2-26-09

Creativity comes in all shapes and sizes; mine is a triangle

I had a column for the paper all worked out in my head about this past weekend.
Friday night, after work, I left for a weekend with my longtime friend Matt Brozey who lives in Myrtle Beach.
This was a weekend that had been in the making for about 2 months. We had a full weekend planned out to utilize every hour to its fullest.
We were to shoot pool on Friday night, ride motorcycles and four-wheelers at an ATV park all day Saturday and see a live boxing match Saturday night.
Sunday, I was served a great blueberry pancake breakfast, packed my bags, and started back home.
That story was trumped by a surprise from my son.
On the way out of North Myrtle Beach, I stopped at a large gift shop to find a little surprise for my two children.
Whenever I travel somewhere I try to bring home a gift for them. I bribe my son into being a good boy for Mommy by telling him that, “If you take care of Nash and Mommy and go to bed on time, I will bring home something special for you.”
This seems to work and every time I call home to check on the family, Ethan asks, “Whad’ja get me, Daddy?”
As always, he was a wonderful boy for Leigh and helped out with turning out the lights at night and reminding Mommy to turn on the alarm before they went to bed.
So I got him a present. I was going to get him one anyway.
As I pulled under the carport, I was getting excited to open the door and hear the kids yell, “DADDY.”
I love that.
I asked Ethan to give me a report on the weekend and quizzed him on whether he did his “man-of-the-house” duties like I asked.
He informed my that he did everything and even ate all of his dinner and played with his sister.
“Good job son, I am proud of you,” I commended him.
“Whad’ja get me, Daddy?” Ethan quickly asked.
I gave him his surprises and he was excited and proud that he had done a good job.
All of the sudden he dropped everything and looked at me and smiled.
“I have a surprise for you, Daddy. I made you something.”
He ran back to his room and after some shuffling of papers and moving of some toys, he came running back down the hallway yelling, “Close your eyes, Daddy.”
I closed them and held out my hands.
Something that was heaver than one piece of paper was in my hands.
“Open them.” Ethan shouted while doing a quick jump in the air from the balls of his feet.
In my hands was a triangular shaped piece of tan construction paper. Crayon-drawn shapes were adorning the front and they were all meticulously laid out and colored in the lines.
“Why thank you, Bud. This is a great picture.”
“It’s a hat, Daddy. It’s a Creativity Hat. Put it on.”
Opening up the triangle-shaped construction paper “hat”, he continued, “When you have a hard time thinking of something to draw or color, you can put the hat on and it helps you think. You can take it to work and wear it.”
I wore the hat all night. We played video games and he kept telling me that the hat was making me think better and that is why we were winning.
I am going to take it to work. When ever I have a hard time designing an ad or laying out the paper, I am going to put it on. It might even help me come up with a subject for a column.
After all, it helped us win at Mario Kart.
Bryan Pinkey can be found under the “Hat of Creativity” or at bpinkey@nccox.com and now all of his stories are archived at jbryanpinkey.blogspot.com.

