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Rants & Ruminations

Rights of Passage

 

November 8, 2001

The way my home is situated, I'm able to see anyone walking up to our front door when I've got my butt plopped down on the couch (this is not uncommon). I'm laying there and I see someone walk up to the door. No door bell ring. My attention turns from the Star Trek episode on the tube to the front porch.

I get up, and can tell it's a girl, and she's messing with some chairs out front. Worse yet, she's moving over by some beer fermentors I've got soaking (that's a whole other story!). Don't mess with my beer stuff!

My heart starts pumping, and I'm thinking, "I'm gonna kick her ass! Whose house does she think she's messin' with"? I start trotting through the kitchen towards the front door, and she see's me coming. BAM! She bolts for the street. I'm now in full Rambo-mode. Lock-and-load, baby!

I'm thinkin', "You're outta luck, girlie! I'll run you down like a cheetah runs down a new-born antelope!" Truth is, she'd probably be home and in bed before I even reached the street, but this was my little fantasy, and I was gonna live it!

Anyways, I strike my most convincing Jesse Owens pose, fling open the front door andů.. and there's like a half dozen of 'em swarming our front yard. All with rolls of toilet paper in their hands!

My adrenaline-soaked brain clears for just a second. They're all about 13 or 14 years old. Hmmm, just like my oldest son. And ya know, they look kinda familiar. I just can't quite place their faces.

The Big Hand From The Sky comes down and smacks me in the forehead. In a foggy cloud, I travel back to my youth. My first years of playing football. The ritual of the cheerleaders TP'ing the player's homes before big games. Guess what? My son's got a playoff game this weekend.

Way to go, duffus!

With my tail planted firmly between my legs, I slink back into the house. I find my son in our office doing his homework. In his underwear. I say, "Son, you might want to get some pants on. I think someone's here to see you."

The door bell rings, they do some damned cheer right on our porch, and scamper off, giggling towards their next victim.

Good job, girls. You trashed the place just like I rememberedů.. JMS


 

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