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Nostalgia March 2016

As I See It

The Giant Next Door

By Fern Smith-Brown

Petrified, I just knew he was either going to kill me then and there or I would end up on his dinner plate. I couldn’t seem to run, so I did the next best thing — I burst into tears! A flood of terrified tears!

During one of those quiet daydreaming moments, where one doesn’t think of anything in particular, a latent memory from yesterday popped into the forefront of my mind. I hadn’t thought of Mr. D in many years. Pensively, I relived the day I roused the ire of the giant next door.

It was the mid-1940s and I was about five years old. We had recently moved into a housing area where many military families lived. The homes were single story duplexes. When you went up the walk, you’d turn right and go up the steps to one house, or left, up to the other. Our neighbor was Mr. D. “Grumpy Mr. D,”“The Ogre,”and “The Giant” as the kids called him. I was terrified of Mr. D. I mean, every kid knows that giants eat little kids, right?

Mr. D. was a huge man with a lumbering walk, which probably added to the mental vision, hence the name “The Giant.” He was kind of homely with overly large features and had piercing black eyes, hooded with bushy black brows. He never smiled and always seemed to be scowling. To my childish mind, he was “the giant” that lived next door and should be avoided at all costs. If I came into the yard and he was sitting on the porch, I’d scurry around the house and enter our house from the back door.

We each had our own front and back yards, and one day Mr. D. put up string and stakes around his front yard — I’m not sure if he’d just seeded the lawn or simply put it up to keep the kids off his lawn. Some days later, I came running around the side of his house and plowed right through that string barrier.

My heart trembled in my little body, as I heard the screen door slam, heard his lumbering footsteps plodding down the porch steps. Even though I thought about running and hiding, my feet seemed glued to the green turf he was trying to protect. He came into the yard and stood before me. I had angered the giant and now he was my worst nightmare. And believe me. I was a nervous child and prone to nightmares. Petrified, I just knew he was either going to kill me then and there or I would end up on his dinner plate. I couldn’t seem to run, so I did the next best thing — I burst into tears! A flood of terrified tears!

“I - I’m so s-sorry, Mr. D,” I stammered, the tears rolling down my checks. “I f-forgot the string was there.”

His big, giant hand went up in the air and I was too scared to even duck. Then that big hand came down and landed on my blond head — and patted it gently. “It’s all right,” he said, “that string is kind of hard to see.” And then he reached into his pocket and withdrew a nickel. “Don’t cry,” he said, and put the nickel in my hand.

For a second, I forgot my fear and got lost in the power of that nickel. A whole nickel! I was rich! I was independently wealthy! A nickel would buy a candy bar, a huge roll of Bazooka bubblegum, five BB Bats! The penny candy counter blossomed in my mind.

I glanced up at him with tear-lashed eyes. “I’ll help you put it back,” I offered, still a little frightened of this huge man who never smiled.

“I can do it,” he said. “Just be careful you don’t trip over it again.”

I nodded and, glancing up, gave him a smile as I blinked away the rest of the tears. “Thank you for the nickel,” I said softly.

He just gave a grunt and nod and waved me away.  I think the poor man knew I was truly terrified of him and felt badly about it, hence the nickel.

After that, I wasn’t afraid of Mr. D anymore, and I didn’t like it when the other kids called him names. If he was on his porch when I started up the walk, I didn’t make a beeline for the back door. I just called out, “Hi, Mr. D!” and went on up to my front porch. Invariably, he’d scowl and grunt out what I took for a greeting. Young as I was, I understood that was just his way. He wasn’t a grumpy person, or an ogre or a giant. He was just a very kind, misunderstood, gentle man.

I have three siblings and we were taught to share, therefore when I finally got to that penny candy counter, I chose a pack of Necco Wafers, which I divided into four parts. Clutching my share in my hand, I left the house and saw Mr. D sitting on the porch steps across from ours. Hopping my way to the bottom of the wooden stairs, I stopped on the cement walk between the two homes, then went and sat down beside him.

“Want one?” I asked, opening my palm to reveal the treats still in the end of the wrapper. “I bought them with your nickel.”

His mouth twitched in what was a semblance of a smile, as he took one and popped it into his mouth.

We sat there for a while just sitting in companionable silence. Eventually, Mr. D stood, patted my head and went into the house. I watched him go, then stood, jumped off the step and skipped down the walk to go play in my imaginative world of pretend.

 

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