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!

Teeth, Who Needs Em?

Ahhh, my dear cousin Rik. The only true towhead of the lot. I'm sure an apology would be in store from me, and on behalf of your older brother, would be appropriate for the treatment (just shy of torture) we put you through. But if we apologized, that would mean we were sincerely sorry for our actions, beg for forgiveness, and pray that our past crimes never again resurface. So we can't do that. You were Keith's personal punching bag, stray dog, voodoo doll, and skid mark. You wanted to be bigger, and do the things the bigger kids were doing, but Keith was going to haze you to the nth degree, to make sure you were worthy. I think he made you cry almost every day of your life until you reached school, and were able to make friends outside of your immediate family. You wonder where Keith got it? From me. I did the exact same thing to him when he was that age. He was just helping you through your rite of passage to become a part of our family. You should really thank him for all his hard work. Especially the numerous times he would stick a football in your hands and tell you to start running. First of all, you were too small to even carry a football, so you had to hug it with both arms around it. Then Keith would chase you down, and tackle you. It was your typical 'David and Goliath' situation. The only difference - David won his battle - you never did. So Keith proceeds to play quarterback one day, and you were to fulfill the role of running back. You were pretty darn fast for a little guy, probably because of the daily terror you faced. But for once, it appears you and Keith are teammates? Keith calls out his cadence, the ball is hiked from his imaginary center, he turns, hands the ball off to you, and instantly is transformed into the ferocious linebacker. He chases you the length of the yard, all you have to do is reach the fence before he gets to you, and you're spared impending doom. He makes a last ditch effort, since you were just a few steps away, and dives for your feet and is able to trip you up. Since you kept the football in your hands, rather than dropping it (that would have been a fumble, Keith would have picked it up, then humiliated you by rubbing the fact in your face), you fell forward on the ball and hit your mouth on the tip of the ball, knocking out your two front teeth. Fortunately, (is this a fortunate event?) those were baby teeth he helped you remove from your smile. I remember the dentist making you a partial, and you being the youngest person I knew with false teeth. Another time, we were all out at dam site 16, fishing, I believe it was your first attempt at fishing. We had the perfect set up for a young kid. It was actually an ice fishing pole. Perfect length for a little kid to maneuver. So I got you all set up with a worm and bobber, and gave you a crash course on casting. You were a wild man! Your first cast hooked into your brother's sock. Got that out, so let's try again. Another cast shortly afterwards hooked into my elbow, and you couldn't understand what the hang up was, so you kept tugging, burying the hook further into my skin! I had to yell at you to stop while my arm is being flung involuntarily into the air. So I got that hook out. I then moved you down the bank about 15-20 yards away, and banned you from coming near the rest of mankind, while you were armed with a fishing pole. So about ten minutes goes by, and you're casting and reeling in as fast as you can, making it nearly impossible for any fish to even realize there's potential food in the water. Regardless, you weren't injuring anyone. Then you come walking over towards me, and I see you're crying. Keith is nowhere near you, so I'm a little puzzled why you would be experiencing trauma. You approach and cry, "Get it out Kev". I look, and see a waterlogged worm hanging off the back of your head, and the hook stuck in your scalp. I tried VERY hard not to laugh because you were in pain. But what a great story! I think I'm current on my tetanus shot, so if you would ever like to go fishing again, that would be OK.

What Goes Down, Must Come Up!

