The Dark Ages

Let's get back to Keith. There's a couple of more stories that cannot be left unspoken. You and I made it through the prepubescent years with badly self inflicted injuries, but they patched us up, and sent us back out into the world, to see what else we could maim, destroy, mastermind plans, and torment those who may have been slightly younger, smaller, and weak minded. So we finally make it to our teenage years. I blazed the trail for us, and was eager for you to join in the next level of stupidity, and sometimes illegal acts. You finally reached the age to drive, and you hung up the beloved dirt bike (the preferred mode of transportation and the daily frustration of taking apart and reattaching the hand brake), and you got a Chevelle for your first car. Probably not the wisest choice for someone with your level of fearlessness, for this car had some 'get up and go'! I remember you loved to race, and seemed to have a measure of success. So one day, you were invited to hang out with me and my friends at the ballpark down in Papillion, and you volunteered to drive. While in Papillion, we all engaged in some underage, illegal activity, which involved consumption. Since you were fairly new at this mischief, it didn't take long for you to feel the effects. So you wisely? gave me the keys, and I drove us around, in your car for the rest of the evening. Illegal activities are sometimes followed by 'Big Mac attacks'. So we found ourselves cruising Dodge St., and going through a drive-thru for fast food nourishment. After pulling back out on Dodge, we were immediately stopped at a red light, and next to a new Nissan Z. You encouraged me to give it a little gas to try to entice our neighbor in the next lane, to a friendly little race. I believe some rather unkind words were exchanged between yourself, and the driver of the Z. Your next action, though antagonistic, was one of the funniest things I've ever witnessed! After you were finished with the niceties, you threw a half eaten Whopper at the driver's window. He saw it coming, so quickly moved his head back to avoid two all beef patties, ketchup, mustard, pickle, all on a sesame seed bun, upside his head. His girlfriend, who happened to be in the passenger seat, wasn't as fortunate, and took the full brunt of your fastball, right in the face! The light turned green, and I floored it! There's one more story I'm going to relate, but that will be the next chapter.

Farewell!

Last night, as you know, was the last baseball game played at Rosenblatt stadium. My daughter had been mentioning it for a couple of weeks in advance, that it would be fun to attend. I had my reservations. First, I didn't really want to spend money that we should be saving, or applying to bills, or buying consumables. Second, I didn't want to battle the crowds and search for parking half of the game. And finally, the Royals aren't leaving Omaha, just leaving Rosenblatt, so I can still go see a game whenever my other obligations mentioned previously, are met. At the last minute, a friend called with four free tickets. So the game was a 'go'! I phoned another friend, and him, myself, and my kids ventured out to the ball park. Amazingly enough, we found parking rather quickly, and didn't have to walk all that far. Plus, it was public land, so parking was no charge. I immediately thought, "I need to remember this parking space for next time". Ooops, there isn't going to be a 'next time'. So we get in the gates, get our drinking privileges wrist band, turn, and get into the $1 beer line. It happened to be $1 beer night. So far, very 'econo'. Then the traffic jam! We arrived a little late, probably the end of the first inning, and it took us until the bottom of the fourth inning to get to our seats. "Forget about going to the bathroom kids"! We were enjoying the game, but my interest was directed to the surrounding people, and observing their reaction to the reality that was setting in. 'We're at the last baseball game to ever be played at Rosenblatt'! It was a night of reminiscence, awkward elation over the Royals actually winning, and sadness pulling at the heart strings. The 'diamond on the hill', which has been an iconic Omaha landmark, was soon to go down in history, only to be remembered in Cooperstown, NY, at the Baseball Hall of Fame, and the moments etched into our memories of great baseball games, and baseball players. I know it's just a game, but baseball is an American pasttime, and when that pasttime has been welcoming folks from across the country for 60 years, it's definitely going to change the complexion of Omaha and the way others now view the entrance to our city. It's going to appear we're missing a tooth or something that obvious. Following the game, on the big screen, they had commentary from baseball players who came through Omaha, they had long time season ticket holders, grounds crew members who've worked there from the age of 14 on, and, of course, Steve Rosenblatt, the son of Johnny. Fireworks followed, but prior to that, I turn to my children, and they're both crying. Now keep in mind, we haven't visited Rosenblatt all that regularly, but apparently, just enough to have a lasting effect on my children. They've been to the zoo next door quite a bit, and it was always brought to our attention from our kids, 'There's Rosenblatt stadium where they play baseball', with a sense of pride in their voice. I guess, what would seem to have been a landmark of permanence in their lives, is becoming a harsh reality that it won't be there anymore. Thus the emotional moment. The fireworks were a hit as usual, then ... it was over. The crowd, as it was exiting, just seemed to shuffle along, nobody in a hurry to leave, soaking in the final moments of nostalgia. People had smiles on their faces, but the smile just held back the tears welling up in their eyes. I witnessed that on several people. The mascots were standing at the entrance, accommodating all who wanted their picture taken. We took advantage of their availability, and the kids hugged Casey as I snapped a picture. Then we walked away. As we're heading to the car, my friend and I expressed our gratitude for actually making the effort to go. I thought, "I'm ashamed that I was not even considering going to the game". It was a wonderful evening. I was happy, sad, but most of all, proud to be a part of the whole experience of partaking in the making of Omaha history.