2-19-09

A sweet lesson in middle school economics

With all of the talk about the economy and greed on Wall Street lately, it got me thinking about a time when I was on top of my game and was loaded with money. Maybe I have a weak spot for money, but for some reason, I find myself relating. Let me explain.
I remember sitting a few seats up from the back of the school bus when I started sixth grade. Sitting in the back was a privilege for the kids that were cool, knew someone, or were in the eighth grade. I just happened to get on the bus early in the morning.
There was a tall and lanky guy that wore a light gray Members Only jacket on his back and a black “unbreakable” comb in his back pocket. He seemed to have a lot of friends on the bus.
I remember his name well. Sean O’Riley.
I soon found out that if you wanted a pack of gum or a sucker, or anything sweet, for that matter, he was the guy to go to.
He sold candy on the bus during the morning and afternoon rides. He was the only eighth grader that sat in the middle of the bus. I found out that this was so that everyone could get to him easier. Smart.
I studied his movements and procedures for about a month or so until I caught on.
While buying a pack of gum and a few Blow Pops from him one morning, we had a little talk. I asked him if we could work something out so that I, too, could sell candy on the bus so that I could make a little money for myself.
Sean didn’t have a problem with it, so that night I asked my dad if he would let me borrow $20 and drive me to 7-Eleven (a D.C. equivalent to Circle K).
“What in the world for, son?” Dad asked.
“I want to buy candy to sell on the school bus,” I said as if this was a normal request of every level-headed sixth grader.
We went back and forth trading the points of saving money and making dumb decisions.
“Dad, trust me. I can sell candy on the bus and make money. I will be able to pay you back the money I borrow and I shouldn’t have to borrow any money again.” I finally pleaded.
“I am going to do this just to teach you how quick your money can be lost and how it is important to save. If you don’t make the money to pay me back, then you will have to work it off,” Dad retorted with a bit of defeat.
Off we went.
After “shopping” for the type and brands of candy that I had learned would sell, I laid out my investment on the well-worn melamine counter. The clerk looked down at me and then at my dad as if to say, “What the heck kind of parent are you?”
Blow Pops, Hershey bars, Nerds, Sour Patch Kids, Atomic Fire Balls, Bazooka gum, Pixi-Stix, if it was popular and demanded a price, I bought it.
The next morning, I walked through the yellow double-hinged doors of the school bus like a man in Vegas that new his opponents tell.
It was on.
That night, I sat down at the dinner table and Dad asked me, “Well, how did the candy sale go?”
I told him, “Good.”
I think he was expecting to hear a sob story and give me a pick-me-up talk
“How much did you sell?” Dad asked.
“All of it,” I responded while shoveling in another fork-full of mashed potatoes.
“By the eleventh bus stop!” I finished.
There was a pause.
“How much did you make?”
“$45.25, not counting what I ate,” I updated.
From that day on Dad took me to 7-Eleven every Sunday and Wednesday.
Over the course of the three middle school years, I rose from “kid in the back of the bus” to a full-blown “Tony Montana.”
I began taking special orders and buying in bulk. Sam’s Club helped with my profit margin.
I bought a larger book bag to carry ALL of my books in so that my locker could be turned into a makeshift candy store.
Between classes I would sell from my locker.
Yes, my teachers knew. But I kept my grades up and there was no reason for alarm.
We always went to Ocean City for our family vacation. During those years I always had my own spending money.
Candy, baby. I was in the big time. That summer I bought the best skateboard that every kid wanted and I paid in cash.
Vision Gator skateboard, red Chuck Taylors, parachute pants. I bought them all myself.
By my last year of middle school, I realized that I wasn’t reaching my entire market. I was now in eighth grade and lost touch with my people. There were sixth graders going around without sweets.
I reined in my friends and began to make boxes of candy to sell. I would sell a box of $3.50 for $6.00 to my friends and explain how they could sell it for $12.00.
Why not? We were all winning and I was still on top.
Making money hand over fist, it was time for me to graduate to the ninth grade.
The next year I quickly realized that I was back on the bottom and candy wasn’t in demand. High school kids could drive to the store and get whatever, whenever. I had to find a new “career.”
So I guess with all of the economy troubles going on now, I have to be careful with my money. Although, if I were to lose my job, I think I would try my hand at being a bus driver.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com or now all of his stories are archived at jbryanpinkey.blogspot.com.

2-12-09

A crafty family shopping trip ends with a Valentine ‘Secret’

