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Humor June 2014

Ernie's World

A Wagon Tale

By Ernie Witham

I was quite a bit younger the last time I owned a wagon. I remember it was red and was some kind of flyer – Radio Flyer, Western Flyer, Not-Meant-to-Actually-Fly Flyer. Wagons weren't all that much fun on flat ground. Even if you talked your kid brother into pulling you around you couldn't go all that fast if he kept tripping on his blanket.

 

Over the years I've gotten used to blank stares, astonished looks, murmuring – even the occasional head slap – when I contribute what I think is a profound statement or a logical answer.

"I know what I want for my birthday."

"It's months away."

"Early gifts get the worm."

My wife stared blankly then said: "Even for you that's a strange statement."

"It's the only quote I had at the ready that expressed real need without sounding real needy already."

My wife advanced to the astonished look, then said: "Ah, okay. What gift does the 'un-needy worm' need already?"

I smiled. "A wagon!"

My wife shook her head and murmured. "Why do I take part in these conversations? Why don't I just pretend I'm deaf like he does when I mention chores? Why didn't I become a nun?"

I leaned in close. "I know that last one," I said excitedly. "You're not Catholic!"

My wife slapped her forehead.

I was quite a bit younger the last time I owned a wagon. I remember it was red and was some kind of flyer – Radio Flyer, Western Flyer, Not-Meant-to-Actually-Fly Flyer. Wagons weren't all that much fun on flat ground. Even if you talked your kid brother into pulling you around you couldn't go all that fast if he kept tripping on his blanket.

"You're almost three years old, don't you think you should get rid of that ratty old thing?"

My brother stared at me blankly, then began crying and went home. I sat there for a while waiting for him to come back, then finally climbed out and headed for "Coca-Cola Hill."

Coca-Cola Hill was the steepest hill in Laconia, New Hampshire, so named because there was a Coca-Cola bottling plant at the bottom. It was on the end of Oak Street and went practically straight down for about a hundred yards. The bottom ended at Messer Street, a busy crossroad. This meant that if you chose to ride your bike down, or your strap-to-your-shoes roller skates with the metal woogety-woogety wheels, and you raced over the top of the hill fast enough, you would leave the ground for a few exhilarating seconds and land going really, really fast. Obviously, you had to plan how you were going to stop before the intersection.

"Hey Ernie, whatcha doing?" Several neighborhood kids asked.

"Coca-Cola Hill."

"In that?"

"Yup."

I got several astonished looks and some murmuring.

"Can we watch?"

"I have a better idea. You guys stand at the bottom and I'll run into you to stop."

There was much head shaking, but being kids they agreed.

"Wait," my wife said. "You went down the steepest hill in Laconia in a wagon with no brakes and no steering?"

"Kids used to do it all the time."

"This explains a lot," she said.

One of the problems with fear-nothing kids, like the ones that were supposed to stop me, was you had to hope they didn't see the folly in their part of the experience until it was too late.

This was not the case that day.

"Meaning," my wife said, "they didn't stop you and you went into the road and got run over? Because that, too, would explain a lot."

"Nah. I saw them scattering when I was about halfway down and still only going about 90 miles an hour. So I cranked the wagon handle as far left as I could and went straight right, over a banking, through a garden, across a patio, and into a huge pile of leaves. Took two boxes of band-aids to cover the wounds."

My wife shook her head. "So, now what? You want a wagon to race down San Marcos Pass?"

"No, of course not. I need it for bonsai."

"Bonsai?!"

"Yeah, see, a lot of the other people in my bonsai club have little wagons that they put their trees in to get from their car to the workshop and back instead of carrying them."

My wife stared blankly for a minute. "Then why did you tell me that near-death-experience story instead of just telling me that?"

"I wanted you to see what you missed by not knowing me as a kid."

My wife slapped her forehead and walked away.

Wonder if I'll still get the wagon?

 

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