More Keith

I warned you there would be volumes! I may even have enough stories and details to cut a movie deal. Maybe you remember a few mishaps happened at Uncle Sam and Aunt Kris' house? They would have a few annual parties that friends and family were invited to. The two that stick in my mind are, the fourth of July parties, and the lasagna feed parties. I believe on each on of these occasions, but probably in different years, two separate incidents occurred in which you either hurt yourself, broke something, or both. The first that comes to mind was on the fourth of July. You and I are out in front of their house, in the street, playing frisbee. I threw the frisbee to you, but it was sailing over your head. You were back pedaling to catch the throw, when, I believe you hit a deflection in the concrete, tripped falling backwards, became airborne and parallel with the ground, and landed on your back and head, knocking yourself out cold. You were a teenager at the time, and amazingly enough, you had never received a concussion until that moment. You may have helped others experience their first concussion, but never one of your own. Another time, all of us grandkids were in the back yard playing, and you and I were the only ones old enough, the adults entrusted us with some fireworks. I think they were just black cats. Nothing powerful enough to maim, but definitely loud enough to adversely affect your hearing while blowing up in your hand, or right next to your ear as you're throwing. Now if you remember, they had a dog named Mack. A St. Bernard who was very lovable, but the equivalent of two and a half dogs. So we're out back goofing around on the swing set, kids are running and screaming, just what a dog loves out of children. You happened to be sitting on the swing at the time, and the dog, after running around the swing set several times, gaining momentum, for no apparent reason, decides to hop on your lap. Keep in mind the location of the swing set. There was really only one spot for it. The yard, after entering, immediately sloped downward, at the halfway point, leveled off for a few feet, then finished sloping to the back fence, and finally into the golf course. So the level section of yard was the only choice for a swing set. Well the dogs momentum, coupled with his weight, sent you, him, and the swing set, rolling down the yard. I remember the slide slamming to the ground, and breaking in half. Fortunately, nobody else was on the swing set at the time, and you and the dog were tangled in the chains of the swing. No one was hurt, but the swing set was history! This would have won money on America's Funniest Videos. Some other momentous events that involved broken bones, were your foot getting rolled over by the big wheel, and your broken arm after being bet that you couldn't jump over the creek in the golf course. After the 'big wheel' incident, Grandpa made you a homemade cast for your foot. As a teenager, you broke your arm a second time, during football practice. That break seemed a little more severe. I don't think there's been any broken bones (yours or anyone else's) since that last break as a teenager. I think it's finally safe to stand next to you now.

Where To Start?

