It was the 4^th of July, the 185th day of the year, just about the middle of the year. Actually, 2.5 days ago was the middle of the year. My mom usually does something special for middle of the year/our nation’s birthday/wiener and hamburger day. This year she decided to host a cookout in our house. She invited the whole family on both sides of the track. My grandma, from my father’s side of the family, that lives in Queens, and my grandpa, from my mom’s side, that lives in a nice old people’s home (sorry correction - Senior Retirement Community or like we call it sometimes a REC . . . Retirement of the Elderly Community) not too far from our house.

“Robert, take your filthy, arthritic hands off me right this minute or I’ll give you a fat lip!” grandma would say to grandpa.                                                 

“I love it when you talk dirty to me Erika!” Grandpa loved messing with my dad’s mom.

            Mom also invited dad’s cousin that lives in New York City. We don’t know too much about him or saw him that often. We do know that he travels a lot for his job and most of the times didn’t come over for the family stuff. My dad was an only child and his father was also, so we don’t have many cousins on his side of the family. But my grandma on my dad’s side had a sister and she had one child. This was Uncle Joey. Dad says that him and Uncle Joey grow up together in a neighborhood in Queens and got into some trouble in those days. Dad told us once a  story of the two of them being bored on a Sunday afternoon and they sneaked into a movie theater. The movie houses in those days only had one theatre. The boys filled their pockets with pepper, went over to the big fans they had in the back and threw the pepper into the blades. Then they would run outside the theatre to watch all the people hysterically running out cough and whizzing. Oh what kids will do for a laugh in ancient times!  Anyhow, I really never understood why dad and Uncle Joey didn’t see each other more often. It would be like if I grew up and never saw Johnny again. I couldn’t imagine.

But Uncle Joey always had an excuse for not coming to our house. Although most of the times he would have to travel for business, sometimes he would travel for pleasure, so he really was never around. This year’s excuse was a 2 year pre-arranged vacation to the Andes Mountains in Nepal. Can you imagine that? Choosing a spiritual trip to the highest most majestic place on earth, instead of coming to our house for a 4^th of July BBQ all you can eat, all you can drink, all you can take of family quarreling, all you can stand  of the boring annoying conversation until you can stand it no more family get together? Inexcusable!  

My mom also invited her brother, Bobby, that lives in Seattle. We’re not sure if he lives in Seattle because he likes the wet weather, or he just doesn’t want to be around family.  He doesn’t visit very often, so mom wanted to see if they could fly over for a week or so. But like always, he had a lame excuse. Having to finish painting your driveway before rainy season is weak sauce. It’s always rainy season in Seattle. But mom and dad had a real good friend that lives in North Carolina, Margaret. She went to the same school as they did, and she was like family. I don’t have one, but if I were to have a fairy god-mother, she would be it. She has an old then dirt mother, older then grandma and grandpa, a wonderful little boy Jack and an adorable mutt, Butchy. Her mom picked him from the Humane Society a few years ago and called her Cinderella.

“Mom, this dog is not a girl, LOOK!  It’s a boy!” said Margaret to her mom.

 “Well, I’ll be darn, your right.”  So they changed his name to Butcherella, nicknamed Butchy. He was big, sweet and friendly… and Prissy hated him.

 “Aaaaaaaggggghhhhh, ruff, ruff, aaaaaaagggggghhhh,” Prissy would say unwelcoming Butchy.  Then Prissy would stayed by dad all day, thinking that Butchy would take her man away or something. I’m guessing Prissy is also confused about whether Butchy is a girl or a boy. 

            I finally got my friend Sam back also. She was gone from the beginning of the summer and returned home just the other day. She usually goes visits her grandmother, aunts, uncles and cousins in Florida. Her mother’s brother works for the Mickey Machine in Orlando, so they have free passes for friends and family. It was great just to catch up with her. She told me about her insufferable trip to Disney World and how her little cousin wanted to ride ‘It’s a Small World’ with her again, and again, and again.    

     “Did you know that ‘It’s a Small World,’one of the most popular rides in Disney World, was actually on display in the 1964 New York World’s Fair?” Ian said as a matter of a fact, eavesdropping on our conversation.

  “No, I didn’t know that,” Sam said very interested.

  “Yes, they wanted Disney to create a ride that represents world unity.”            

