Hi, Diary. No doubt about it. I really enjoyed my birthday cake. Dad dropped three scoops of vanilla ice cream on it. "You can have as much as you want," he said.
"That's enough." I couldn't believe what I was saying. But then I could. Because I was in a hurry. I wanted to get back on Bug, my Doodlebug.
So, I ate that cake and swallowed the ice cream so fast I got a forehead and nose ache. That didn't stop me from going outside to Bug. I just sat on it and smiled for a long time. Bug was mine, all mine. Eventually, I lifted its handle and pumped away, back and forth, again and again and again, riding around the block more times than I could count. It was almost dark. That's when Mother called from the front steps, "Gordy."
"Yeah?" I said as I sped by.
"This is your last time around the block," she announced. "It's your bedtime."
"Already?"
"Yes, already."
I hated to quit but I knew better than to try to sneak another spin around the block. Or go up and down the Baker Street sidewalk, and not in front of the house. Birthday or not, when Mother says it's bedtime, it's bedtime. No ifs, ands, or buts.
In the house while I brushed my teeth in the bathroom, I overheard Dad tell Mother, "He really likes it. Doesn't he?"
"No," Mother declared, "he loves it."
I could've yelled out, "You'd better believe it." But I didn't. I couldn't stop grinning. I was that happy.
Before I got into bed, I grabbed my flashlight. Safe under the sheet, (it was like being in a tent at Lake Wazeecha, camping) I added new words to my word book. I don't know why I love words. But I do.
After Dad finished with his sneaking some drinks from the liquor bottles stored under our kitchen sink, I heard him tiptoe to his and Mother's bedroom. Soon after that, I must've fallen asleep. And guess what I dreamt? I was flying my wonderful Bug above the clouds. Honestly, we actually flew. Without wings.
The next morning, I woke up before anyone else, and as usual, my bed and I were soaked. Why do I do pee the bed? Something must be wrong with me. Of that, I am certain. I'm no baby. So, why do I wet the bed?
I carried the soggy sheets as far in front of me as I could. The bed clothes were so soaked the pee dribbled a trail on the floor. And you didn't need Tonto, the Lone Ranger's partner and Indian guide, to follow it. That's for certain.
Down the basement to the washing machine, I pushed the whole soggy stinky affair into the machine. I poured Oxydol laundry soap into a measuring cup, poured the correct amount on the sheets, closed the door, and then turned the dial. Finally, I pulled it. At once, the water burbled. It was an automatic washer, not a wringer type. So, I didn't have to do anything but put the sheets in the dryer after the washing machine shut off.
Upstairs, I grabbed a rag in the kitchen bin next to the flour bin and wiped away the trail. If I hadn't done that, Mother would've gone wild. And one thing Gordon Bartholomew Hoffman doesn't want. He doesn't want his Mother to go wild. He (that's me) is no fool.
I finished wiping. I tossed the rag into a garbage bag. Then, I made it to the bathroom and opened the door as quietly as I could. I didn't want to wake up anyone. Not yet, anyway. Grabbing a wash cloth, I turned on the hot water, grabbed a bar of Lifebuoy soap and rubbed it and the wash cloth together. I scrubbed me clean. After I dried me off with a towel, I sniffed my skin. It smelled just like a bar of Lifebuoy.
Next, I tiptoed to my bedroom, got dressed, and went outdoors.
I hadn't been dreaming. There was Doodlebug. I did receive it as a birthday present. It was real, my four-wheeled steed, my Bug, my Doodlebug.
I sat on its tractor seat. Up with the handle. I pulled gently. Slowly, I pushed it ahead. Then, I pulled. Pushed. Pulled. Push-pull-push-pull-push-pull. And just like the Chicago, Milwaukee, and Saint Paul Hiawatha's train engine, Bug and I gained speed.
The two of us soared by rock piles in the vacant lot next to our house. Wild cats made their homes in the piles' hundreds of cracks and holes. I didn't see any cats, though. They must've still been sleeping. Crazy Annie thinks they're her pets. But they're wild.
Soon, I had to push the front piece with a wheel on each side with my right foot. Bug and I made a quick left turn at the corner. Then, I straightened it out with my left foot. A moment later, I flew by Ed Turbin's 4-door Maroon Packard. Didn't want to hit it. Bug might get scratched. Couldn't have that, could I?