Ahhh Angie....... Ang, Ang, Ang. I had a difficult time titling this entry, because you really didn't stand out in a crowd full of idiots, otherwise known as relatives, until you were much older and wiser? I remember you being just about the happiest child on earth, and we relentlessly teased you about you report card. Because of our inferior genetics, we were all a bit envious of your straight A's. SHOW OFF! Sorry, I'm still a bit resentful. But, there were two incidents that stick in my memory, and I can't help but chuckle just by writing this. You had a knack for being rather stealthy, and you were involved in an early form of 'drive-bys'. You had these moments where you were rather ninja like, and before anyone realized, you made your move toward their open beer bottle or can, swigged as much as a five year old can shotgun, and just like a shadow, you were gone, and a good quarter of a can was now devoid of malt beverage. Of course, every thief has their moment. Unfortunately, our family has had their fair share of smokers. And unfortunately, just about anything served as an ashtray. You know where I'm going with this right? So one day, while your parents, and or other miscellaneous adults, happened to be sitting at the table, drinking a few afternoon brews to take the edge off, and probably playing marathon rounds of pyramid solitaire, you decided to strike while everyone was engrossed in card games. You quietly walked to the table next to your mother, reached up, grabbed a beer can and threw back! Little did you realize the can of beer was inadvertently booby trapped with cigarette ashes and butts! I just remember a lot of coughing, gagging, spitting, and topped off with some crying. Quite possibly one of the funniest things I've ever witnessed. Sorry it was at your expense. Another incident happened on Aunt Gin's front porch. You somehow got a hold of some money, and was putting it in your mouth. I think you accidentally swallowed it? But while your mom was there to pick you up at the end of the day, you threw up about 36 cents on Aunt Gin's porch. Ah yes, the loving, watchful care of our dear Aunt Gin.

The Youngest

Ahhh Sam.... Sam, Sam, Sam. We used to call you Sammy, since your dad was a Sam, and your grandfather was a Sam. By the time you came along and joined the group, I was ready to enter my teenage years. Since you were the last born, I always felt a little sorry for you, thinking you really had nobody your age to play with. The only kid in the neighborhood I remember you playing with was the little boy two doors down, with the blue lips. That kid was hell on wheels! Since there was a time where I lived with you guys, I thought I would let you hang out with me, kind of my personal assistant, or rather, more like my 'mini me'. After all, intellectually speaking, we were probably the same age, but I had a car. I'm sure you taught me some new cuss words, thanks to the kid with the blue lips. I remember at an early age you had an affinity for tools. Probably around three years old, you somehow managed to procure a screwdriver, and then proceeded to take the cold air return register off the wall. What was truly amazing was, you had the correct screwdriver! Then, of course, there is the time you were a constant source of irritation to Uncle Dick, as he's trying to work on his truck. Your natural curiosity, coupled with your love for mechanical devices, was just too much for you to resist. You had to be in Uncle Dick's garage lending a hand where possible, regardless of the fact Uncle Dick needed no help. Here's the good part! So Uncle Dick finally caves in under the relentless pressure you placed upon him, to give you tools to play with. He had a small ball peen hammer he stuck in your hand, and sent you on your merry way. One small problem though, ..... he didn't provide you with your own truck to work on! So you quietly strolled to the front of the truck (since Uncle Dick was at the back end, you thought you could do more good at the front), and proceeded to 'fix' his headlight with your hammer! I'm surprised he even let you live after that incident. Another priceless memory I have, you rode along with me to my grandpa Sam's shoe repair shop one Saturday. Yes, another Sam, but can a family really have too many? Probably. So we're at his shop talking to him, and he's perched on a stool. This was probably a cruel practical joke to play on a five year old, but too funny nonetheless. He asked if you could reach down and scratch his ankle, because he couldn't reach it, which probably was the truth, considering the round shape of my grandfather. So you obediently obliged and proceeded to help out an old man by fulfilling his request. Unbeknowst to you, he was a double amputee. The look of horror on your face was priceless when you started scratching his prosthetic ankle, and how quickly you withdrew your hand after realizing, 'something just ain't right here'! Well there's a few more stories, but I think they're best left off paper, and saved for times when we're face to face, around a campfire, sharing a moment of reminiscence.

Family Tree

My wife gave me some inspiration last night, to continue writing this blog. For several weeks, I've felt blogged down, blogged out, and a bit blogged due to the time of the month. But I got better (please reread that, but with a British accent). She reads another friend's blog who happened to dig up old pics of her siblings and relatives, and put those in blog form. I thought, I only have one sister, BUT, all of my cousins are just like brothers and sisters to me, that I can relate some family history to the rest of the world. Don't panic. I promise not to relate anything cruel or harsh, but slightly embarrassing maybe:) And I certainly won't give out last names, and I may have to change some names to protect the innocent. I will probably throw in some of my 'brighter moments' as well. So, eight grandkids equates to at least seven blog entries. I may be able to post some pics with the help of my wife, to substantiate my stories. I'll try not to embellish too much. Enjoy!