 “Fascinating,” Sam said.                                                                              

       “And then,” he continued, “not only did they ask Disney and his long time war buddies and  song writers, Robert and Richard Sherman, to come up with a tune that represented international unity but that would also stick in your head again and again and again until you couldn’t take it anymore and you ran out of the ride screaming and yelling!”                                                                 

     “Wow, I can believe it,” Sam said with stars in her eyes, “that’s exactly how I felt on the ride. That’s amazing how you know how I feel.”

     Yuk! Actually Sam, that’s how everyone feels when they go on that ride!                       

     “Yes, yes, and till this day, the song and lyrics have never been copyrighted, it still remains a ‘gift to children of the world.’”                                                    

     “Oh, that’s so beautiful,” Sam said almost in tears.

     Double yuk!                          

     “If I would have known the history of the ride, I think I would have enjoyed it more. You’re so knowledgeable.”                                                                                                  

     “Knowledge is a powerful thing, my dear, especially when it is used correctly.”                                                                                                                 

     “Yessssss,” she said with a sultry sound in her voice.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

     Sam always had a thing for Ian and she was just his type. Samantha is tall, thin, has snowy white skin, with strawberry blonde, shoulder length, spiky hair, and is equipped with complementary beautiful green eyes.  She lives in a big house with her mom and her 8-10 sisters and brothers (sorry don’t know the exact number I lost track several years ago). But one thing that Sam learned from having so many siblings is how to take old hand me downs and make them into fashionable attire. I guess it helped that she had a knack for fashion. She read a lot of fashion magazines and just always knew what was in style.  She could take an old get up, add some accessories from a thrift shop and make it look like a WOW outfit. I don’t ever remember Sam wearing the same outfit twice. She’s a great gal pal to have around. I truly don’t understand why Ian doesn’t pay more attention to her, she likes him so much, I could tell.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

My mom also invited all my babysitting family clientele, and to give the kids something to do she went ahead and brought a slip and slide for them. She should of just gone ahead and rented a pony, a bounce house and a clown to entertain them. Not only would the little kids have enjoyed it, but the teens would have had a blast in the bouncy house and the adults would of loved making fun of the poor clown that had to work during a holiday.

The Bells showed up all dressed up in red, white and blue. ALL OF THEM, including the dog! “Hiiiiiiiiiiiii everyone!” Mrs. Bells shrieked. Mrs. Bells was great with the sweet bakery stuff, so she brought a cake that looked like an American flag. It had little flags all around it and sparkling candles that lasted hours. It was a sight to see. The kids put on their bathing suits and came to the slip and slide compliments of my mom.              

“Erick, Kayleen, no, no the slip and slide is not for dogs!” I screamed at them. “Oh poor KC.”

 Billy and Alexis then showed up unexpectedly. Their dad said he had an emergency to take care of. Don’t know what a dentist would have as an emergency on a holiday, but whatever, like mom said, “The more the merrier.” And of course, Johnny was there. His parents showed up for a little bit then left. They sat around and talked to mom and dad. Not much to say, we really don’t know them very well.

Even Captain Hetherington made it for our little soiree. His daughter dropped him off this morning dressed partially in his military outfit. She said he insisted to be probably dress for the b-day of our country. He brought along Linus, the devilish spawned cat. He stood in a corner and hissed at everyone that would pass by. Demon animal.

So, it was time to chow down. Dad was busy all afternoon on the grill and mom was making sure everyone had a drink with a little umbrella in their hands and that all her guests were happy. My mom had prepared a large picnic table outside in the back yard.

So, here we all are: the Bells in one side with Kayleen crying because she didn’t want mustard on her hotdog; Alexis and Billy fighting because Billy took a drink from Alexis’ cup then backwashed; Margaret’s mom, April, had one too many glasses of Peach Schnapps punch; Grandpa was hysterical because it was way past his dinner time and wanted to know why there was no french fries; KC was snatching everything he could find on the floor; Prissy was on  grandpa’s lap trying to grab some grub; Butchy was under the table hurling a pieces of hot sausage he stole from the grill earlier in the day; dad was trying to divided the burnt burgers and the almost mooing burgers; mom was running around the table handing out napkins and drinks, and in the mist of all this confusion Johnny yelled out, “Okay, everyone! Pix time! Look over here and say, ’Blaaaahhhh!’”                                                                                                                           

“Blaaaaaaahhhhhh!” everyone said. Click!

And just like that, a memory was made. 

The next day was Saturday. On the weekend, we don't do much of anything, at least we try not to. We usually watch TV and play video games; listen to Ian play guitar, and play video games; go outside for a walk, and play video games; go see Ian fence and play video games; shopping and play video games. Oh, did I mention already that on the weekends we play video games?