This past Saturday, my family and I went down to Wilmington for the day. We did a little bit of running around, mixed in some visiting with family, and a little bit of playing.
The Children’s Museum was our first stop. This was a place that none of us have ever been. After a surprising $32 to get in, we ran behind Ethan as he quickly visited every station in the building for a fifteen second preview.
“Wow, look at this!” “Hey, Daddy, a cannon!” “Whoa, can I have this?”
Needless to say, he was excited.
Ethan is a very creative little boy and loves to make things and color. When he came to the room that housed a sixteen foot craft table covered in brown paper piled high with colored pencils, glue, glitter, markers and miscellaneous pieces of fabric, he stood at the doorway like a deer in headlights.
He stayed in that room for a solid two hours, he and Mommy made Valentine’s cards for every person in our family.
Ethan missed half of what the museum had, but he didn’t care.
After the craft fun, we ended up at Mayfair shopping center for a late lunch, or what I like to call an early dinner. We all had a great meal, mostly because we had a large table away from the rest of the crowd. This allowed us to let the kids play a little. What also helped was the fact that they were allowed to color on the table.
After our dinner, we walked around to do a little window shopping. One thing on our agenda was for Ethan and me to find Valentine’s presents for Mommy and Nash.
Ethan told me that while he was with Grahm and Pop-Pop (my mom and dad) the week before, they came to the same place and that he saw a stuffed dog at a store that he wanted to buy for Mommy.
He couldn’t remember the name of the store but he told me that “It was a pink and white store and there were “statues” and it was “girly.”
We ducked in and out of every clothing and gift store that I could find. I would ask, “Is it this one?” “Not this one,” he would respond.
Finally, I called my mom. “Where did you and Dad take Ethan that they were selling stuffed dogs?”
I can’t remember,” Mom answered. She listed off the places that she took him into and we tried a few of those.
I told Mom that we would just keep looking and thanked her for helping.
At that second Ethan blurted out, “Here it is! This is where Pop-Pop and I went”
We were standing at the festively decorated entryway into Victoria’s Secret.
Thanks, Dad.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com

2-5-09

My son and I argued all the time. Now, Wii get along just fine

I have included my son, Ethan, in many of the stories of my trials and tribulations that I have written about.
My wife says that we are just alike. Stubborn, set in our ways, have a temper and are the angriest SOB’s when we are hungry.
We, Ethen and I, have been known to argue ‘til we are both blue in the face... over very simple things.
I hold strong to not talking back, please and thank you, no hitting, and treating Mommy with respect. If I can get him to do just one of these during the course of a week, I feel like I have won the battle. The only problem is that I am fighting a war.
There was a time that I was taking Ethan to day care before I went into work. Leigh was going to school to finish her teaching degree. She was commuting to ECU from Kenansville everyday and having to leave at 5 a.m. Ethan’s day care wasn’t even open at that time.
I would go in his room to wake him up and he would start to cuss me from the start. I would struggle to get him dressed, socks on, teeth brushed and set him in front of the TV so that he would stay still so that I could quickly get myself ready and maybe shave.
Most of the time, I would get ready and walk back out to the den and not see him anywhere. He had taken his clothes off and gone back to bed.
Son of a ....Gun!
I found out quick that he was not a morning person, just like his old man.
Apple trees make apples!
We would battle from the time I tried to drag him out of bed to the time I pushed him through the door at his day care. By this time, I was usually running about 20 minutes late for the start of my day. Those ladies at his day care must have known what a struggle I just had because there were a few times that they said, “Mr. Pinkey, why don’t you sit down for a minute.” Or “We made sausage for the children and have some left over, why don’t you get yourself a bite before you go to work.”
Was it that obvious?
Yup.
My boss knew! At least once a week he caught me on my way in and pulled me aside to let me know that he understood my situation with Ethan in the morning, “But could you please try to make it into work only fifteen minutes late... please?”
It was a tough time.
Everything is better now. Leigh takes him to school in the morning.
Ethan and I have been getting along a lot better these days. I like to think that it is because he is older and all of my lessons and lectures have sunk in or my patience has become stronger. But I am just fooling myself.
We just bought a Wii.
For those of you who don’t know what a Wii is, it is a video game system. Unlike the older systems that use a joystick, this one works off of motion. If you ar playing a bowling game, you have to hold the controller and move your arm in the same way you would if you were rolling a real bowling ball.
The rule is, Ethan can’t play until he takes a bath, eats his dinner, picks up his toys and his sister is in bed.
What a change. He comes home and takes his clothes off, jumps into the bathtub and washes off. He then gets his PJs on and gets to the dinner table to shovel in his food. After dinner, he asks if it is time for Nash to go to bed. “No, son, it is only 6 p.m.” He usually lets out a long, “Awwww Maaann.”
As soon as I come out of Nash’s room from putting her down, he knows it’s on. It’s time to battle in the world of Mario Kart, a race car game that makes us laugh, stomp our feet, and makes Mommy shush us and say, ”If you boys don’t quiet down, I’m going to turn it off.”
We giggle and keep on racing!
I’m going to soak this up as long as it lasts. I know that as soon as the game system gets old to him, we will be back to the same old routine.
My feeling is that as long as he remembers this brief moment of Ethan and Daddy laughing and stomping our feet, it’s OK with me. I will just wait for the next great bonding hobby between father and son.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com or now all of my stories are archived at www.jbryanpinkey.blogspot.com.

