When The Magic Almost Died

My momentum and gravity took over as I closed my eyes. The next thing I knew I was lying crumpled up, desperately keeping my breathing to a minimum. When I felt the wet seep into my clothing I knew that Bobby had planned this all along. My mother was going to kill me for getting me and my clothes muddy our first day in our new home.

"You killed him," it was just a girls voice, so I decided right then that this would be my best death ever. After all, girls were the real enemy.

"I sure did Kathy," Bobby gloated, I heard him coming to stand next to her above me.

The girl actually started crying right then and there. And not that fake crap that my sister was always pulling either. This girl, who didn't even know me yet, was crying for me. I don't know what happened to me then, but I suddenly felt foolish, even ashamed of myself for being so good at faking death so well that I'd made this poor girl cry for no reason. The only thing to do was to show her that I wasn't dead, and that we had just been playing. So I moved, and opened my eyes to explain.

I'll never forget that moment, not as long as I live. Heaven had come down to earth to visit and had left their finest representative to establish contact. More than just a girl, and better than any kind of angel I'd ever heard about, this vision, with tears in her eyes for me, stripped my heart right open. No words, no language that I was aware of would ever be good enough, and more importantly I knew immediately that I would never be worthy to speak hopefully with such words.

She stood there, her hair in golden waves flowing down past her shoulders around a face that only God himself could have sculpted, beauty that shamed a morning sunrise as it fairly glowed with health under those tears coming from shocking blue eyes. I was entranced.

"Kathy Pankratz, meet my best friend and, new next door neighbor, Dunkin."

I'll give her this, she recovered from her shock instantly, and without screaming, but her next words, directed right at me were as cold as frozen meat that burned a certain brand on my soul.

"Oh great, another loser in the neighborhood."

As I still remember that moment, she turned her back and walked across the street, her simple white blouse tucked into new blue jeans, a picture of perfection I will never forget. The castle she entered was white and huge, and most appropriate for one of heaven's chosen. Add to that the playground to the left of the house with a Maypole, swings, teeter-totters, monkey bars and more, and I was quickly made aware of what real status was.

"That looks like park equipment," I said pointing.

"Yeah, nothing but the best for Miss Pankratz's." Bobby spate out as if he were swearing.

"Rich?"

"If they aren't, they're doing a great job of hiding it," at that he laughed, then patted me on the back, the clean dry part, and added, "and speaking of hiding, your still it."

"I can't play now."

"Why not? Your already filthy."

"I have to go home," was all I could say, but the truth was, I needed desperately to talk to my dad about something only he could answer for me. Even if it meant a sure beating for getting all muddy, I just had to find out.

************

The water from the garden hose was cold, but since it was 80 degrees in the shade that day it felt pretty good. Best of all, dad wasn't mad at me for getting all muddied up on our first day in our new home, as he hosed me off.

"So, you think your in love?" He asked the question as if a teacher to a student instead of a father to a son, his tone neutral, not judgmental at all, more probing than anything, as though trying to make me come up with an answer that he already knew.

"I don't know dad, I mean," How to ask the impossible? I wasn't sure, but I had to take a stab at it, "how was it for you and mom, dad? You know, when you knew that she was the one?"

"Dunk, it's different for everybody," he said putting down the hose and handing me a towel to dry off with, "but for it to work at all, both people have to feel the same about each other. How do you feel about this girl?"

"That's just it, I can't explain it dad. I'm happy and sad both at the same time, I want to run and shout, but I also want to hide in a cave somewhere. In fact it's sort of like what I imagine death to be like, ya know, one second your heart is racing the next it just stops beating altogether."

"Yep, you've got it bad all right," my father actually chuckled, "how do you think she feels about you?"

"Right now she thinks I'm a loser, even said so, but she cried, really cried when she thought I was dead playing Battle Tag with Bobby. She lives over there," and I pointed to Kathy's house across the lot on the other side of Madison Ave.

"Tough luck there son," he seemed to understand my plight, "still, I've known a princess or two that have kissed frogs. Your problem is, getting her to realize that in here," and he pointed at my heart, "there is a prince worth letting out. Not an easy task for a frog, heck, it isn't any picnic for a prince either, but if she's worth it, I'd say go for it. Just remember, be a gentleman, and be yourself. If she has any feelings for you then she'll give in soon enough."