Not playing video games for the rest of the summer sounded like an eternity. What are we going to do with our spare time? My dad gave us both books to read over the summer. War and Peace and Treasure Island, he said they are classics. The word classical should be another word for long and dull. Oh well, we were going to have to read them sometime during our high school years anyway, so might as well get it over with. The good thing is, dad said if we read the books, he would minimize the punishment to 2 weeks. I’m guessing reading them was punishment enough.

"Have you started your book yet?" I asked Ian.

"Are you kidding, I can't get passed the Preface," Ian said.

“And you’re the one that likes to read,” I said back to him.

“Yeah, but out of my own free will, not as a punishment,” he said.

"Hey, I have an idea,” I said. “Why don't we tell mom that we're going down to the library to read, because it's quieter there and we'll look up the Spark Notes for the books? We could go through them in no time.”

 "Well, I don't like Spark Notes,” Ian said. “It doesn’t really go to the heart of the story, it just gives you a summary. Mom calls them Cheat Notes.”

            "These books are like 2,000 pages long, I don't want heart, I just want the facts," I said. "Oh come on, we haven't done anything sneaky in a long time. And do we really want to spend the rest of the summer reading?" I asked Ian, playing the devilish side of his conscious.

"No, I had illusions of grandeur of what my summer was going to be like, but now they are dissipated," Ian said softly.

"Talk American, will ya.”

So, that's what we did. We went down to the library, and for a whole week, we would just stay there and read the Spark Notes. Boy, when the Spark Notes for a book are longer than any book you’ve ever read, you know you’re in trouble. A week pasted, and we finally finished with the Spark Notes of our respective books. We would go home in the evening and just put the book in front of our faces with a magazine inside to make believe that we were reading the book. Little devils aren’t we.

It was the weekend again. Time fly's when your mind is num. The Bells went with their children to take a hike . . . no really, they went to the Adirondack Mountains to hike and camp out for a week. Oh yeah, that’s the kind of vacation I want- carrying big heavy bags, being bothered by pesky creatures, and having to fend for yourself. Hey, it sounds just like going to school! 

The Bonnelly's kids spent their week over their aunt's house that lives in Englewood Cliffs, so I didn't have any babysitter jobs that week. This gave us plenty of time to do our dirty deed and by the weekend we were all done.

 Dad took us to the movies on Saturday night, and then threw some murder burgers from White Castle down our throats. What is it about a little square burger out of a box that tastes soooooo gooooood?  We devoured 100 of them between the 4 of us, along with 25 boxes of fries, 15 boxes of onion rings and 10 chocolate shakes. I’m exaggerating of course, but not by much.

“Mom, Ian is taking up all the good air in the back of the car!” I said in frustration. Most likely, whenever we ate murder burgers, it would quickly reek havoc in our digestive system and give us the farts. Ian thinks his farts don’t smell, but he had a hidden talent in creating gases without making a sound. They are silent but deadly.

“Children you need to breath deep and evenly,” mom said very calmly. Then when the fart gases slowly seeped to the front of the car, dad rolled down the windows and left them down all the way home. The toxic fumes that came out of us from the burgers were lethal. If you would set a match, we would blow. When we got home, my dad had to leave the windows to the car open so it could air out. 

"Soooooo kiddies,” my dad said as we got home, "your mom told me you both finished your book assignments, very impressive. Finished in a week, very impressive.”

"Well, dad, you know," I said, "we are really sorry for what happened with the video game. We both admit we got carried away.”

"Yes, carried away… far away,” muttered Ian standing behind me.

"And we both really enjoyed reading such classical books as... such," I said.

"Very honored,” Ian muttered again.

"And I have to say, in behalf of both of us…”

"Nina, who was the author of War and Peace?" my dad wanted to know.

"The author, like who wrote the book? Like who spent soooooo much time writing a classic book, about the time of war and the time of peace?" I said stumbling.  I was trying to buy some time. How can I be so stupid? I read all of the Spark Notes and never notice or cared to notice wrote the book. Maybe our house would be on a sink hole and it would just open up and swallow me. There was a long pause while my dad glared at us.

"Go to your room . . . both of you . . . and start reading your books,” dad said. “And when you’re done, you can switch books and read the other ones book.” We left silently.

****   ****   ****

Sundays traditionally has been an ‘I’m not doing nothing if I don’t feel like it day.’ So, if we don’t feel like doing anything, we don’t. Even my mom that seems like she’s always cooking something for someone, on Sunday, the kitchen closes early. We do something call Bruncher – which is a combination of breakfast, lunch and dinner. See, we took the br of breakfast, the unch of lunch and the er of dinner and invented the word: Br-unch-ers.