1-29-09

It’s a tough job holding the title as ‘Favorite Grandchild’

My father’s mother is quite a woman. I regard her as a strong and determined person.
I remember learning a lot of history about and from her when I had a project that involved interviewing a family member for a college class in which I was enrolled in.
Shirley Pinkey was a homemaker and mother of four children when her husband, who was a Navy Seal, was killed in a helicopter crash.
Widowed with four young children, my grandmother dug in and did whatever it took to care for her children and herself.
She remarried and is now the mother of nine children, grandmother to eighteen and has four great-grandchildren. There is probably a partridge in a pear tree in there somewhere, too.
I am the oldest grandchild and have always held the self-proclaimed title of “Favorite Grandchild”
My cousins might disagree as Grandma Smith, her remarried last name, might have told them, in secret, that they were her favorite. If so, I know that she was just saying that to make them happy.
When I was 18, I had the opportunity to see Luciano Pavarotti. A good friend of mine had sky suite tickets to the Capital Center in Landover, Md. He happened to have two extra tickets that would just go unused if no one came. I told him that I definitely wanted to go but didn’t know anyone else who would want to go.
When I told my parents of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and the tickt dilemma, Dad said, “Your grandmother would probably like to go, why don’t you invite her.”
I called her that evening and she was taken aback. For one, to have the chance to see Pavarotti and two, that her grandson would think of taking her. She, of course, said yes
We got dressed up and went on our “date.” We had a great time and to this day she always talks about the time her Favorite Grandson took her to see Pavarotti. She cherishes the memory and so do I. I’m so proud to have been able to provide her the experience.
This really helped me hold onto my title.
A few weekends ago I called my aunt in Wilmington to see about getting a haircut on the upcoming Saturday.
“Sure,” Susan, said. “While you’re down here, I could use a hand.”
“Not a problem, what do you have going on?”
“David and I are hanging your grandparent’s kitchen cabinets.”
That’s not “giving a hand.” Hanging cabinets is something you plan weeks in advance and check your calendar.
I had to take one for the team, so to say. I never mind helping family and especially my grandparents. I was probably due for a little extra work to help with my long-held title, anyhow.
Saturday, late morning, I arrived with tools in hand, ready to work all day if needed.
To my surprise, there were only three cabinets and a tall pantry next to the fridge that needed to be set and hung.
This was great news because I had to make my way back home to work on some frozen water pipes in my pump house as quickly as possible.
After some measuring, leveling, and moving the refrigerator in and out a few times, the cabinets were up and we were done.
I really got out pretty easy. I feltsort of bad chalking that work up as title-holding work but I’ll take it.
Now, I know that I don’t have to do work or favors for my grandmother. She loves me and tells me I’m her favorite grandchild all the time.
I sure feel sorry for my cousins. Favorite Grandchild is a great place to be. Did I mention that I am also my mother’s favorite child? I remind my brother and sister all the time.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached sucking-up to family members or at bpinkey@nccox.com.