"But what if she doesn't?"

"Then you'll have to learn to live with that as well," and a flicker of past pain swept across his face momentarily. Yes, dad knew all about love, or at least what was worth knowing, "now go back and play, and try to steer clear of mud holes Dunk."

************

Beginning my second year of grade school at Lakeview Elementary School was nothing if not embarrassing. Kathy was of course my age and in the same class. However she was in a click, having shown in her first year there to be a quick learner as well as a good student, she sat up front with what was later called the 'Four Eyes' section by the rest of the class. I being an unknown to the second grade teacher at this school I was seated towards the middle of the class, but it gave me a great view of Kathy from behind.

As every child knows, teachers have an annoying habit of calling students by their last names, Mr. This, and Miss That. Unfortunately, I was so busy gazing upon my first love that when the teacher asked me a question, not hearing Dunkin or even Dunk, that when I did wake up to the fact that it was me being called on, I usually answered with, "huh?" or "Wha ...?" whichever came to mind first. So as to embarrass me or anyone else not paying strict attention, this teacher always asked someone in the front row to repeat the question, and of course having the floor that person would answer the question looking at the person who didn't answer correctly as if they were no better than dingle berry pie.

Dingle berrys being what was left if you didn't wipe your butt properly, and even sometimes when you did, after using the toilet. What's left becomes little round beads growing in your privates that we called dingle berrys. I only mention this in passing so that you can appreciate the full impact of this insult coming from the front row.

As you may have guessed, I wasn't doing too well in the second grade when my birthday came, and I turned seven years old. Destiny however was running on all cylinders though, as that was the day that all of the auto makers pulled the covers off of their 57 showroom models. The day that Mattel Toy® manufacturers also went way beyond perfection to the ultimate dimension in children's combat gear.

September 19th, 1956 was a day blessed forever in the minds of all true car enthusiasts, and male children in America. A year to the day after standing in front of that wooden display case, I stood there once again. Only this time I didn't allow myself to be possessed. Perhaps that's because I had played with Wayne's and Bobby's six shooters many times in the past year, still I was fascinated by Mattel's new guns.

Not only did the cylinder turn on this model of the Colt 45, but the bullets (plastic gray in a brass casing) were loaded into the cylinder like real ones, shot out of the barrel like real bullets, from a spring loaded brass cartridge that of all things had to have special green colored caps pasted to their base, and just like a real bullet they went bang when the hammer hit them. Another new innovation was the holster itself, it was a single holster, low slung on the side with leather strips to tie to your thigh, just like that new gunslinger Paladin wore, it had a much more natural arm, wrist, and hand action. Just reach down and draw, it was that simple, and that quick. I knew now why Santa had stalled on delivering the Colts last year. I also knew that I was going to keep this development a secret from everyone but Santa.

I picked a baseball glove this time, a Rawlings®, and grandma Betty was so happy at my choice that she popped for a new football too, a real one. But the day wasn't over, Ford Motor Co. had at last seduced my father, and as Grandma Betty pulled into our driveway I stared in disbelief at the brilliant white Pegasus sitting where our old Ford Coup was usually parked. A two door white ragtop, with red interior, and winged tail lights, it resembled the famed Ford Thunderbird, even had it's 289 cubic inch engine under the hood. Standing right beside his Silver, my father was getting ready to ride off into the sunset with mom and Bethy, holding the door open to his side of the car for me to join them.

"Hey Dunk, how bout we get some ice cream?" he offered, and for the first time in my life, I saw the kid hiding in my father peek out and wink at me. No matter what the future unveiled after this day, I was ready to play my share.

************

I kept my promise to myself to not tell Wayne and Bobby of my discovery even during the Big Bird Feast. I also, licked the flap on my envelope to Santa before giving it to my mother to mail, in effect making sure no one but Santa would see it, if you get my drift. By this time several things had happened to me that you need to be made aware of. My first report card from the new school was a disaster. I only had three S's satisfactories with the rest being U's unsatisfactories, and check marks every place a kid didn't want them to be when showing them to their parents.