And also, my parents do something called Mimosa Sunday. Yes, a colorful family we are.  Let me explain. We all drag out of bed around oh say noon, and the first thing dad will do is pop open a bottle of champagne. At this point my mom is in the kitchen cooking Bruncher and my dad is looking for the next and best champagne recipe on earth via the internet, while my brother and I are sipping on sparkling white grape juice, watching these two drink good champagne. 

“Okay, so last Sunday we did a Bellini, which is white peach and champagne,” he said. “That was good.”

“To tart for me,” commented my mom.

“Okay, nice to know,” said my dad. “How about this one… pomegranate and champagne?”

“Hmmm, I don’t think we have pom juice.”

“What no pom juice, disgraceful!” chimed in Ian. At that, we looked toward the sliding glass window to the back yard and pressed up against it face first is Johnny. Ian went to open the door for him. “We can’t be normal and use the front door, right?”

“Too normal, not for me,” said Johnny. “Yo, Konichiway bro, Konichiway sis. And power to the mom and dad,” he said as he sat down on a bar stool in the kitchen and served himself some champagne in a flute.

“What do you think you’re doing young man?” my dad asked him.

“Oh come on dad, I can handle it…I’m not like these two light weights over here,” Koon said as he dangled his fingers over to us. 

“First, don’t call me dad,” dad said.

“Honey,” mom responded.

“And second, you’re under age, like my children. You are not permitted to drink. What you do in your own house is not of my affairs. But, you will drink the sparkling grape juice in this house until you are 21,” he said very firmly.

“Wow, that hurt,” Johnny said quietly. “Sooooo, can I call you dad… or what?”

My father just sighed. Johnny is truly a hopeless case. 

“Mom and dad promised us on the day of our high school graduation we could have one flute of champagne each. So, if you want to join us in 2 years, 10 months, 4 days, 6 hours,  31 minutes and ( looking at the clock and waiting) . . .10 seconds from right know, you’re more than welcomed,” I told Koon with a half smile.

“Geez, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Johnny went to the same school with us, was in the same grade, and almost has the same classes as me, except when he doesn’t show up for class, which is half the time. So I’m thinking that he was going to graduate with us… I think.

“Oh, this one is simple,” my dad said. “It’s called a Strawberry Sundae Champagne delight. You use strawberry daiquiri mix and champagne accompanied by fresh cut strawberries.”

“I just brought fresh strawberries at the farmer’s market on Thursday. I’ll get some out, and cut them. That’ll be perfect!” my mom said with a bounce in her voice. It’s kind of sad to see what our parents get excited about these days. But, whatever gets you through the night is alright by me, right?

My parents downed one bottle of champagne in no time. It doesn’t seem to faze them one bit. They say they only drink one, but I think they trick us and bring out another one when we’re not looking.

Bruncher is usually a little bit of everything - eggs, bacon, waffles, baked ham, potatoes, hummus, dips of all kind, plenty of bread. (NOTE: Mom makes her own bread. And it is to die for. Watch out Wonder Bread and Merita!) Our Bruncher looks like a breakfast house just fired their breakfast cooks and decided to put the night people to cook. But it was all good.

In the summer time we would watch a good Yankee game on TV, or the Tour de France in the month of July or Formula One racing whenever it’s on. The winter of course, is all football - pro football, semi-professional football, arena football, Canadian football, College football and Pee-Wee football, which sometimes are the best games. Those little devils really get into it. But for the most part we drink, eat, relax and had fun. 

My dad is a pretty big guy. You think he would have a Doberman Pincher, a Boxer or a Pit Bull for a dog. So in contrast, it’s kind of funny seeing him with the Dog. But Prissy loves him. 

“Oh you crazy Dog…yes, I know, I know you’re a crazy Dog,” He says with a high playful tone, as Prissy is standing on her hind legs on top of the couch shivering, shaking, wagging her tail and uncontrollable sneezing and yawning at the same time to grab dads attention. 

“Know your roll Dog . . . it’s a dog-eat-dog world out their Dog, it’s a dog-ea- dog world  . . . know your roll!” Mmmmmmmm . . . arf arf arf, achoo,  AAAAAUUUUUUUOOWWWHH! Pathetic.

I can't believe I haven't blogged for almost a month! My teacher is going to KILL ME!

