From the Age of Innocence...........A Pile of Poop!

From the Innocence of Youth.......A Pile of Poop

Peering innocently from behind the white picket fence, eyes fixated on the solitary stooped and dirty figure making his way up the hill towards "my yard," the innocence of youth fully consuming my inquisitive four year old being, "hey mister, where you going?" It must of been at this early age I realized the need to develop "my outside vocal cords," the dirty tattered figure ignoring me, continuing his slow progression up the long steep hill, towards the neighborhood of tidy little homes, along the long and narrow maple tree lined street, located in a quaint New England village called Yantic.  Not a care in world, looking for a friend, I slowly made my way towards the rose laden trellis, 

Actually a once thriving textile mill village, the "neighborhood" sat at the mid point of a long winding hill, our house, a Victorian-style building with a tremendous yard, a picket fence just tall enough to hide a short inquisitive and impatient four year old with very large brown eyes, who once again was preparing to ask the old hermit, "hey mister, where you going?" My second attempt, successful, maybe not visually but, the old guy new he'd heard something, just wasn't quite sure where and who it came from.  Stopping in his tracks, he peered slowly in the direction of the loud mouth, whose vocal chords had come to life quickly.  "Show yourself child," he demanded, his glare trying to pierce the wooden fence.  Bouncing back the same piercing stare as the old man, the innocence of youth firmly entrenched in my being, I swiftly ran to the trellis area,"hey mister, I'm up here, come on up?" "Come to to me child," the old voice cracking, fully winded from his slow jaunt up the hill."I can't, my Mom says do not leave the yard, you come here, Mom is cooking some good stuff, are you hungry mister?"

Walking through the back door into the large kitchen, screen door slamming, the next few moments happening so quickly, it was almost surreal. Mom, quite the tidy housekeeper, always glanced towards the door to remind anyone who walked into her kitchen, "remove your shoes!" I'd already warned the old man in tow she'd demand that, what I didn't know was "Mom had spunk" as well as a death grip now closing tightly upon my small being, letting me know I was in a pile a poop.  I actually felt quite bad for the old man being battered by this fiery, short tempered woman wielding a long wooden spoon, which at this point, most assuredly resembled a baseball bat, as he tried to grab his smelly old shoes, Mom hit a home run, I learned some new words I'd never heard spoken in our house before and even in the innocence of youth, I knew I was "in a pile of shit!" And.......that was right from Mom's mouth.