This is the second time this photo has appeared. I'm using it as a reference as to about how old I was the time Dad rescued me from the werewolf.
Rescued by Dad
Most psychologists will tell you that the fifth child in a seven-child family is generally the one of whom the least amount of fanfare is made. You’ll have to trust me on that ‘cause there’s no way I’m calling most psychologists back just to document it. The research is killing me on this book.
I can count on a butcher’s mangled left hand the number of times Dad or Mom ever singled me out for anything good during my youth. Dennis? My older brother got patted on the back so many times he carries his right shoulder in a slant to this very day. Most people believe he was a pitcher for the Orioles. No, it was the constant parental back and shoulder slaps.
Me? My rear was swatted so many times that, to this day, I have a tendency to walk on my toes. Swats to the rear affect people in different ways. Mine elevate my walk. Most doctors consider that normal. And, no, I’m not calling “most doctors” back just to verify that for you.
One of the few “good” one-on-one moments I experienced with Dad was a fluke. Dad just pretty much walked right into it. Carried himself well during the encounter. It’s one of my cherished moments.
It all happened because of a backyard campout. Back then Dad’s never took their sons camping. Talked about it a lot, but it just wasn’t convenient or practical to haul your kids to the woods somewhere to rough it. It was bad enough that you had to live indoors with the little twits. I’m just guessing here.
So the neighborhood gang resorted to backyard campouts. We didn’t have tents. We built forts. Your standard fort would be constructed with sawhorses, blankets, garbage cans and fender skirts. What? Fender skirts. You’re too young to know.
We’d each supply snacks and drinks, and combine the stash into one giant pile. All the good stuff was usually gone an hour or two into night. Some of the bad stuff never got consumed. Beg pardon? You know, crackers, liver loaf and really old Velveeta. Old Velveeta can kill you. Don’t know if you knew that.
The only participants in this particular campout were David Stone and I. I have no idea why we were the only ones. We’d never done it before… nor since. I’m fairly sure I’ll die not knowing… and I can live with that. Were I forced to come up with a reason, I’d have to guess that it was during the big mumps epidemic of ’61 at Revlon Terrace. That was the name of our subdivision. Back then even the poor subdivisions got cool names. Revlon. Makes me feel rich just saying it.
Regardless, it was most odd that none of our other friends cared to campout. Odder still that Dennis wasn’t interested. Every campout I ever camped Dennis was there… except for this one night. Weird how that worked. Oh, and the campout was in David’s backyard. That’ll mean more to you later. Work with me here.
I remember that Dennis was surprised when I decided to camp without him. He thought his lack of commitment to the project would kill the whole notion. I don’t know why it didn’t. I must’ve taken all his smart allelic behavior I could handle. At one point he assured me that I would come running home early in the night. “No way you two nabobs will make the whole night. You’ll be too scared.” He said something like that. I doubt he said “nabob” though. Not sure where that came from.
It took two trips to get all my camping junk to David’s. We didn’t even build a fort. Can you believe that? We thought it’d be cool just to lay outside and look up at the stars. Nabob is looking more and more appropriate.
By 10:00 we had finished off all the snacks. All except for a bottle of warm Grape Nehi. If you ever down some old Velveeta with a warm grape Nehi, your stomach will explode. Hey, I’ve seen it happen. Heard about it, anyway. Pretty sure I didn’t read it.
So at 10 David and I were stuffed to the gills. By 11:00 we were talked out. The mosquitoes were beginning to swarm and a werewolf was rattling the gate. That’s what they do before attacking. They toy with you.
So, David up and says he wants to go in. He didn’t suggest “we” go in. Just that “he” was. So, what’s the problem? We had cancelled many a campout in mid camp. What’s the big deal on this occasion? Dennis was the big deal. Dennis was always with me on campouts, so we’d walk home together. Monsters wouldn’t mess with you if your big brother there. It’s some kind of code.
I don’t even remember David asking me what I thought about shutting down the camp. He just up and went inside after making his announcement. He didn’t slam the door in my face or anything, but he certainly didn’t offer to help me haul my stuff home.
So, there was just me in the backyard with a werewolf at the gate. I didn’t have my bike with me. I couldn’t ride and balance all my gear, so I walked it over. We’re talking, oh, six, seven houses down the block. About three miles in bike-less kid distance.