1-22-09

Childhood memories bring out the fears of new fathers

A few weekends ago, my good friend and neighbor Will and I were welcoming in the first part of a Saturday morning which started on a Friday night.
At some point in the evening, we started talking about our childhood and traded stories of getting hurt and times that we should have been in a hospital or worse.
We then realized that we both had sons that would soon be doing the same things that we once did. Talk about a sobering realization.
“What are you gonna do?” Will said with a look of somewhat clarity in his eyes. “The heck if I know.” I said throwing my hands up and reaching into the garage refrigerator.
My son already loves motorcycles and Will’s boy loves his horses. Chances are, between the two of them, there will be a day that comes when one of their mothers will look out of a kitchen window and see them strapping a ramp to the back of a horse while the other is revving up a mini bike waiting for the “Go!”
When I was seven years old, my father had two motorcycles. I wanted one, too. He told me that if I learned to ride without the training wheels on my spray painted brown yard sale bike that I could get a motorcycle.
It didn’t take too long for me to ride a straight line down the driveway.
I thought I was going to see an “Easyrider” style chopper in my front yard the next day.
Boy was I mistaken. A few weeks later my dad showed up with a bright yellow Suzuki Jr. 50.
Not quite Dennis Hopper, but it would do.
Dad started it up, explained the throttle, hand brake and foot brake. He set me on the elongated black naugahide seat and before he could talk me through the “ease the throttle back” part, I had pulled all the way back and went flying across the back yard. Luckily, our neighbors had a tall chain-link fence.
I ran full speed ahead into the fence and somehow, like a 1930’s board track racer, I ran up the fence, to the left, and back down onto the flat ground.
To my surprise, and my parents and probably the neighbors at this point, I was still rolling.
Good thing was that I was still right side up. Bad thing was that a full bloomed, large Forsythia bush was now in my flight path.
I wasn’t sure if the bush was placed there to help aid as part of my seven-year-old driver’s test or just a cruel joke by the motorcycle gods.
I had no choice... and no experience with these types of obstacles. So, like an Evil Knievel who forgot to pull up, I plowed right into the unsuspecting yellow flowered bush.
I, to this day, still remember flying over the little handle bars and landing in the bush as my new chopper idled and ate up Wisteria limbs in its little chain.
So, will my son get a motorcycle when he shows that he has the skills to ride without training wheels? Sure.
We don’t have a chain link fence in sight of our property and I, to this day, and in the future will never have a Forsynthia bush in my yard.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached picking yellow petals out of his teeth or at bpinkey@nccox.com.

1-8-09

Back in the saddle again; high speed and chicken wings a go

Six years ago, I bought a Heritage Springer. It’s the only one of Harley’s bikes that looks like the original wartime bikes. I love the old styling of those bikes. The only thing that would make my bike better is if I could find a leather scabbard to strap on the side that would hold a Henry lever action .44 magnum rifle.
I’m digressing already.
Two weeks ago I got a few hours to jump on the homemade saddle that adorns the area between my gas tank and rear fender.
It was a Sunday afternoon. Carolina was playing the Saints and I was waiting for the Dallas / Eagles game to be aired.
My wife and kids were gone for the day and weren’t expected home until about 7 p.m. It was also 70 degrees and sunny.
A perfect day for riding.
The bike hadn’t been started for about two months. This is blasphemy to some people and in some clubs you would be shot and then kicked out right before your patches were confiscated.
Luckily I’m not affiliated with a club and the only patches I wear are sewn into the knees of my jeans.
I opened the garage door, moved a bunch of toys and bicycles that were creating a barricade around the sleeping dragon. I backed the bike out and tried to kick it over.
The green Springer took a minute to start as it almost drained the last bit of life out of the 12 volt battery.
The lights were dimming and the starter was working extra hard to turn over the 88 cubic inch V-Twin engine.
Right before the battery gave out, the flywheel received just enough juice to create combustion that then exited through the exhaust with a cracking roar.
A smile found it’s way to my face as I listened to the rhythm of the pistons exploding the air and fuel mixture inside of the chromed heads.
I strapped on my half helmet, slipped my hands into the fingerless leather gloves and clad my back with a well-worn in black leather jacket that I have had since the eleventh grade.
Straddling the fiberglass and cloth seat and reaching for the grips on the ape hangers, I throttled my way down my dirt driveway.
I was off and free.
All of my worries from the week were slowly being blown away as I motored my way to the awaiting road.
Reaching the edge of N. Williams Road, I creeped out to the double yellow line and brought myself parallel with them.
The engine had been brought to a good temperature so I figured it was safe to twist the throttle back and dump the clutch.
The half-bald rear wheel spun as the bike stayed still. The back end of the bike slid to the right as it started to grab the heated pavement.
If I had a tachometer, I know that it would have been close to red line before I started to move forward.
Second gear was kicked down and quickly behind the third cog in line was engaged. I was moving out and everyone around me knew about it.
Ride it like you stole it !
Jacksonville was my destination. I wanted to take a little ride and then watch the Dallas/Eagles game while eating some quality chicken wings and blue cheese.
I rode for about thirty minutes before I reached Marine Blvd. Traffic was thick with people returning and exchanging Christmas gifts. My stomach was in a hurry to get some greasy bar food.
My bike and I split lanes and worked our way to the front of every red light so that I could be the first off the line.
I decided to roll into Texas Roadhouse. This place has the coldest beer and best wings. Much better than Hooters.
My destination had been found, I made it in time for the game and had a few hours to kill before needing to head back home. However, after an hour and a half, I wanted to get back on the bike and hit the road.
I paid my tab and tipped my green-eyed barmaid. I headed out the door.
The Springer was calling. I had to get back on. As Pee Wee Herman said, “The old highways a call’n.”
This kind of day is why I bought my motorcycle. The freedom of the open road, a wallet chained to my belt with a few dollars in it for a drink and time to myself to wash away any trouble that has perched itself on my shoulders during the past week.
Life is good on the top side of true American iron.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached on the side of the road, probably getting a ticket or at bpinkey@nccox.com.