Keith, Keith, Keith. I'm not sure where to start. I could write volumes on your escapades! I've known you the longest, so I have the most history with you. This may have to be more than one entry. Fortunately, I wasn't present for every single occurrence, that's why I may still be alive with only some broken bones and scrapes and bee stings and a little mental anguish and a small amount of trauma. You were not only dangerous to yourself, but a potential danger to anyone within thirty yards of you. I guess that's why you were so fun to be around. If there's an element of danger, or a possible act of stupidity that needed to be performed, you were first in line, and the rest of us were there to either cheer you on, or be at the ready to run home and tell an adult to call an ambulance. Evil Kenevil had nothing on you, except you outgrew the stuntman phase of your life. Once, when we were little, before any other grandkids were in existence, we were at our grandparents house on 60th & Bancroft, playing in the back yard. You may not remember this, but trust me, you were there. We had built a makeshift fort out of the lawn chairs available. I remember grabbing the dog dish full of water, and you and I washing our hands and face in it. I also showed you where to go pee. It was behind the bush off in the corner. But one particular day, you and I got to work. I was given (as a gift), a two wheel plastic dolly made just for busy-minded kids, such as ourselves. Our grandmother, as everyone knows, had an incredible green thumb, and she had strategically placed some planters with flowers, around the back yard to beautify her little corner of the earth. So you and I decided that day, to put the dolly to good use? We loaded up a half dozen or so flower boxes, and proceeded to haul them down to the patio, dump them out, and build some dirt roads for our hot wheels. I couldn't understand the rage, followed by a spanking, that accompanied this act. After all, what's a dolly for, if your going to get a spanking for using it? And so began our childhood chocked full of disciplinary actions. Not long after that, you guys moved to a duplex off of 66th & Western area. Everyone who knows me well, knows the following story. You and I were going to play football one day, and in the upper portion of your closet were two football helmets, and a football. I was six at the time, and what happened next will be with me for the rest of my life. Since we couldn't reach the helmets and ball, and we were warned by your mom to not climb in the closet, the only logical thing to do was get the desk in your room, and move it over to the closet, and get down our stuff. Since I was older, I engineered the project, you were just my helper. I would climb onto the upper part of the desk, thus making it top heavy, and not OSHA approved, and you were given the menial task of weighting down the desk, by holding on to the chair. A very sound plan. Who would have foreseen the unexpected 'call of nature' that suddenly overcame you? That wasn't factored in when I formulated the plan. So you hastily excused yourself, let go of the desk, ran out of the room to the bathroom, and the rest is history. When my elbow hit your bedpost, I can still hear the break, and visualize my arm going the wrong direction. To this day, I have a killer scar! I'm actually going to thank you for the experience, because I got tons of attention, missed a huge amount of school, and the chicks have always been impressed with my scar, and the fabricated stories that followed. Well this is a start. Put on your seat belts, there's going to be more!

The First Grand Daughter

Ahhh Michelle.... the oldest female grandchild. It must have been a sigh of relief for the whole family when a girl arrived, after having two hellish imps join the family. Unlike the rest of us, you never did anything too outrageously stupid (or at least I'm aware of), while you were younger. I do remember though, you were probably in about the third grade, and every morning seemed to be a knock down drag out with your mom about various subjects. One of the funniest, you were arguing before school about your hair. You must have been having a bad hair day, and it was your mom's fault. Another one of your childhood complaints involved the kids that lived at the bottom of the hill. I don't know which one of the Wenninghoffs, in particular, irked the hell out of you, but that was a daily topic for discussion. Then the teenage years arrived, and whoa! We won't relate anything incriminating, but there was one time where I almost got you in hot water, and I wasn't even aware that I was doing it. One night, you were out with Jen (at least that's the story), and you called around eleven o'clock to tell Grandma you weren't coming home, but spending the night at Jen's. Julie and I were dating at the time, and she was over watching a movie with me. Typical of me, put me in front of a TV, and count the minutes before I dose off. Remind you of another male member of the family? So the phone rings, Julie wakes me from apparently a rather deep sleep, and hands me the phone. Please keep in mind, I don't remember any of this. We proceed to have this conversation where you tell me to relay the information to Grandma, about spending the night at Jen's. I guess my response was coherent, because Julie didn't question anything I happened to say to you. I hung up the phone and went back to stage four deep sleep. The next morning, our grandparents are in a panic because you didn't come home last night, and you were in big trouble for not calling. I, of course, was siding with the hysterical grandparents, thinking, "Boy is she gonna get it when she gets home"! Julie chimed in, in behalf of your defense, and notified the grandparents of the truth. Another page in your life came when it was time for you to get a car. I couldn't believe my eyes when you bought, close to the ugliest car on the face of the earth - the Gremlin! Then there was the Datsun Grandpa fixed up for you. I remember him installing the motor one day. He just picked it up, and set it in the car. I thought he would certainly need some help. He then told me it was about as heavy as a sewing machine. He said the slower this car went, the less likely you were to get yourself in trouble. Only if staying out of trouble were that simple.