I decided it best to leave all my gear in David’s backyard, and make a dash for my house. I’d come back the next day and recover my stuff. So, I crept to the gate, and announced my presence. There’s no use trying to hide from a werewolf. Those things can smell you a mile away. Besides, they know when you’re thinking about ‘em. The thought that Frankenstein’s monster could beat a werewolf is beyond fiction. They’re fast and they can jump. Have you seen their teeth? Have you? Okay, then.
So I loudly opened the gate, crept out to the middle of the street— You don’t walk on the sidewalk alone at night unless you want something to jump out a tree and slit your throat. – No, you want to be in the middle of the street so you can see what’s coming. So, I’m in the middle of the street and I start singing. “Have gun will travel is the card of a man. A knight without armor in a savage land.”
Then I started a slow trot. “His fast gun for hire heeds the calling wind. A soldier of fortune is the man called… Pal-a-din!” When I got to Paladin, I was full speed. I never looked behind, because that’s when they grab you from the front. I did look side to side, though. My peripheral vision is exceptional. Always has been. – Three fingers. – I thought you might test me.
I went got parallel to my yard, I went from curb to sidewalk in one jump. From there I was a blur to the front door. I instantly tried to calm down. I didn’t want to barge in and wake people up. Mostly didn’t want to wake Dennis up. I would take his razzing in the morning, but didn’t care to hear anything when I climbed into bed. – We slept together. I believe I mentioned that. Back then it was a fairly normal thing to do. Wally and Beaver were the only brothers I knew with twin beds.
So, I eased open the screen door, and grabbed hold of the doorknob. The thing wouldn’t turn. No way. It wasn’t happening. We never locked the doors back then. Why would Mom look ‘em on the night I—Then it hit me. Dennis. I was almost arrogant in my assurance to him that David and I would make it all night. And, he was so sure I wouldn’t. He didn’t want me sneaking into the house. He wanted me to wake everyone up, so he do the ol’ ninny-ninny-noo-noo thing to me.
So, what was I going to do? Wake everybody up by knocking on the door or scratching on a window screen. I couldn’t scratch on Jill’s window ‘cause she would scream. Jill was a screamer. What am I saying? She still is.
Or, I was I going to man-up and stay outside till morning. I first walked around the house and peeked in the windows to see if anyone was still up. I knew Dad was working graveyards and wouldn’t be in till early morning. I was glad of that, ‘cause I really didn’t want to accidentally wake him up and have him come to the door and give me that disappointing look. I hated to disappoint that man. Just seemed like the easiest thing for me to do. Most things were hard for me, but letting Dad down was easy as being scared in the dark. I was an expert at it. It’s a gift of the number five child.
My luck was running pretty well true to form. There was no one stirring in the Hayter house. The attic fan was on, so even if I tried to scratch on a screen it’d be hard for anyone to hear me. I’d end up having to practically yell to get someone’s attention. Probably end up getting shot by the neighbor. At the time, the thought wasn’t all that bad.
The porch was uncomfortable as all get out. I had the brick pillar to lean against, but the concrete floor was like… well like sitting on concrete. I had left my blanket in David’s backyard, and there was no way on God’s green earth I was going back for that thing. It was going to be a long night.
Tears began to stream down my face. It was a weird cry. Had some anger in it. I was angry at Dennis for locking me out, but I was mostly mad at me for… for being me. I was such a loser. Scared of my shadow, uncertain of everything. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this more than twice, but I always had this feeling that I was a freak or a Martian or something, and everybody knew about it but me. Each time I exited a room or left my friends, everyone would start giggling and making fun of how stupid I was. In a sense you’d have to be rather egotistical to believe people would go to that much trouble for you, but I was too messed up to see that aspect of it.
And, I was upset at God, too. I knew he was embarrassed to have me around. No way could I be turning out the way He had planned. But, then, why would He go to the trouble of providing me with another lesson in humiliation? What good would it do? I was beat down about as far as I could go.
At one point, I realized I was not going to make it through the whole night. A non-alien would’ve bitten the bullet and gone ahead and knocked on the door. The sooner the better. But, I was going to put it off till I was about ready to crack. Didn’t think it would take all that long.
I hadn’t been on the porch for 30 minutes when a pair of headlights streaked across the street as a car rounded the corner. Who on earth? The vehicle slowed as it approached the house. It was unmistakably our 60 Chevy Biscayne. It was Dad. I thought he was working the graveyard shift, but he had worked the evening shift instead. The evening shift meant he was home by about midnight.
