Zero Dark Thirty

Ok, so I'll tell you the story of how my brother with his dark sense of humor, ended up saving two kids from the insane temper of their abusive father.

I myself had something to do with it, a lot really. I goaded my brother into doing it. I procured the materials needed and acted as look out.

Before child abuse was a real crime, before there was national outrage over it, smacking your kid around in public was ignored by most people. Many refused to interfere with families that bashed their kids pretty heavily as well, as long as it didn't end up in broken bones. I know of one case, which I've written about before, where one girl had a constantly broken right or left arm and who saved her? It wasn't the State but her aunt. No one really interfered in that particular family either, save a relative.

The Carlsons who I used to play with were a family of three boys and one very short tempered Dad who went from calm to ballistic in about four seconds. The parents corralled their boys like you would a pen of dogs, with shouts, threats and promises of treats. I suppose that was the only tactic they had in their repertoire in raising three rambunctious boys. There was nothing in the way of parenting classes in the 70's and anyone going to one, had there been any, would've been laughed off the block.

One day, my brother was driving home in his Nova and passed the Carlson house to see this. The middle boy, Pauly, was scrambling as fast as he could on all fours, across the lawn while his Dad was kicking him. Pauly would put out his arm to block the kicks but ended up getting that arm whacked. My brother slowed the car down to a crawl, as Mr Carlson continued to kick his middle son in the back with his size eleven feet. Pauly at the time was ten years old.

Mr Carlson didn't stop even as he was being watched. Pauly managed to get to his feet, find the gate and flee down the street, escaping his Dad's wrath for the moment. If he could disappear for an hour or so, Dad would be calm by then.

Ken was relating this story to me in complete shock. “I can't believe that nutbag! He watched me watch him kick his kid like a dog!”

“So? That happens about three times a month there, it's nothing new” I say with a brush-off attitude. It's true. I had seen much more besides his kids being kicked. One time Pauly showed up, lifted his shirt and showed us the red welt of a belt, and belt buckle across his back.

Still, Ken was incensed at seeing this.

About a month later, as my brother was getting stoned and watching Monty Python's Flying Circus and I watching him getting goofier, decided to bring up that event he saw. For whatever reason he and I were trading jokes, stories and what have you when we got back on the subject of the Carlsons. This might have been 10 PM on a Saturday night.

I, being the little terrorist that I could be then, opined how funny it would be to spray paint, “Child Kicker!” on face of his garage door, which shown down the entire street and anyone approaching from the south end would have a bird's eye view of it the whole way up.

My brother, stops talking and slowly turns his head and stares at me. It was that look people have when the proverbial light bulb goes off in their head.

“That's an excellent idea! You can sneak down there and do it! I'll take a picture of it!”

After hearing myself being volunteered for this operation, I start backing out right away. Getting caught vandalizing the hell out of someone's property was beyond even my idea of retribution.

I then throw the idea back into his lap. Instead of painting his garage, he should spray paint the street right in front of his house. I leave the room, go into the cellar and find a half pint can of gold spray paint. I bring it up to my brother, shaking it hard, clacking that little mixing ball inside of it.

“C'mon...I know you want to do it!” as I shake the can in front of his face.

It took a few minutes of convincing him. I kept dredging up the scene he saw when he was driving home that day. I then sealed the deal by acting as lookout if anyone should notice him doing this.

By this time it was around 2 AM and we shut the lights, TV and everything else off in our house. We looked like another home that was fast asleep and we tried to stifle our giggles should we wake our Mom. We got into our dark Wrangler jeans, which were so deeply dyed indigo that they might have passed for black. For shirts, we found some of our darkest ones. Ken then tells me that if we should be discovered, don't be stupid and run home. Run in the opposite direction like a jack rabbit and make my way home via the back fence

We quietly snuck out the kitchen door and walked down the street on it's darkside away from the street lights. I then started over by Mr. Ward's high bushes to hide myself and keep an eye and ear out for any late night cars or prying eyes.

My brother, then, runs to the cross of the T where our street and another met and got on his hands and knees and started to spray. What was funny was that he wasn't spraying a small sign, the message was about seven feet by three feet in size. He had to keep repositioning himself to get the whole thing done.

Here's what was spray painted on the street with a HUGE arrow pointing directly at the Carlson house. Don't forget, it's 7 feet long by 3 feet wide. You can't miss it!

We scrambled back, barely hiding our guffawing and back into our bedroom. We were successful, no one saw us.

The next morning, my brother had awoke much earlier than I did. He came upstairs as I was finally getting up and he tells me;

“I sort of took a walk to CVS, ya know, get a copy of Time magazine (which he had in his hands) and I saw every Carlson kid out there with paint rollers and a tray of gray paint.” He then bust out laughing.

“The bastard SENT his kids out there to paint it over!”

My brother left my room giggling to himself.

After getting ready, I rode my bike down the street to see the Carlson kids finishing up, and filling up, this huge gray square of gray paint on the street. Acting surprised and all innocent, I ask what they're doing.

The eldest boy Steve rushes up to me to inspect my hands.

“What are you doing? I ask.

“Do you have any gold spray paint! HUH?” Steven was a bit angry and paranoid at the same time.

I shoot back, “What the hell are you talking about? Why? You want spray paint for the thing your painting on the street? Why are you painting the street anyway?

Steve, once asked what he was doing, backed away and brushed me off with the wave of his arm. I did very well at not giving myself away.

Ken and I never told a soul about what we did. We'd bring the story up to ourselves during the week, with my brother goofing...”Ah Ha Ha! I love social condemnation!” Since we did such a great job at never being caught, the entire neighborhood started talking to one another about who did it. None of the adults suspected kids of pulling this off. For a good month, till the stories died away, the neighbor's came up with this scenario and that one, occasionally placing blame on this one or that. They only ones who would suspect us were the other kids. They knew my brother and I were good for fucking with people's heads if we were so in the mood. But none had any evidence to hang this one on us.

But here's what happened that we didn't predict or tried to accomplish. Mr Carlson didn't touch his kids for another year, as best as we could tell. All three got a reprieve. My brother and I didn't set out to have this occur. Hell, it never came up. What we wanted to do was bust this guys balls in the most public of all ways. That was the goof of it. However, things turned out a bit differently.

Now imagine, you wake up one day, and you find a billboard in front of your house, easily read by all the neighbors, of some very true fault you have. A fault that borders on evilness. I suppose you to would change your ways. If not, you'd slink around, avoiding any eye contact with people as you quickly hop into your car each morning to go to work. Mr Carlson sure did. He had a brilliant Scarlet Letter on his forehead for a good while. I think he got a message my brother and I never sent.