At the Baker Street corner, I pushed with my right foot again and stopped in front of Turbin's grocery store. It was closed. That didn't matter to me. I stayed there. I kind of hoped drivers would notice me and Bug. Eventually, one fellow honked his horn and waved. I waved back. Boy, did that feel good.
Here we go. Off again. I pulled. Or I tried to. Then, I strained to push. Bug didn't move. Nothing. The handle must've been stuck. Or broken. The best gift of my life was already wrecked.
"How ya' doing, Carrot Top?"
I thought I was alone. I turned. That's when I saw Bob Martin, half owner of Peters and Martin's grocery store. He was bent over and grinning. His huge hands had grabbed Doodlebug's rear wheels. That's why the handle wouldn't move and the wheels wouldn't turn.
"What is this?" Bob asked. "It for sure isn't a Chevrolet or a Ford, is it Carrot Top?"
I shrugged and wiped away tears at the same time. "It's not a car. It's what my Dad says is a Doodlebug."
Bob examined the label. "Parson's Irish Mail Pedal Car, huh?"
"It's actually a Doodlebug. That's what Dad says."
"This is no ordinary pedal car. Is it? And it doesn't have any pedals. But it's a fine piece of equipment, it is. Yes, a fine piece." He scratched his head. "You wanna know something?"
"Yeah."
"I've seen it many times before. Over many years."
"Over the years, where?"
"The hardware store across the river. It was hanging from the ceiling."
"That's where my Doodlebug came from."
"What did you call it? A doodle—"
"Bug. It's a Doodlebug, but I call it Bug."
"When did you get it?"
"Yesterday. For my birthday."
"Your birthday, huh? Why didn't you tell me? Come over to the store this afternoon. You know that blue box kite you always look at when you come in?"
"You mean Hi-Flyer?"
"Yeah, Hi-Flyer. It's yours. A present from me."
"Honest? You aren't spoofing?"
"Would I lie to you, Carrot Top?"
"No, I don't think so."
"You don't think so?"
"No, you wouldn't lie, Bob. I know so. You wouldn't lie to me."
"Doodlebug," he said again, shaking his head. "If my dad could've given it to me when I was your age, I would’ve spent a lot of time on it. A lot of time. But Dad was no doctor. He had too many mouths to feed, including my mother and my brothers. I was a kid when I first saw that bug of yours hanging from that ceiling. It's been hanging there for years and years. That's because most parents couldn't afford it. And now your folks bought it or you. I'm jealous."
"Dad and Mother bought me a real nice gift, didn't they, Bob?"
"They surely did, Carrot Top. They surely did."
"Bob, how many times must I tell you my hair isn't green?"
Bob laughed.
"You wanna ride it?" I asked.
"I'm too big for it. Besides, I have a car. Two, in fact. If I wanted, I could go out today and buy a third one. The wife and I have only one child, a son. No, your Doodlebug is just the right size for you, though, the perfect size." Bob let go of the wheels. "Well, you'd better be on your way. I've got to open the store. Couple of customers are already waiting at the front door."
I saw them. "They're waiting, all right. You really want me to come over this afternoon?"
"You can take that to the bank." Smiling, Bob looked both ways and crossed the busy street. He turned back to me, waving. "See you this afternoon, Carrot Top."
Wow, I received a real expensive toy from my parents. Added to that, the blue Hi-flyer box kite was going to be mine that afternoon. Maybe I wasn't such a reject, after all.
Push-pull-push-pull-push-pull. I must've gone around our block thirty times before I went indoors and ate a bowl of Rice Krispies. When you pour milk over it, it goes, "Snap, Crackle, and Pop." It actually does that. If you listen. Carefully.
That afternoon, I was really excited as I read the directions for putting together Hi-flyer. I didn't understand them too well. Maybe because I was too excited and wanted the kite to put itself together. And guess what? Dork helped me out. And he didn't call me dumb. Or Piss Pants either.
Doc III said I was stupid because I couldn't follow written directions. What Doc III said didn't surprise me one bit.
What did surprise me is that Dork didn't call me names. Instead, he helped me put together Hi-flyer. Can you top that?
As my friend, Bob Martin, would say, "Life's full of surprises, Carrot Top. You can take that to the bank."
"That's enough." I couldn't believe what I was saying. But then I could. Because I was in a hurry. I wanted to get back on Bug, my Doodlebug.
So, I ate that cake and swallowed the ice cream so fast I got a forehead and nose ache. That didn't stop me from going outside to Bug. I just sat on it and smiled for a long time. Bug was mine, all mine. Eventually, I lifted its handle and pumped away, back and forth, again and again and again, riding around the block more times than I could count. It was almost dark. That's when Mother called from the front steps, "Gordy."
