<<<<<<<<--------Helping carolanne by opening the windows and doors to air this place out, smells like the homeless broke in and took over.

The word hair came to mind but then I thought maybe "hais" was part of a new language, something you might expect your kids to come up with.

(I have to issue a length alert here. If you read it all I hope you enjoy)




I've got a secret
I have a terrible secret to reveal.

I've carried this secret with me for the past 32 years wondering at times if I should just give in and reveal it. Actually, thirty two years ago it did not start out as a secret. It has grown into one. Hmmmm, time to reveal??

A lot has happened in that time.

It was May of 1976. I had just graduated from high school and decided a trip out to Seattle before I joined in the work force for the rest of my life would be a nice way to celebrate my freedom from teachers, books and homework. I never really did seem to grasp the finer points of homework. Hell, I would rather have been out wreaking havoc amongst the neighbors than doing homework. You know, things like, ringing doorbells in the middle of the night and then running like hell so you don't get caught.

However, there was one neighbor who was always one step ahead of us. We could never figure out how he knew we were going to ring his door bell. We got caught every time. My cousins and I took this as a personal challenge. We would scope out the place and (that was what we did best those days, we scoped things out) we would come up with a plan we knew would work. The plan this day was to stand as far back from the door bell as we possibly could, ring the bell and then leap over the railing instead of running down the flight of steps. At precisely the right moment one of my cousins, acting as decoy, would leap up from hiding and run down the street drawing attention to himself while the bell ringer was making his get away through the neighbors yard.

Victory at last!!

From that day forward we became known as the only three to get away with ringing the bell without getting caught. Young kids looked to us as if we were some kind of gods. They insisted on sharing their Mr. Goodbar's and cokes with us. We were invited to spend the night in their yards so we could tell stories about our wiley ways. In the morning they would feed us Captain Crunch. We were even allowed to use their twenty inch sting ray bikes with the butterfly handle bars, banana seat and sissy bar to compete in the demolition derby's we held in the neighborhood each weekend. Much better than destroying our bikes. We were constantly trying to modify our own so we wouldn't get our legs crushed when someone came slamming into us. Always by accident of course. The rule was, no going for the legs.

I must say, as gods we had it made.

The challenge now was to see if we could get away with it during daylight hours. Things were going along fine until the neighbor let Goliath out. Goliath was big, black and meaner than the gates of hell. Sheeesh, talk about a shock. You never seen three kids run so fast. Terror written all over our faces.

Goliath was one mean dog.

It did not matter that Marty's mom was walking through the house naked from the waist up, we burst in the front door simply because Marty's house was the closest one to safety. Yikes!! talk about an eye full. A bug-eyed full anyway.

The three of us decided later that facing Goliath would have been much less painful.

But from that day forward, the kids of our neighborhood were to learn the three most important words that were to keep all the neighborhood kids, hoodlums included, safe. It seems as if Goliath's owner got such a kick out of watching three panic stricken boys yelling and screaming for their lives that he took it upon himself to watch the neighborhood kids play kick the can and other crazy games, the names of which escape me at the moment. His revenge for all those late night doorbell ringings was to wait till we were all caught up in our games. That was when he would strike. He would let Goliath loose. Up and down the neighborhood went the cry, "Goliath is loose" the three most frightening words to all the neighborhood kids. When mothers heard this cry they all began to panic, especially if they were going through the house semi nude. They would rush in to put their tops on because they knew that at any moment hordes of kids were going to come bursting into their living rooms panic stricken, eyes wide with terror and looking for safety. It did not matter where we were in the neighborhood, it was considered fair game to rush the nearest open door. At least according to our way of thinking. Parents thought otherwise.

There was however one door that never got rushed, my mom's, no one messed with her.

I might add that if any of the young neighborhood boys felt they had a chance to out run Goliath they would take their chances to see if they could make it to Marty's house.

Juuuuust a hopin'.

One day, we decided that it was time for revenge. We all went home and loaded up our daisy BB guns to capacity and snuck through the neighborhood 'till we came to the yard that contained the dog that terrorized the neighborhood. Hanging over the fence waiting for a clear shot was not the thing to do. After the beatings we snuck back that night and pumped a few rounds into his fence. That'll learn him. Take that mister. Triumpantly we walked away knowing we got away with shooting his fence.

We had the last laugh, for now.

Well now, it seems as if I have become a bit side tracked here. I was to reavel a secret and instead I have told about a time during the early 70's . The 60's and 70's were a great time to be a kid.

Enough of this reaching back into my memories.

So, are you ready for my secret?

Ahh hell, it would not be a secret any longer if I were to reavel it now would it?

Maybe at a later date

Hey you feeling any better? Did you get some rest today?