Sliding into home (part 2)

Part 2 insinuates a continuation from the first part, but that is not what this is.

I grew up in the late 70s – early 80s, child of sports fans.  Many a summer evening was spent in Three Rivers Stadium watching the Pirates beat up on whomever was in town.  As such, we knew of the greats (at least Pittsburgh greats) Willie Stargell, Dave Parker, and later the outfield to die for of Bonilla, Bonds, and Van Slyke. 

My brother, try though he might, could never quite keep Stargell and Parker straight and would end up yelling "Willie Parker!" as he slid into any base.  (Who knew he was calling out to a current Steeler?)  In case you weren't alive then, little kids shorts then looked something like this:

Maybe a little more loose in the leg, but you can get the idea.  At any rate, the three musketeers were doing their daily musketeer things like running around, yelling, jumping off of the highest thing possible, etc.  We were headed to the bottom of the hill when my brother took it upon himself to scream out "Willie Parker!" and perform his best slide into home.  Herein lies the problem.  You see, this quiet and gentle boy just didn't happen to put on any underwear on this particular day and as he slid down the hill with one leg outstretched in the classic slide position, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a small brown penis, oh dear oh dear.

Yup, it popped right out.  I don't remember exactly, but I'm gonna guess he was about 6 at the time, 7 at the oldest.  Young enough for him not to be embarrassed (at least until he reads this post) and young enough for us not to make a big deal of it.  But, out and out hysterical every time I think about it now.  We continued on with our day as if nothing ever happened because, to us, nothing did happen.  Do you know why?  Because the family jewels are sacred!

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Sliding into home

Back in the day, the three musketeers were inseparable.  My cousin Melanie, my brother and I.  All separated by one year, all birthdays in December.  The unified front against our cousins in Monessen.  While Mel lived about 40 minutes away (in a slightly more upscale neighborhood), we always managed to spend a ridiculous amount of time together.  Summers were especially awesome.  We lived in a very rural area where the days were very long and filled with fun times.  Our yard was huge as our grandparents lived right next door.  (Great for escaping the house, terrible for sneaking out or sneaking people in.)  They had a dog that was as big as a house, and being the Sagittarius that I am, I had a bond with that dog like no other.  They tell me that I used to ride around on her back like she was a horse.

I recall one early Saturday afternoon in particular.  I knew that Mel was coming to the house and I couldn't wait.  I had friends around the house, but then, family was way more important. (Unfortunately, the musketeers, or at least one of them, went their separate ways and forgot how important family was and is.)  I waited oh so impatiently to see my aunt's car come down our street.

Finally!  They're here! 

I ran out of our house like the proverbial bat out of hell.  Full speed ahead down through our yard and into my grandparents yard.  I was cute, I was graceful, I was small, and I was muscular.  I was excited.  I was covered in dog shit on my entire right side because in my haste, I didn't notice that the dog had dropped a bomb in my path.  I was running full speed and planted a foot directly in poop and then tried to turn a corner.  I was a running back on wet turf, tackled by number 2, Doo Doo Brown.

And this, this is the beautiful thing about family.  There was no embarrassment.  There was no mean laughing.  We all laughed together as badly as I smelled.  I took a shower, changed clothes, and play resumed like it never even happened.  I guess that's how you know someone is family.  They still love you no matter how much shit you're in.  🙂

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