“For a kid with some decent goodwill, you got some sense of retribution!” said a young adult about me when I told him how I flattened my Dad’s rear tire when I was 7 because I felt mistreated by him. Long story short, I felt oppressed by him one Saturday (I felt I was unfairly grounded and really took offense to his pulling rank on me as he did, “I’m the Dad and what I say GOES!”). God, even at that age I bristled at the idea of anyone lording raw, irrational power over me just because they could. So, to even things up I then placed two inch common nail snug against his right rear tire. When he would back up out of the driveway, it would drive itself right into the tire. My Mom and I didn’t hear from him for hours after as he was at some gas station in Providence getting it fixed.
**
When your a kid, you don’t face the enemy (adults) directly as that would be suicide. You do what the Viet Cong did in Vietnam, you go asymmetrical. You fight on your terms only and only if time, the situation and everything else is in your favor. Add to that, you had better be like the Mafia, consulting an attorney on what NOT to do so the state has no evidence to prosecute you when you commit the crime. In short, pre-plan accordingly to get away with it.
I can’t confirm it but in 1974, my parent’s marriage got a bit rocky over the fact my Dad, having been promoted to VP at First Federal Savings & Loan, was also given his own personal secretary, Kathy. Kathy, I remember was a 20 Something, Mary Tyler Moore sort-of look alike. My Dad was in his 40’s, probably bored of being married for the past 20 years and perhaps strayed. I can’t prove anything. I sometimes over heard sort of hushed arguments from my parents over “Kathy.” Mostly my Mom wondering just why my Dad was spending soo much time with her at various business meetings around Providence.
Kathy also called our house enough times speaking to my Dad but from what I heard, it was boring banking talk. But at other times he told my Mom he had to “go to the bank” to attend to some problem after hours which prompted my Mom asking, “Is Kathy going to be there?” My Dad spending quite a bit of time with a younger unmarried women sure got my Mom thinking.
Now I don’t know why I was irate at my Dad that particular week but probably it was more of the same, him acting like a jerk to me or God Knows What. But it was enough to my wanting a bit of payback. While my Dad was out of the house one night but Mom wasn’t, the phone rang. I answered it and it was near-alzheimered grandmother, Hilda, my Dad’s mom asking if “Richard” was home. I said “No” and hung up.
“Ronnie!” my Mom asks from the other room, “Who was that?”
Damn I could be quick on my feet at times. I nonchalantly lied and replied, “Kathy,” knowing it would perk my Mom’s attention real quick.
“KATHY? What did she want?” which prompted my Mom to come into the kitchen where I was.
“If Dad was home, something about the bank and a restaurant or something..it was hard to tell, she was whispering to me.”
“Whispering?” says Mom.
“Yeah..” I say.
Mom goes back to the living room to stew.
Lying in my bed that night, I could hear a real row going on in the cellar where they “discussed” matters so my brother and I wouldn’t hear. Well, I heard fine that night. I lay there knowing Dad was being ripped up and down by Mom with him badly explaining all this time he was spending with Kathy “professionally.” Mom never did ask too much about that call that night as all it did was open that can of worms that was open anyways.
“Got you back you son-of-a-bitch.” I thought as I lay there under the covers.
I was nine years old when I did that. Do I sound like Damien to you?
There was talk of divorce between them that year but as far as I know, nothing came of it. I suspect my Dad being elected CEO of the bank less than a year later may have changed my Mom’s mind. Legally, she was the “#1 Wife” and any other #2 had no claims whatsoever on his future earnings or insurance policies.
**
The other problem with being a kid and having neighbors is that they rat you out to your parents. The neighbors to my immediate south, the Walmsleys, took a real interest in me and the other kids on the street, looking to see if we were getting into trouble, and if so, report it directly to our parents. This became a hindrance to our having “fun.”
That summer, by brother had shown me how a siphon works. He had a clear plastic tube and placed it in a pail of water on the steps with the tube leading down, sucked on it and like magic, the water flowed, I was amazed by this. I had never seen one. So for a good few days I’m in the backyard siphoning buckets of water. When your 10 this stuff is what keeps you entertained. Simple things for simple minds!
One July in ‘75 I overheard Mr. Walmsley telling my Dad they were spending a few days on the Cape and would be leaving the upcoming Saturday morning. I don’t know how these thoughts came to me but the little Viet Cong in me started thinking quickly.
One: They were not going to be home this weekend.
Two: They have an above ground pool in the backyard.
Three: Siphons should work on that as it’s just a larger bucket of water. There is a way to empty the pool w/o slashing the liner.
So, late Saturday night when they had left that morning, I hopped the fence into their backyard. I crept to the far side and whipped the tube into their pool and pulled a long suck on it. Yecch! Chlorinated water! I then placed the tube gently against the side of the pool and lo and behold, it was running.
I hop the fence to my yard, go inside and go to bed.
The next morning I had forgotten I had done it. By late afternoon, the thought hit me and I snuck into their backyard and the whole lawn was squishy with water. I looked into the pool and ¾ of it was gone!
I quickly took the tube out and began fretting that I had “gone too far” and that the soaked backyard was not what I wanted. I snuck back hoping the next few days the July sun would dry it all out before they came home.
It did.
The day they came back I just acted like any other 10 yr old kid, riding my bike, playing with the others kids when I noticed my Dad and Mr. Walmsly talking over the fence. I can’t resist, I have to hear this! So I go back there like an uninterested kid and listen in.
“Richard, I don’t get it...the liner isn’t torn at all! I checked it out all morning and as I refill it, there is NO leaking!”
“Well” my Dad says, “I can’t explain it, but I never had a pool like yours so I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
I’m eating this up and I blurt out, “Maybe the summer sun evaporated it!”
My Dad shoots that idea down saying that three days of sunlight wouldn’t air out 500 gallons of water. It was then Mr. Walmsley shot me a look, a suspicious one, that I just had to of something to do with it. But what? He never trusted me or any of the other kids on the block for that matter. I believe my standing there with a mile-wide shit eating grin on my face probably made Mr. Walmsley think twice about me.
Much later that summer I told a few closer friends about it. “Ahh fuck him! He tells everyone what we do even when we don’t do it!”
Moral support from the neighborhood!
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