We went inside the house for dinner, and then after dinner mom went to deposit Captain Hetherington back home, which left me and Ian all alone in the house.  You feel different when a grown up is not around. Even if you do the same old thing, you just feel different. So, Ian and I sat around playing video games. Koon came over to visit.

"Hey, did you two ever find out what's in that 'secret room' of your dads?" asked Johnny while manhandling the video game controller staring at the TV screen. My house is a regular run of the mill North Jersey home that has two stories. The living area on the bottom and the sleeping quarters on top, with a basement almost the size of the house, a small yard, and the house next door so close you can stick your arm out of your bedroom window and touch their window sill. Not to flashy, not too big, but not too small, just comfortable for the 4- 2 legged humans and 1-4 legged dog. But downstairs, in the living area, there is an extra bonus room that could be used for a game room, a study, or a spare bed room for guests. This room in our house is known as… the 'Secret Room.'  We call it that because dad has always kept it a 'secret' from us. When we were little he would tell us goblins and snakes and all kind of creatures lived in that room. But I would always ask, "Well, daddy, why don't you get rid of then?"  He never had a good answer.  As we grew older, our curiosity took the best of us. And that's when dad put a lock on it. 

"Mom, is dad ever gonna tell us what's in the 'Secret Room?’" I would ask her. 

"Com’on  mom...you know what’s in that room... tell us...tell us...tell us,” we would chanted.

"Look, you two have your special spots, your rooms; I have my special spot, my garden and sewing room. So dad has his special spot, the 'Secret Room,’” she said.

"What, we have our what?” Ian said. “Special spot? Mom, my room is Grand Central Station around here! How can you say it’s my space?”

"Yeah, I don't have any privacy in my room neither," I said.

"It's either, dear," my mom corrected me. "Look, that's your dad’s special room. And you know what. . . he pays the mortgage of this house.” She became more heated as she rambled on. “So, I'm thinking that he could have ONE special room to call his own. And when you two minors, non-contributing, food grubbing, parasite members of the family grow up and become big people with big people jobs, and make big people money, maybe you can have a big people 'special room' yourselves!” Ouch.

"Na,” I said to Johnny as I was into the game, “we kind of just gave up on it." Oh fudge, I missed getting into the castle.

             "I mean, don't you ever wonder what he has in there? Like, like maybe he has bags full of dead corpses and, and pieces of body parts just lying around, like,” Koon said with a grin on his face. “I mean, he does work in a hospital, right?”

“Yes, and most of the people he works with are still ALIVE!” I said. “I think he works in the ‘living people’ portion of the hospital.”

"No Johnny, that has never really come to mind," Ian said, also very intense in his game. "Oh, you see what just happened! Koon, dude, if you want to stay that's fine, but I'm trying to get to the second of the fourth to the last before the end level, and you’re making me loose my concentration. Go downstairs and play with Mr. Hetherington's walker or take his blue pill so you can chill.”

"Are they on top of the counter downstairs?" Johnny asked.

"AAAAAhhhhhhhh, you see! You see what you did!" Ian yelled to Johnny.

"Dude, I didn't do nothin'. You’re just playing muy sucko today.”

"Ian, calm down. Koon is right . . .you are playing muy sucko today," I said with a chuckle.

"Okay, okay, I've had it! Here you go Nina, how-do-you-like-that, and that!" Ian screamed. POW! SMACK! BAM!

He was purposely smacking my character around without provocation.

"Hey, cut that out you moron! I didn't do nothin' to you!" And with that, I start fighting back. "Take that sicko! And that pee brain!”

"Oh, Nina that was a good one," Johnny chimed in.

"Shout up Jon-a-thing!" Ian shouted.

Then Ian went ahead and did the unthinkable. After months of building up my character and fighting against unmentionables and just struggling to reach this level . . . Ian completely struck me down to a nothing!  It's like I never played the game, it's like I never existed! I had to start from SCRATCH! My breathing was fast, my eyes swelled up with tears and I had snots coming out of my nose.

"Oh, oh. She's gonna bloooow," Johnny said under his breath. "I'm out of here.”

It took Johnny just seconds to get out of the room . . .then I jumped Ian! Not like in the game, I literally and physically jumped him! "You idiot! Look what you did!" With spit, snot, and slobber coming out of me, I attacked Ian, and then he started pushing back with his feet.  I went flying right into his bed. Ian then took out a tennis racket and made believe it was one of his fencing swords.

"Ha ha, ha take that!" he said as he continued to poke me in my stomach. I let him do it several times but after a while I reached for the racket, took possession of it and broke it in half. Moment of silence.

"AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!" Ian screamed. Then he really attacked me.

We were on the floor wrestling and grabbing anything we could find to hurt each other. That’s when my mom walked in the room. I knew she had walked in the room, but that wasn't gonna stop me from betting on Ian.

"Oh, Lord. Stop it! Stop it! Stop it, the two of you this instant!" she yelled. And when she physically tried to separate us . . . that's right. . . that’s when she went down too! She swirled on the floor still trying to stop us get up on her feet, but we kept on sending her back to the floor. Then with one good thrust of adrenalin she separated us. My hair was all over the place, Ian had cuts on his arms and his shirt was ripped. I was bruised.

"Get out of this room! Right this instant! MOVE IT!" she screamed with an authoritative voice.

 We sat quietly in the kitchen table as she made an assessment of the casualties. 

"I left you two alone for 1 hour! One hour! You both are 15 years old, and you can't behave properly for 1 hour!?" mom yelled.

"Well, he started it!" I said to my defense. Ian stuck his tongue out at me. I stuck mine back.

"Shut up, shut up when I'm talking to you! Do you think this is the way two grown teenagers should be acting . . . answer me!"

"Well, I . . . I mean, no.”

"Shut up! Look at you both, all cut, bruised and tattered, all because of what, huh, all because of what? Answer me!"

"I'm confused whether or not we could talk," Ian said softly.

“Agh.” She walked away in a huff into the bathroom to get the first aid kit. And as she left, we started to elbow and kick each other. And although mom was still in the bathroom and not in our field of vision, she knew exactly what was going on in the kitchen.

"You two better stop it by the time I get to the kitchen, or had already killed each other, because if not I'm gonna finish the job off myself!" she shouted from the bathroom.

We were sitting next to each other but facing opposite ways on the stools by the kitchen counter. When she came back, we proceeded trying to explain both of our stories.

"But, mom you don't understand what Ian did to me!" I said as I started to cry.

"Oh, yeah, a woman's ultimate weapon . . . tears,” Ian said with a sarcastic tone.

"I don't want to hear it from either one of you,” mom said as she started wiping down our wounds. “I don't care what happened in your game. If triffle dinkes didn't survive, or wasapoppys were destroyed. IT'S-A-GAME! When are the two of you going to understand the difference between a game and reality? I don't care what happened to you in the game, it should have stayed IN-THE-GAME!" Mom was already patching up Ian's cuts and gave me an ice pack to place on my bruises.

"I'm taking away your games for a week," she said.

"What, oh no mom, come one, not fair!" we both shouted.

"Okay. Two weeks. Wanna go for an even month.”

We both just sucked in some air then let out a long sigh, not knowing what to say. Then all of a sudden . . . salvation. My dad was home. He plays with us. He knows the intricacies of the game. He knows how important this game is to us. He'll fix all of this.

"Honey, you’re home early," mom said to dad as he was walking in through the basement door. My dad usually doesn’t work on Friday nights. He works extra hours on Thursday to have a 3 day weekend, but today he was called in.

"Yeah, slow evening.  So what do we have here?" he said looking at both of us with a bewildered face. My mom explained. You know, her version of the truth. Then he heard my version of the truth. Then he heard Ian's version of the lie. I was very sure he would understand.

"And what was their punishment?" he asked my mom.

"No video game for 2 weeks," she said.

"Huh, that's absurd,” dad said. 

Oh yeah, here it comes.

"No video games for the rest of the summer!" he said.

There wasn't enough air in the room for me and Ian to suck in.

"And, don't-test-me.” With that dad went to the refrigerator, retrieved a drink, left the kitchen and went to the bedroom.

            With a smirk on her face mom walked away also. And without looking back at us she said, "Oh, and by the way… pick up the mess in the bedroom before going to bed…both of you.” Rats!

As I walked home from Dr. Bonnelly’s house, I thought about the challenges taking care of Alexia and Billy brought me. Here I’m thinking that 2 older children would be easier. At least they could communicate better, and wipe their butts when finished with their business. The problem is that I find the more I communicate, the less they listen. As for the butt wiping thing, I draw the line there!  I’m starting to learn that every age group has their advantages and their sets of problems.