Why didn’t I know that? I was apparently so excited about camping out that I never noticed that Dad was at work. I just figured he was sleeping late so he could work the night shift. Graveyards. – No idea why they called ‘em that. -- Dad hated graveyards, but he did get paid about 30 cents an hour more when he worked ‘em. And, there weren’t so many foremen out and about at night, so everyone in the plant appreciated that aspect of the shift.
But, forget all that. Dad was home! I ran over and opened the garage door for him. He smiled at me as he drove in. It was a good smile. He got out of the car and handed me his lunch kit. “What are you doin’ up?” he asked.
I told him the story about camping over at David’s house and how the mosquitoes were really bad, so we decided to call it off. Who was I kidding? Dad knew we got scared and David decided to go in. “Yeah, the mosquitoes are really bad tonight, aren’t they?” he said.
Dad grabbed the doorknob to the backdoor and found it locked. “What’s this all about?” It was right then that it registered with him. I had been locked out. He asked how long I’d been there, and I told him the truth. “Well, I guess I’m gonna hafta start leaving a key in the garage for you boys. Where’s your brother?” I told him that Dennis decided not to camp with us. It made no more sense to Dad than it meant to me.
“Well, let’s get in and find something to snack on.” He shooed me into the house, where we had some milk and really cheap cookies. You know, the light, waffley wafers with the white icing in ‘em? Nothing to ‘em. When it came to cookies and candy, Dad thought cheap was best. Taste was secondary.
But, I didn’t think on that for more than a second. Dad had rescued me. And, he didn’t make a big deal – or any deal—about me being too scared to campout. It was like he almost understood what it was like to be me.
Dad asked me if I wanted to stay up awhile and watch TV with him. He said he always had trouble going to sleep when he got home from graveyards. Needed time to enjoy being home. Like an idiot, I told him I was too tired to stay up. He understood. He may have genuinely wanted me to stay up with him, but I just didn’t believe it. I thought he was just trying to be nice to me. Trying to make me feel better about myself. I way over analyze sometimes. Most times.
Before going to bed, I walked over to Dad as he sat in his chair in the living room. I walked to side of the chair and put my arms on his shoulders, hugged him and told him good night. He reached around and patted my head. When I was much younger, we would kiss Daddy goodnight. At this particular age, I usually just told him goodnight. But, this time I felt a hug was in order.
A Dad hug always had a neat feeling about it. When he got off work, his hugs smelled of cigar smoke and refinery. It was an oily, gasoline, exhaust type of smell. To this day that combination still me reminds me of Dad.
Oh, and when you hugged Dad, you could always feel his stubble on your cheek. If you hugged him right after he shaved, you’d still feel the stubble. If it wasn’t there, it wouldn’t have been Dad.
A few years back, I was asleep, dreaming about Dad. My Dad dreams were always good ones. Over the years, my dreams of Dad have all become good ones. And, each time, I’m the only one who seems to think it odd that Dad is still around. It was like I was the only one who remembered he died. Anyway, Dad hugged me in the dream and I could feel his whiskers and smell the cigar smoke. The sensation was so real that it even woke me up.
It felt so much like Dad was really there, but I know he wasn’t. I don’t think God lets people in heaven come down to visit us on earth. It wouldn’t be fair to them. It wouldn’t be heaven if you were up there worrying about how your family was doing. No, I think God decided to bless me with a Dad hug that night. Must’ve thought I could use one.
Remembering these few minutes with my Dad has made me see that a lot of things that I saw as “bad” in my life, seemed to bring “good” along with them? If I hadn’t experienced the humiliating campout event, if Dennis hadn’t decided not to join us, David had not left me and gone inside, if Dennis hadn’t locked me out of the house… well I would’ve missed out on one of the few bonding experiences I had with my dad. It was one of my favorite moments with him. While I cherish the memory, I’m still upset with myself for not staying up with him to watch TV. It was so like me.
By the way, Dennis didn’t make fun of me all that much about chickening out. He was actually awake when I climbed into bed. “I told you.” That’s all he said. I was expecting so much worse.
I don’t know, maybe he was sorry that he locked me out. Or, like I say, maybe it was God’s plan that he lock me out so both brothers could discover different lessons in a single moment.
Or, maybe I am from Mars. I still think about that.
