Boys will be Boys

I had an enchanting childhood...

I wish I could say the same of adulthood...

Craig and I were on an insatiable quest for adventure. It wasn't merely a desire to "do something" or "eradicate boredom"; we had discovered there was a world, and we were compelled by some abstruse, unidentifiable force to explore it...all of it!

However; like most boys our age living in the suburbs of Los Angeles in the mid 70's to early 80's, we were confined to the neighborhood boundaries of our quaint city, dictated by our Inn Keepers; or so they thought...

We were good kids...

I know; I have five of my own, one boy and four girls. History repeated itself, but not identically. I am the middle child only boy of five; the beef patty of the hamburger if you will. Craig is also the third born in his family of four children, three boys and a baby girl; taco salad if you will, depending on how you stack it:)

Obviously, I had more of a need for male bonding...

And bonding we did...

We didn't have a favorite place to roam. We were free; bound only by the limitations of our imaginations and our mode of transportation.

For a time...that was an old, don't even remember what we called it or how we got our hands on it, extra-mini-hybrid motorcycle dirt bike.

This thing was so low to the ground that whoever was on back had to straddle it knees fully bent or explain to the Inn Keepers why those pair of shoes only lasted two months! I was more vertically challenged than Craig, so it was usually me.

I was more worried about slowing us down...

This thing had an engine the size of a push lawnmower and Craig liked to eat. It was always breaking down, but I tell ya, how I loved to ride that thing. The euphoric sensation of cool breeze in my hair gliding along the traffic-free streets, sidewalks and alleys of my universe without exertion of bodily effort or strain of mental thought.

We usually rode it to the softball field cut out of the Verdugo Hills that was next to the Country Club converted into the church we attended. That was convenient! We could perform our shenanigans Monday thru Saturday and then walk across the street on Sunday to repent of them:)

A perfectly balanced, guiltless life...

The truth is...

The ageless Verdugo Hills and old Country Club church provided a mecca of exploration. We were like two nymphs, fearless of discovery, fearful of non-discovery...

We stood, sat or crouched on every inch of that sanctuary. We danced, played every sport imaginable and ate every food unimaginable there. We sang, acted in road shows and displayed our Halloween costumes at spook alleys there. We competed in pinewood derby's, prepared for week long hikes and received our Eagle Scout awards there. We became acquainted with God and his ways there. When it was completely renovated and remodeled into the modern church it is today; we cried there.

I don't remember the year that sinful undertaking began or was completed...

I don't want to remember...

Our neighborhood was protected by the Verdugo Hills. There was a big cement "B" painted white near the top that could be seen from Griffith Park Observatory across the valley on a clear day. It always reminded us we were home. We liked to hike up there and to the top. I remember it being a lot less steep than it appeared from the Inn. The softball field was Base Camp. My favorite thing to do during the hike was to find new "hide-outs" and look for lizards, snakes and goffers. The trees and bushes along the trail knew exactly how to grow to enable us to find solidarity and peace from the world.

The perfect tree was located smack dap in between our two Inns on Ninth Street. I wish I had a picture of it:( Boys our age don't think about things like that.

There were only two seasons in our Universe...Spring and Summer...

The tree hid us better from the world in the summertime. It's a good thing ya know! It's damn hot in the valley in the summertime! We made that baby into the perfect house! We each had our own room, and a guest room for anyone that was smart enough to join us. It served as a storage room in the meantime. We stocked it using a pully made of whatever rope we could get our hands on that was long enough to connect it to the ground with whatever bucket we could get our hands on. That bucket was filled with whatever sugary delight our allowance money could afford at the time. We had blankets, water, comic books, a transistor radio. We were regular Robinson Crusoe's!!

Masters of our Universe...our home away from home...

But...like any roaming nomad between the age of 8 and 12...

One home was not enough...

To this day...for the life of me...I can't remember who's idea it was...

I don't want to remember...

In my backyard, after the garage and before the alley, stands a cinder-block three-sided structure, eight feet tall, five feet wide. A cement box with access on one side. It is connected to the wall that separates my Inn from my northside neighbor's Inn.

Craig and I decided to build a home with a fireplace...out of the cement box

I mean, it was already 3/4 completed for us...right?

We searched for a way to cover the 1/4 of our new home that was exposed to the world. To hide ourselves from society. It was found in the alley, amongst the unwanted, unappreciated, used up debris of our neighbors. A 1/8 inch, five feet by five feet piece of ancient, Rice Crispy-like, wood.

Done!!...We were safe...Now, where should we put the fireplace??

We both must have gotten unwanted prizes in our Cracker Jacks that day or ate a bowl of unfiltered Fruit Loops for breakfast because:

We decided to put the fireplace up against the wall of wood, instead of up against one of the cement walls???????????????????????????????

This wasn't the first time Craig and I had wanted to make a sacrifice to God. The dopamine that is released in a boy's brain while preparing to make fire surely blocks the cognitive centers. I'm not an expert on this topic, but I know for certain that we derived a humongous amount of pleasure from making fire.

Our pleasure got the best of us that day. As we proudly lit up our new fireplace and began to watch it burn down our recently constructed new wall and (btw) exit from our new home, our pleasure quickly transitioned into fear! Sympathetic Nervous System (SNS) fully engaged, we scarcely escaped the grasps of our own pyromania...

I've never ran that fast to solicit help from my mother ever...Craig's all too familiar high-pitched-demands-for-speed-when-overly-excited added fuel to the fire, and my pursuit...

The shame we felt when the firemen arrived loudly and proudly for the whole world to attest, was unbearable. "What would the neighbors think of us?" That shame was only intensified when our mothers felt compelled to drag us down to the fire station so the fire chief could show us pictures of burnt children. I still have nightmares to this day.

Consequently, neither Craig nor I went on to become Fire Fighters...

We both still love to play with fire...