After a herculean throw by Older Brother Richard off our back porch, strong March winds lifted our little green army man 30 feet up into the air. His flight lasted only about three minutes before crashing into the top of a giant oak tree on the swamp’s edge in our backyard, but it was long enough. The test flight was a success.
It proved that a parachute for an army man could be constructed by using one of Dad’s handkerchiefs and thread tied to the four corners. That meant we could use a king-size sheet, four pieces of rope, make a parachute for one of us, and jump off the back porch also.
Older Brother Richard said real parachutes were made out of silk. That’s why we used the silk sheets our parents got while in China. After Mark’s ill-fated flight, Mom really got mad. Blood is impossible to get out of silk. Dad got really mad also because of the four holes we carved into the corners in order to tie the ropes to it and then to Mark. His broken leg didn’t make either one of them happy.
Upon hearing the start of the story above, The Wife said, “No way! You and your brothers really didn’t do that, did you?”
It’s true. During those seven magical years growing up at 110 Flamingo Street, my three brothers and I built and used homemade parachutes. But as dangerous as it may seem, parachuting off the back porch pales in comparison to other adventures we had. Below are the starts of just a few of them, but first a warning to my young readers out there.
Please don’t try to recreate any of our misadventures. Looking back, it’s amazing any of us survived our childhood. But survive we did, and I got scars to prove it.
Tarzan had a big influence on most kids who grew up on Flamingo Street, and why not? Who wouldn’t want to wear shorts all the time, never go to school, run barefoot through a jungle, swim and wrestle alligators, have the ability to talk to animals, call them for help, have a tiger for a best friend and pet? But the coolest thing Tarzan did was swing through the jungle using vines.
On Flamingo Street, we didn’t have alligators, lions, elephants or tigers as pets. I had a pet hamster, but when he got out, he didn’t come back when I called him. He did chase The Sister down the hallway, but I didn’t tell him to do that. We didn’t even have a jungle. We just had a swamp.
Our backyard bellied out and disappeared into the leading edge of a swamp that was surrounded by oak trees loaded down with vines. After viewing the most recent episode of Tarzan, eight kids from Flamingo Street climbed up those oak trees. Twenty feet up, we grabbed vines and jumped at the same time. We were gonna swing through the swamp, going from vine to vine. Just like Tarzan. That’s not what happened.
The Wife said, “Y’all had to have better sense. That was really dangerous.”
My answer was, “No, we didn’t, and yes, it was.”
My brothers and I spent time during summers turning over rocks and poking fingers at the creatures we found. We’d double-dog-dare each other to reach into holes in the bank of Cripple Creek, chunked rocks at paper wasp nests hanging from trees, jumped and did flips off Cliff Condos landing knee-deep into soft dirt some 15 feet below. At impossible speeds we flew down Flamingo Street on our bikes. Our destination was makeshift ramps in the cul-de-sac and the kids lying between them. Somehow we survived all the crashes without wearing helmets or pads.
The Wife interrupted my list of childhood adventures with a disarming smile, “So let me tell you what your granddaughters did today.”
After a week of flooding rain, the waters had finally receded and the girls went outside to play. It wasn’t long before they returned with mud covering their hair, face, and even in their ears. The girls were literally covered from head to toe in mud and silt. Their adventurous story was something that we didn’t even do back on Flamingo Street.
When she finished explaining what had happened, my response wasn’t what The Wife expected, “Wow, that was really dangerous thing to do. Wonder where they got the idea to do such a crazy thing?”
The Wife smiled, gave me a kiss and walked away, saying, “Yes, I wonder where?”
[Rick Ryckeley has been writing stories since 2001. To read more of Rick’s stories, visit his blog: storiesbyrick.wordpress.com.]
