding, throat still burning. There were a few moments I thought I might fall over in my chair but I made it through and am feeling better today aside from tiredness from being kept awake by a wash of memories flooding over me.

This piece is only small, but the day is vivid in my mind. Those wonderful guys came from Preston with their tools and equipment and turned our drab driveway into a dream come true. I tried everything I could to dodge my Mother so I could go outside and watch them work. Or, better yet, converse. Ever the observer, I needed to know about every paving detail. That and my stellar manners are what landed me on that hill with those two poor fellows who were probably crawling out of their skin, sitting with a very pale shirtless five-year-old girl. Nevertheless, they felt to me, as if I’d know them forever, trading crispy KFC for ice cold Tang. I understand the optics. From all sides. But this image of me, inserting myself like I did, leaves levity in my heart. I was fond of Ernie and Earl. I was interested in what they were doing. The same would be true today.

In propinquity,

Nic