That look of disappointment in my father's face, was more punishment than my sister's giggles in the background. She'd managed all S's and one E Excellent. I had let my father down terribly, and was bitterly ashamed.

"That girl, what's her name...Kathy, she's in your class, isn't she?"

All I could do was nod yes. We both knew that it wasn't Kathy's fault, it was mine.

"Does she get good grades?"

"Well yeah, she sits in the front row."

"What does sitting somewhere have to do with getting good grades? You go sit in the front row."

"I can't, that's where all the 'Four Eyes' sit dad. You know, the smartest ones in the class. That's where the teacher puts them."

"Dunk, let me ask you a question, man to man," he waited, and when I nodded, "where would you rather sit in that class, behind this girl, or next to her?"

"Well next to her of course."

"Then you had better change these grades before she becomes too friendly with the guy sitting next to her now, hadn't you?"

Did I tell you that my dad knew everything that was important to know about love? I don't know of any motivation, including a blistering spanking, that could have motivated me more than that challenge. Unless it was the look of faith that stretched a smile across his face before being hidden, whisked away behind the Lorain Journal, our local newspaper.

"I think grounding you for the next two weeks should be sufficient time for you to catch up, don't you?"

The man was amazing sometimes, and to think that he was my father, mine. How did I ever get so lucky? Don't get me wrong, under the right circumstances my father can swing a belt with the best of them. The difference was, when dad spanked you, you knew without a doubt that you had it coming, and perhaps worse. I also know that spanking, though a last resort with us kids, hurt my dad's feeling more than it hurt my rear end. People say that men, strong men, don't cry. They cry. They just cry where and when no one else can see them do it. My dad was that kind of man, who like Grandpa Lentz, held back the pain until it was safe to let it out without effecting others. I could only hope that one day I would be such a man. He was also right about the two weeks.

Mrs. Gardner went from astonished, to perplexed first, then from her bewildered state she moved onto the pleased as punch phase with me. Actually, second grade is a rehash of first grade for most of the first half of it, so catching up was easy. By Thanksgiving, I too sat in the first row, albeit in the only seat left there, and that was on the farthest side away from Kathy. However even that turned out good because now the teacher, Mrs. Gardner was between me and my love and thus much easier to keep up with.

Unlike the others in the first row though, when asked to repeat the question, that's all I would do, unless she specifically told me to give the answer as well. As my dad had said, "Just be yourself Dunk," and being myself didn't mean that I had to humiliate someone else. I'd been there, I knew how they'd feel. Though I'm not certain if Mrs. Gardner was too happy with my way, I saw that she at least respected it as my choice. Enough so, that when the Christmas play came up, I was one of her first choices to be in it.

Ironically, the play was to be; "The Night Before Christmas," a poem that my mother read to Bethy every Christmas while me and dad decorated the tree. Each of us children picked had to memorize one of the lines from the poem, and in their turn say it out loud in front of an audience consisting of mostly every parent of every kid that went to Lakeview Elementary School.

What was even worse, my costume was to be one of those zip up pajamas with the booties on them. Thank God my mother came to the rescue, personally talking to my teacher over the phone that we couldn't afford to go out and buy something that I would never wear ever again in my life. Mom was fibbing, a white lie she called it, but it worked, Mrs. Gardener compromised.

Standing before hundreds of people --in my matching red Roy Rogers pajamas, and Gene Autry slipper socks with the stage made up behind me to look like the interior of a large house that had a humongous picture window looking out upon new fallen snow-- I prayed to God that I wouldn't ruin the play. It was my honor to say the first line, and perspiring like a gravedigger, I moved out from the line of children waiting their turn behind me, and determined not to screw up, spoke as loudly as I could without shouting.

"'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house..."

After saying my one line I was to quickly get out of the way by sliding into a sleeping position on the stage floor just to the left of that massive painted window, and I did it as if sliding into home base as we had rehearsed. Then I pretended to fall asleep. Mrs. Gardener had fixed it so that the order of reading was boy, girl, boy, girl and so on.