Ms. Incognito

Ahhh Samantha... Sam, Sam, Sam. Once again, another 'Sam', this time the female version. You were always around, but never really in the mix of chaos, like the rest of the neighborhood kids. Outside of your brother, I never remember you getting into a fight with anyone. If fact, you seemed to make friends with opposing sides. You were the mediator, the common denominator, friend to all. There must have been one instance though, where you upset Keith and myself for some unknown reason. What that reason is, I couldn't tell you. But, you had this huge Barbie townhouse thing, that had an elevator, and all the latest amenities. Who knows, you may have done nothing to us, and Keith and I were just being cruel. I'm sure there was a 'logical' reason for our stupid act of unkindness. We found some red crayons, or paint, or markers, or lipstick, something RED, and proceeded to cover every last square inch of your townhouse with RED. I just remember while engaged in my act of malicious graffiti, I'm thinking, "We sure are getting even with her"! After the crime was done, that feeling soon changed to a feeling of 'dread', because you were going to show your parents what happened to your Barbie townhouse, and they were going to deduce the crime to either Keith, myself, or both. After all, who else was capable of such a moronic crime? There was no possible way we could hide this thing - it was the size of a small piece of furniture, and it wasn't a toy you were done playing with, because it was fairly new. I guess we were smart enough to not lie about the fact, but we still paid dearly. Sitting on anything for a whole week, was torture in itself. Let's now change directions. There was one occasion where you were finally getting some retribution on your brother. His greatest possession in all the earth, was his dirt bike. One day, you hopped on his bike and was riding in front of your house. Of course this did not sit well with him. In his mind, this was equivalent to destroying someone's Barbie townhouse. He came running outside to physically remove you from the seat of his bike, but you would start pedaling faster to get away. This cat and mouse game went on for quite a few passes in front of the house. Your brother was getting rather frustrated that you were compiling miles on HIS bike, so he formulated a plan. He went inside and grabbed a blanket. He was going to throw the blanket over head as you rode by. He figured you would have to slow down enough to get the blanket off, and this would give him ample opportunity to catch you and evict you from his prized possession. His plan worked better than expected. He threw the blanket in front of you as you were speeding by, the blanket actually got caught in the front forks, stopped instantly, and launched you over the handlebars! Amazingly enough, you were able to avoid losing your front teeth, unlike your younger brother. I don't remember any real injury out of the incident, except for some loss of wind, and maybe a little road rash. But once you got your composure back, you immediately lost it again on Keith. I'm sure there are many more stories (some involving Keith), but those are definitely the ones that are burned into my memory. By the way, I found a Barbie townhouse on Ebay, maybe I can talk Keith into going halves.

The Little Sister

Ahhh yes, Brenda, Brenda, Brenda. Growing up, little sister was synonymous with the term 'annoyance'. You were fine until somebody taught you to walk and talk. Then you were a thorn in my side. You just wanted to do everything I was doing, and go everywhere I was going, and if you were neither doing nor going, you were into my stuff. But that's what younger siblings do, and this is how families figure the pecking order. So you fulfilled your role, and have grown into a responsible adult. So let's start at an earlier time in our lives. As you were very well aware, our mother had an unusual relationship with animals, unbalanced if you will. Mostly dogs, but at one point we had two bunny rabbits. One was tame, the other was a wild rabbit we found in our yard as a baby, kept it, and nurtured it to maturity. And if you remember, Bob built a two room rabbit hutch, which in the eyes of a youngster, was like the Hilton for hares. So, one day, you and I decide to go out and look at the rabbits for awhile. Now rabbits, being the skittish sort of mammal, are easily startled. If you remember, the hutch sat up off of the ground, and you were just tall enough to see in. We approach the hutch, and the wild rabbit didn't catch sight of us until we were right next to his cage. This scared him so bad, there was an immediate flurry of activity, and he shot out a stream of urine that went across my shirt and your face. Of course we were grossed out, but since you got the brunt of it, I couldn't help but laugh. Now being the bigger brother, almost seven years your senior, and a male to boot, there should have been zero reason whatsoever for me to want to play with ANY toy you ever possessed. But, I must admit, you had some really cool crap. You had those safari figurines (I don't know what they were called), and there were guys on motorcycles, a safari jeep, some animals, really cool stuff. Of course, being the bigger brother, whenever I showed the smallest iota of attention to you, you were more than willing to accommodate. So once in awhile, I would grab your figurines, line them up across from one another, and play football with them. Another really cool toy you had were weebles, and the McDonald's restaurant that went with it. Eventually you grew to the age where you were too old for toys, but too young for boys. You became a Skateland fixture, and a roller skating junkie, because that was the popular thing to do at that time. I don't know where you met him, but Bobby Massey became your latest obsession. It seemed we couldn't have any type of conversation without the mention of heart throb, teenage sensation, Bobby Massey. First you loved him, then you hated him, then you loved to hate him. My God, the emotional demolition derby! And one last observation, those were some rather impressive mall bangs back then!