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.