Someone had been kicking dirt into the entrance of our cave and making holes in the roof, which also caused dirt to fall down into our “Club Room”! George Harold and I suspected a spoiled mama’s boy who lived next door to George Harold. Whenever he saw us do anything that was not exactly right he would run and tell our mom on us. We did not like Mama’s Boy!
One afternoon we were coming out of my barn with our BB guns to do a little hunting and we saw Mama’s Boy out in the lot near our cave. We quietly climbed into the coal bin at the back of our house, which had a good view of the expected action at our cave. Sure enough Mama’s Boy started kicking dirt into the entrance and pulling on one of the supporting boards that held up the top.
We rose up out of the coal bin and cut down on the guy with our BB guns. The first shot caught him under the thumbnail and he screamed and started running for his house. We were shooting for his rear end but he got his thumb in the way. We got off a couple of more shots as he disappeared.
A nine-year-old seldom thinks of consequences until after the fact. (Some grown-ups have the same problem). It was about then that we looked at each other and realized at the same moment we were in big trouble. We bailed out of the bin and headed for a hideout. We ran to my house and into my parent’s bedroom and got under the bed.
In a few minutes someone was banging on our back door and, yes, it was “The Mama”. She was big and mean and if anyone mistreated her angel she would chew him or her up and spit them out. George Harold and I were hardly breathing, frozen in fear under that bed. My poor mother answered the door and received a full blast from that woman with threats of calling the police, etc. We were terrified that Mom would let that monster mom in and she’d come looking for us. Mom assured her she would take proper action.
After the fire eater left Mom came into the bedroom and told me to come out. How did she know I was under there? Mothers have that mysterious gift that I have never understood. (Could it have been the trail of coal dust leading from the back door to the bed? Ed.) George Harold and I crawled out.
She sent George Harold home and then told me to go out to the willow tree in the back yard and get a switch. Can you imagine picking the switch you were going to get whipped with? She then proceeded to switch me on the back of my legs holding one of my arms with one hand and going over my legs real good with the other. That hurt so bad. I would much rather face Dad’s belt on my behind than that switching that burned like fire on my legs. I was then sent to my room for the rest of the afternoon and my hunting days were cancelled for about three weeks.