1-1-09

A steak dinner, fireworks, and Dick Clark; what are you doing for New Years Eve?

New Year’s Eve. A time to make changes in your life, look back on your previous year and let loose for one night.
I am not a big party person. I don’t enjoy large gatherings unless I know most of the people attending. However, I think that New Year’s Eve parties are an exception to my skewed way of thinking.
This is a time that we are not expected to be 100% on our best behavior. We can have an extra drink, eat what we want and shoot fireworks off at midnight. Nothing says fun like fireworks at midnight after a night of partying!
It has been a long time since Leigh and I have gone to a good New Year’s party. Lately, by the time the 31st rolled around, we were so tired from the holiday festivities that we’ve just wanted to sit at home and listen to Dick Clark slur in the New Year.
Being tired is no excuse for not having fun. Being in our mid-thirties and being tired is no excuse either.
When we were childless and living in Boston, we went to some nice parties.
The city was always decorated and lit really nice. Christmas was still everywhere you looked. There was normally snow on the ground, the subway (called the “T”) ran into the wee hours of the morning and we could walk everywhere.
There were usually a few people that we knew that were throwing a New Year’s Eve party on that evening. We would go to The Capital Grill and eat a real nice steak dinner and have a couple of drinks at the bar. Figuring out which party to attend first, we were off. Either in a cab, on the “T” or by foot, we made our way to the first party.
Most of our friends were like us, they lived in small fourth floor walk ups and depending on where they lived and to which side of the city their windows faced, you might be able to see a beautiful city skyline lit up for the holidays from one end to the other.
A good game plan that we tried to employ was to schedule our stops so that at midnight, we were at someone’s house that had roof access. Having the ability to walk up a few flights of stairs and emerge onto the rubber coated roof at midnight was key to a memorable evening.
Boston and surrounding towns would always set off fireworks at the turn of the year. If you could get up high enough, fireworks could normally be seen in all directions and for miles around.
Back to large crowds.
I was always pleasantly surprised at the people that I met. Some of my good friends were found at these events. Once in, conversation was good, spirits were always high and everyone always seemed to be just a little easier to get along with.
My favorite was when we went from 1999 to 2000. I’m sure everyone remembers where they were that night. It was a milestone New Year’s.
The party that we attended was huge. The building was a three story brownstone in a rough part of Boston called Jamaica Plain. Known to locals as J.P.
The building was inhabited by three sets of friends that lived on all three floors. Basically the entire building was a large party. Food on the second floor, music on one and two and friendly people on all three.
I only knew a handful of people that were helping to keep the party alive. I was a little bit nervous about going and being around so many people that I didn’t know, but I figured that there were some other people just like me attending the soiree.
Everyone there had a great time. There was great conversation, interesting people and everyone was there with the sole purpose to have a good time.
When Dick Clark was counting down from ten, everyone was as quiet as a study group in a library. When we all reached “One!” the building erupted in cheering, hugging and general jubilation.
I think part of the excitement was because everyone was expecting the world to blow up and planes to fall from the sky because of “Y2K,” and it didn’t happen, but mostly because we had all, throughout the night, become friends and surprisingly had a wonderful time together.
It just goes to show, you never know when you’re going to have the time of your life. Unless you let yourself do different and unfamiliar things, you won’t ever know.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com.