When I got home, mom had just picked up an elderly person that she takes care of every once in a while. She would bring him over to our house and take care of him as needed. Downstairs in the finished basement she had a bed and some clothes in case he needed to stay overnight. He also had a cat named Linus that he would occasionally bring with him. That was fine by us, but unfortunately, Linus and Prissy were mortal enemies. The cat would hiss at Prissy . . . Prissy would growl back at the cat. . . Linus would try to claw Prissy and Prissy would run away. Prissy’s hair in the back of her neck would stand up once the cat walked in the house. Prissy would sit on top of the arm rest of dad’s recliner and scope out every single move the cat would make. She didn’t move her body or her head, just her eyes. Creepy.

But my mother didn’t mind bringing them over. As long as I can remember, mom tried doing jobs that would revolve around the family’s schedule. She says her first and most important job in the world was to keep her family happy and well fed. My mother is very nurturing, so she loves taking care of people. She's been taking care of seniors for years, maybe decades. Families would drop off their parents for my mother to take care of them or my mom would pick them up and bring them to the house. It was like an elderly day care center. Instead of toys, coloring books and blocks, we have walkers, wheelchairs and portable potties and lots of crossword puzzles just lying around the house.

I’m sure the seniors also enjoyed the difference in scenery being in someone else’s home. They would sit outside in the garden;  play with Prissy; enjoyed when me and my brother would get home from school, smiling at the back and forth dialogue of a good argument between siblings (probably reminiscing of their own young family);  or just being around another human being. 

Mom was kind of busy today and dinner was going to be late, so my brother and I decided to go out and get some pizza and stop by the library to drop of some books that were overdue. Mom was taking care of Mr. Hetherington that afternoon. It was actually Captain Lieutenant Perceval Jeffrey Hetherington. He served for 52 years in the National Guard defending our country and protecting our land. Now he enjoys a good ginger ale, watching cartoons and taking out his false teeth in front of other people. He showed us a picture of him in uniform one day, and I got to say, wow!  He sure was a good looking man. But even after all these years he is still very proper and militant.

“Hey mom," I said as I entered the house.

"Yo, mom," Ian said.

"Yo mom?” mom said. “Ian please, I believe your vocabulary is a little better then that!"

“Okay . . . yo-yo mom,” he said.                                                              

“That’s better.” Sigh

"What-cha cooking?" I asked.

"Rocks.”

"Ah come one.”

"Okay, rocks in a snake stew.”

"MmmMmm, snake strew with a side of rocks, my favorite," Ian said.

"You’re a butt head, you know that," my mom said to Ian 

“Uuuuuuuuuu, mommy with a potty mouth . . . you kiss your mama with that mouth?” Ian said to mom sarcastically looking through the fridge for something to drink. “You wonder where we get the potty mouth in this family.”

“That would come from your father’s side of the family dear,” mom said.

“Say, where’s the old person?” Ian asked taking out a juice boxes from the fridge and throwing one over to me. 

“His name is Captain Lieutenant Perceval Jeffrey Hetherington. And be careful, you’re looking at your future,” my mom said very seriously pointing at us.

Oh, my. We would get that old one day too?

“Ah, ah, ah . . . not polite to point,” Ian said. “My mother taught me that.” 

 “And who calls their son Perceval?” I asked. A deep sigh came from my mom.

Captain Hetherington has the beginnings of dementia, which mom explained to us it was associated with elderly people and one of the symptoms are a decline of memory or thinking skills, sever enough to reduce a person’s ability to perform everyday activates. 

“He’s a nice, distinctive gentleman,” mom said. “So you mind him.” She continued while still busy heating up some soup for Mr. Hetherington. “I gave him a nice bath, but had a lot of trouble putting on his pants. He said they’re too tight, so I just gave him one of your dad’s robes.”

“Mom, we weren’t asking for details just his approximate location in the house,” I said. Slerp.

“Anyway, I took him outside to the garden with Prissy, so he could get a little of sun and water the plants . . . he likes watering the plants.”

“Is Lucifer here?” Ian asked with a droll tone.

“It’s Linus, and yes he is here . . . somewhere, underneath something, hiding.”

            Ian and I switched our attention to the sliding glass door where Prissy was scratching trying to get in. We just stood there for a minute or so, because we couldn’t believe what we were seeing.

And my mom continued, “You two should take more of an interest in your community of senior citizen, they’ve earned our respect.”

“Mom,” I said.

“You would be surprised how fulfilling it is to help a person that can’t help themselves anymore.”

“Mom,” Ian said.

“You both should start with your own grandparents you know.”

“Mom,” we both interrupted.

“That would make them very happy.”

“MOM!” we both screamed. “What is Captain Hetherington doing outside?”