"not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse..." said the girl next in line. Kathy read the fourth line, perfectly I might add, then slid to the far side of the stage like she was supposed to. It was now my job to crawl across the stage, not necessarily next to Kathy, but then that was my goal. Mrs. Gardner had explained that it would create the feeling of realness to the play, since in truth, children never went straight to sleep. I was only too happy to follow her script. I just hoped she wasn't too mad when I improvised a little.

My quest did gather the appropriate amount of laughter from the audience, as the poem went on without me. Kathy's blue eyes widened considerably as she saw that I wasn't going to stop until I was bedded down by her side. Less than a foot of space separated the two of us now, and we both knew that was no accident.

The play was completely forgotten by both of us for that one glorious moment. I saw fear, and exhilaration staring back at me. I had never kissed any girl other than my mom and had no idea of what to do next.

"Just remember, be a gentleman, and be yourself," my father's voice coached my mind.

I slowly, so as not to startle her, reached out for her hand, brought it just as slowly back up to my lips and kissed it as I'd seen Errol Flynn do in 'Robin Hood.'

"...Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night!"

The applause was thunderous! Actually shaking the stage props next to our heads, and causing every one of us second graders to jump as one unit to our feet all at once in fear of being crushed, as if we had rehearsed it that way. Thankfully Mrs. Gardner came out on stage at that moment following the closing curtain. She quickly moved everybody up close to the curtain in a straight line, and had us bow for the whistling, foot stamping, hand clapping, rowdy parents. Of course she had seen the whole thing from back stage, but she wasn't mad at all. In fact after the curtain closed she rushed all of the children off stage except for me and Kathy, then stood behind us as the curtain swung open again, and we took a second bow. Then we stood straight up again with the curtain closing for the last time, and that's when it happened.

Kathy turned to me taking my right hand, making me turn towards her to see what she was up to, and that's when she kissed me. Right in front of God, my parents, Bethy, all of our friends and neighbors, the entire audience, and every kid in school, her lips touched my lips. And the curtain closed just before she finished her kiss, turned away, and followed Mrs. Gardner back stage pulling me in tow by the hand she still held. To this day my mother still teases me about that night, but fondly, as it was special to her to.

************

Christmas rush 1956 never happened. Though mom did get to read to Bethy as dad and I decorated the tree including the Lionel, it was easy to see that she was very uncomfortable with her belly looking as if a watermelon had grown inside of it. In this new house we all lived on the first floor between a large basement and a small attic, so mom was able to help tuck us in after dad saw to our bathroom protocol.

"Do you think mommy is all right?" Bethy asked timidly. Perhaps remembering the rat from last Christmas that almost bit her, she was looking around our bedroom sitting up in her bed.

"Don't worry," I said, "we haven't seen a rat since we moved here Bethy. Besides that mom's about to have a baby, remember?"

"I hope it's a boy," she nearly whispered laying back in bed while our parents moved around just beyond our door.

"Why's that?" I asked, certain that I wasn't going to like the answer.

"Then I can have my own room."

"Listen kiddo, I got here first, so I would get my own room first," then rolling over to face her I gave her what for, "and I also asked Santa for a girl baby, just to make sure."

The horror on her face as she realized what I had done was almost as good as her promise to never poke at me again the year before. I'm sure the smile on my face as I fell asleep brought her misery beyond compare. It was worth it though, after a week of listening to her whiny voice skipping through the house singing;

"Dunky's gotta girl friend! Dunky's got a girl friend! I saw her kiss him! I saw her kiss him!"

From morning till night, every day, even following me next door to Bobby and Becky's house, until one day, Becky just backhanded her, and told her to;

"Shut up! Or so help me, I'll pull every hair out of your head!"

Now I couldn't hit girls, especially my sister, that would mean the belt, but Becky was a girl, and she could hit another girl, and more importantly, she could get away with it too. Why she hit Bethy --and no she didn't leave a mark-- I didn't really know for sure. They'd become good friends since we moved in next to the Beaches. Still, I wasn't about to exchange such a wonderful gift as that, and it was the memory of seeing my sister flat on her rear end in the middle of Becky and Bobby's living room that I carried into the realm of elfin dreams that Christmas Eve.