the summer and his homework during the school
year. Every Tuesday night he taunted me by watching Happy Days and Laverne & Shirley. His parents even let him stay up to watch some show called Soap. Taylor said it was about a puppet and some guy who thought he was invisible. Sounded
pretty weird to me, but even puppets would’ve been better than Lawrence Welk.
But while television was a great excuse for me to sleep over at Taylor’s house, the
real reason I wanted to spend more time there was that the Ashtons treated me like
a son. I imagined living there, Taylor and I hanging out and doing whatever we wanted,
both of us so sick of Disneyland that we actually begged his parents to take us someplace
new.
“Grandma,” I said as I headed for the door late on a September afternoon, a green,
tattered army-surplus knapsack that Grandpa had given me slung over one shoulder,
“I’m goin’ over to Taylor’s for the night.”
“No, you’re not, Eddie. You have spent three of the last seven nights there and I’m
sure that you must be wearing out your welcome.”
“The Ashtons don’t mind. Really. Call and ask them if you want.” I was trying out
Taylor’s tactic of just telling them how it would be.
“They are just too polite to say otherwise.” Grandma wasn’t caving as easily as the
Ashtons did. “You need to stay here tonight. I’ll make Sloppy Joes.”
“I don’t want Sloppy Joes. Stan and Janice were going to take Taylor and me out to
eat. We had plans!”
My grandmother took a few moments to get over her shock at my casual use of the Ashtons’
first names. She didn’t like it. “I’m sorry that my cooking isn’t up to your new five-star
standards, but if you had plans, maybe you should have run them by your grandfather
or me first.” Grandma’s voice was kind but firm.
“But Grandma”—I had one final bullet left in my chamber—“school starts next week,
and after that I’ll only get to sleep over there on weekends.”
“No, Eddie. Not tonight. In fact, you won’t be sleeping over there until you are settled
in at school and we see how your homework is coming.”
I couldn’t believe it. I’d had enough. I took my knapsack by one strap and threw it.
I only intended for it to go a few feet, but I’d given it a good swing. It flew through
the air and crashed against the wall, leaving a big dent in the plaster.
Grandma stared at me in disbelief for a moment. “Youare very lucky that your grandfather wasn’t here to see that.” The kindness had disappeared
from her voice.
“Yeah, I’m feeling really lucky lately!” The words escaped from my mouth as I stormed up to my room. My grandfather
had only laid a hand on me that one time, but I couldn’t even imagine how he was going
to react to how I’d just treated my grandmother. I was sure he would beat me with
some exotic farm implement.
Deep inside I also knew that I deserved whatever punishment I would get. That pushed
me even further away.
About an hour later I heard Grandpa’s pickup backfire as he pulled up the driveway.
The noise made me remember how much I hated that old truck. A few moments later I
heard the front door open and close and then my grandmother’s muffled, calm voice.
Grandpa’s voice answered and was not nearly as calm.
“He did what?!?” he yelled. Then more muffled Grandma followed by a slightly less
upset Grandpa.
I gradually relaxed.
He never came upstairs.
The next morning I showed up at breakfast expecting the worst, but nothing happened.
They were both quiet and said pleasant, if somewhat reserved, “good mornings” to me.
After breakfast I walked through the living room and saw that the wall had been repaired.
If it hadn’t been just a bit whiter than the surrounding area, it would have been
impossible to tell where I had damaged it. My grandfather must have vented his anger
with plaster and a trowel. A bucket of paint was
year. Every Tuesday night he taunted me by watching Happy Days and Laverne & Shirley. His parents even let him stay up to watch some show called Soap. Taylor said it was about a puppet and some guy who thought he was invisible. Sounded
pretty weird to me, but even puppets would’ve been better than Lawrence Welk.
But while television was a great excuse for me to sleep over at Taylor’s house, the
real reason I wanted to spend more time there was that the Ashtons treated me like
a son. I imagined living there, Taylor and I hanging out and doing whatever we wanted,
both of us so sick of Disneyland that we actually begged his parents to take us someplace
new.
“Grandma,” I said as I headed for the door late on a September afternoon, a green,
tattered army-surplus knapsack that Grandpa had given me slung over one shoulder,
“I’m goin’ over to Taylor’s for the night.”
“No, you’re not, Eddie. You have spent three of the last seven nights there and I’m
sure that you must be wearing out your welcome.”
“The Ashtons don’t mind. Really. Call and ask them if you want.” I was trying out
Taylor’s tactic of just telling them how it would be.
“They are just too polite to say otherwise.” Grandma wasn’t caving as easily as the
Ashtons did. “You need to stay here tonight. I’ll make Sloppy Joes.”
“I don’t want Sloppy Joes. Stan and Janice were going to take Taylor and me out to
eat. We had plans!”
My grandmother took a few moments to get over her shock at my casual use of the Ashtons’
first names. She didn’t like it. “I’m sorry that my cooking isn’t up to your new five-star
standards, but if you had plans, maybe you should have run them by your grandfather
or me first.” Grandma’s voice was kind but firm.
“But Grandma”—I had one final bullet left in my chamber—“school starts next week,
and after that I’ll only get to sleep over there on weekends.”
“No, Eddie. Not tonight. In fact, you won’t be sleeping over there until you are settled
in at school and we see how your homework is coming.”
I couldn’t believe it. I’d had enough. I took my knapsack by one strap and threw it.
I only intended for it to go a few feet, but I’d given it a good swing. It flew through
the air and crashed against the wall, leaving a big dent in the plaster.
Grandma stared at me in disbelief for a moment. “Youare very lucky that your grandfather wasn’t here to see that.” The kindness had disappeared
from her voice.
“Yeah, I’m feeling really lucky lately!” The words escaped from my mouth as I stormed up to my room. My grandfather
had only laid a hand on me that one time, but I couldn’t even imagine how he was going
to react to how I’d just treated my grandmother. I was sure he would beat me with
some exotic farm implement.
Deep inside I also knew that I deserved whatever punishment I would get. That pushed
me even further away.
About an hour later I heard Grandpa’s pickup backfire as he pulled up the driveway.
The noise made me remember how much I hated that old truck. A few moments later I
heard the front door open and close and then my grandmother’s muffled, calm voice.
Grandpa’s voice answered and was not nearly as calm.
“He did what?!?” he yelled. Then more muffled Grandma followed by a slightly less
upset Grandpa.
I gradually relaxed.
He never came upstairs.
The next morning I showed up at breakfast expecting the worst, but nothing happened.
They were both quiet and said pleasant, if somewhat reserved, “good mornings” to me.
After breakfast I walked through the living room and saw that the wall had been repaired.
If it hadn’t been just a bit whiter than the surrounding area, it would have been
impossible to tell where I had damaged it. My grandfather must have vented his anger
with plaster and a trowel. A bucket of paint was
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