12-11-08

Two children are company, three are chaos

Leigh and I have two children that let us live in their house with them.
Lately, one of us has been talking a lot about having a third. Mexico is looking very good to me right now.
I grew up with a younger brother and sister and Leigh is an only child. You would think that I would be all about having more kids. I think it would be wonderful for Ethan and Nash to have another person to play with and torment. There is a certain comfortable chaos that grows from multiple siblings.
I don’t remember being the only child. I was five when my sister destroyed the quiet life that me and mom and dad had been living in. My sister and I got used to our new life together when four years later, my brother just messed everything up!
Everyone who knows us knows that I am joking. Jessica, Josh and I all get along so well and would do anything in the world for each other.
Growing up, we were either all for one or two against one. There were times that we all played great together and there were times that we should have been arrested.
Mom and Dad worked all day and, when I was old enough, I took care of my brother and sister after school. I remember one day I did something to get Jessica mad enough to charge at me with a butcher knife. This was the same sweet little girl that would stick up for me and Josh no matter what. There was a little girl that lived next door to us that got mad and decided to throw rocks at me. I was taught not to hit girls so I went in and told my mom. Jessica overheard and went running out the door, rang the neighbor’s door, dragged the little girl out and beat her up. The girl was older than Jess, just so you know.
When Josh was in middle school, he had a couple of boys on the school bus that were bullying him. Jess decided to wait at his bus stop. When the double doors opened up, she ran into the bus and chased the kids out the back door and proceeded to hold one down and beat the other one up with her free hand.
My talent was to scare the life out of Jess and Josh. I was pretty good at it and often put a lot of thought and preperation into bringing them close to heart failure.
We had a central vacuum in our house. If you are not familiar with one of these, it is a setup that allows a person to have a vacuum container fixed in one spot in the house and all you had to do was take a hose around the house with you and plug it into a connection in the wall.
The hose that we used was always laying around the house. Sometimes it was in the living room, sometimes we would walk over it for a week as it sat outside of my bedroom door. One morning I saw great opportunity. I placed one end of this long hose under my brother’s bed and left it there all day. That evening, when he went to bed, I took the other end down the hall where he couldn’t hear me. In a deep scarey voice I started calling his name and making moaning noises. I heard him jump up in his bed. In my scarey voice, I then said, “Don’t get out of bed. I am under your bed. I will pull you under and eat you if I see your feet.”
You would have thought the devil was sitting right next to him with the blood curtailing scream that came from his room.
Jess and Josh were pretty clever when they put their heads together. I got a cordless phone for Christmas one year. Somehow they figured out that their walkie-talkie head sets were on the same frequency as my phone. When I would get on the phone with a girlfriend, they would turn on their sets and listen. When I got off of the phone, they would come in and laugh and recite my conversation and make kissing noises.
When we were on the same team, Mom and Dad had to look out. We were either playing good together or running around the house full bore. Things were broken, holes in walls... just general chaos. We were having fun together.
These days we are all the best of friends. We talk on the phone regularly and look forward to holidays when we can get in the same room together. We reminisce about the trouble we caused Mom and Dad and even to this day, still continue to cut up and make them sigh and laugh.
Mom and Dad love to watch my sister and I pull our hair out at the antics that our kids do. They sit back and laugh and revel in the fact that they have the opportunity to see it all come full circle.
From time to time, my parents will ask, “When are you and Leigh going to have another child?”
I like to reply, “Dad, do you think I want to be as gray and crazy as you are when I am your age?”
“No” he says, “But when you are my age and you are sitting in your son’s house, watching him pull his hair out from chasing his kids, you’ll be a happy man to have had all of this chaos in your life.”
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com.