Captain Hetherington was supposed to be outside in the garden with Prissy, watering the flowers. But he decided he also wanted to sun bathe in the nude and used another type of hose to water the plants. From our angle, it looked like he was holding his wee wee to water the flowers, with the water pressure on full throttle. No problem with the plumbing there!

“Captain, Captain Hetherington, no!” My mom said as she went outside to cover him up with the robe he left on top of a patio chair and brought him in. “Oh my gosh, Captain Hetherington, no, no, no, you can’t do this.”

Ian and I backed up from the door as they came in.

“He doesn’t have leprosy, he just has no clothes on,” my mom said to us as she was walking in with the old man.  He was oblivious to what just happened. He had no idea he was a bad boy.

So mom took him down to the basement were she had her senior playroom. She put him in bed, turned on ‘Dragon’s Tales’ (his favorite), and gave him a blue pill, that for sure will make him sleep until the next day. The next thing we knew the door bell rang and it was Mrs. Stockwell from next door. She is the least tactful nosiest person in the neighborhood. 

“Hello Helen,” my mom said when she opened the door in kind of ‘I know what she wants’ way. Mrs. Stockwell was from the south, somewhere, Georgia, Alabama or Hell. She wore high hair and shocking red lipstick and had a big clumsy English Bull Dog that she called General Grant, because she says his great-great-great grand papi was owned by General Ulysses Grant. No wonder the south lost the war, all the soldiers had to do is take one look at his dog and run up as far north as possible. I love animals, but wow, this dog is so ugly… he’s, he’s beautiful. 

“Goo’ afternoon, Katherine, I do declare. When are you going to learn how to control your clients? They ‘re children livin’ in this community,” she said in a snooty southern accent. Ian and I just stood behind the door laughing with my mom gesturing with one of her arms to shut up. 

“Mrs. Stockwell, Helen, I do believe your children did not see Captain Hetherington running in the bare, I’m I correct?”

“Yes, well sort of,” Mrs. Stockwell said.

“Yes, maybe because you DON’T have any children, is that not correct Mrs. Stockwell,” mom said very forcefully. You go mom!

“And isn’t it true, Mrs. Stockwell, even if you had the blessing of having children, they probably would not have  been peeking out of their bedroom window in the middle of the day, isn’t that correct Mrs. Stockwell?”

“Well, I could not tell you…”

“So, maybe if you would keep your eyes to yourself and mind your own business, you wouldn’t be seeing men with no cloths from your bedroom window…oh, I’m sorry, or is it that you couldn’t help yourself from looking because… you haven’t seen a naked man in oh maybe, NEVER!”

“Well, I’ve never!” Mrs. Stockwell said in a huff walking away.

“Yeah honey, I think that’s your problem, YOU’VE NEVERED!” my mom shouted outside as Mrs. Stockwell left with her dog huffing and puffing just like his owner. My mom slammed the door shut and rested against it for a moment. She usually doesn’t get this huffy with people, she has the patience of a saint.

“High five, mom! Way to go! You got her good!” we both chanted.

“Noooooooo,” she said sharply, swinging her index finger at us. “Don’t-you-dare-tell-any-of-this-to-your-dad!”  And she turned around and left.        

We both just looked at each other and started to laugh. Then we looked outside the big bay window in front of the house and notice a long trace of dog slobber along our walk way.

“Great, ugly dog slobber, the worst to clean.”

****   ****   ****

Ian and I went out front to clean up some of the slobber when we saw a man dressed in Khaki shorts and a brown shirt that said ‘Pampered Pooch - You Bark, We Park.’  And with him he had Sandy's 3 Danes. The dogs were walking right beside the man, very straight and all in unisons. Wow, I wish I could walk my dog like that. 

"Hey, Ian those are Sandy's dogs I was telling you about,” I told my brother.

"Is that the dad walking them?" he asked.

"No, she told me they had a service to walk them, and groom them, and train them, and show them.”

"Are you kiddin’?"

"No, I wish I was.”

"Wow, compared to Prissy, they sure are big,” Ian said. "I can't believe as old as Prissy is she really thought she could chase these 3 beasts down.”

“It’s Prissy’s world and we just live in it,” I said.

"Yeah, I guess small dogs just don't understand how small they really are,” Ian said.

They really don't. Like Prissy really thought she could take these three dogs down? And if she could out run them, then what? Was she going to destroy them one ankle bite at a time?

"Just remember,” I told my brother as we were finished cleaning the dog slobber, “if you ever take Prissy out, please put her on her leash.”

"I don't walk dogs," Ian said very sternly. "Besides, she's your crazy old dog, not mine.”               

Alrighty then.