"Yeah?" I said as I sped by.
"This is your last time around the block," she announced. "It's your bedtime."
"Already?"
"Yes, already."
I hated to quit but I knew better than to try to sneak another spin around the block. Or go up and down the Baker Street sidewalk, and not in front of the house. Birthday or not, when Mother says it's bedtime, it's bedtime. No ifs, ands, or buts.
In the house while I brushed my teeth in the bathroom, I overheard Dad tell Mother, "He really likes it. Doesn't he?"
"No," Mother declared, "he loves it."
I could've yelled out, "You'd better believe it." But I didn't. I couldn't stop grinning. I was that happy.
Before I got into bed, I grabbed my flashlight. Safe under the sheet, (it was like being in a tent at Lake Wazeecha, camping) I added new words to my word book. I don't know why I love words. But I do.
After Dad finished with his sneaking some drinks from the liquor bottles stored under our kitchen sink, I heard him tiptoe to his and Mother's bedroom. Soon after that, I must've fallen asleep. And guess what I dreamt? I was flying my wonderful Bug above the clouds. Honestly, we actually flew. Without wings.
The next morning, I woke up before anyone else, and as usual, my bed and I were soaked. Why do I do pee the bed? Something must be wrong with me. Of that, I am certain. I'm no baby. So, why do I wet the bed?
I carried the soggy sheets as far in front of me as I could. The bed clothes were so soaked the pee dribbled a trail on the floor. And you didn't need Tonto, the Lone Ranger's partner and Indian guide, to follow it. That's for certain.
Down the basement to the washing machine, I pushed the whole soggy stinky affair into the machine. I poured Oxydol laundry soap into a measuring cup, poured the correct amount on the sheets, closed the door, and then turned the dial. Finally, I pulled it. At once, the water burbled. It was an automatic washer, not a wringer type. So, I didn't have to do anything but put the sheets in the dryer after the washing machine shut off.
Upstairs, I grabbed a rag in the kitchen bin next to the flour bin and wiped away the trail. If I hadn't done that, Mother would've gone wild. And one thing Gordon Bartholomew Hoffman doesn't want. He doesn't want his Mother to go wild. He (that's me) is no fool.
I finished wiping. I tossed the rag into a garbage bag. Then, I made it to the bathroom and opened the door as quietly as I could. I didn't want to wake up anyone. Not yet, anyway. Grabbing a wash cloth, I turned on the hot water, grabbed a bar of Lifebuoy soap and rubbed it and the wash cloth together. I scrubbed me clean. After I dried me off with a towel, I sniffed my skin. It smelled just like a bar of Lifebuoy.
Next, I tiptoed to my bedroom, got dressed, and went outdoors.
I hadn't been dreaming. There was Doodlebug. I did receive it as a birthday present. It was real, my four-wheeled steed, my Bug, my Doodlebug.
I sat on its tractor seat. Up with the handle. I pulled gently. Slowly, I pushed it ahead. Then, I pulled. Pushed. Pulled. Push-pull-push-pull-push-pull. And just like the Chicago, Milwaukee, and Saint Paul Hiawatha's train engine, Bug and I gained speed.
The two of us soared by rock piles in the vacant lot next to our house. Wild cats made their homes in the piles' hundreds of cracks and holes. I didn't see any cats, though. They must've still been sleeping. Crazy Annie thinks they're her pets. But they're wild.
Soon, I had to push the front piece with a wheel on each side with my right foot. Bug and I made a quick left turn at the corner. Then, I straightened it out with my left foot. A moment later, I flew by Ed Turbin's 4-door Maroon Packard. Didn't want to hit it. Bug might get scratched. Couldn't have that, could I?
At the Baker Street corner, I pushed with my right foot again and stopped in front of Turbin's grocery store. It was closed. That didn't matter to me. I stayed there. I kind of hoped drivers would notice me and Bug. Eventually, one fellow honked his horn and waved. I waved back. Boy, did that feel good.
Here we go. Off again. I pulled. Or I tried to. Then, I strained to push. Bug didn't move. Nothing. The handle must've been stuck. Or broken. The best gift of my life was already wrecked.
"How ya' doing, Carrot Top?"
I thought I was alone. I turned. That's when I saw Bob Martin, half owner of Peters and Martin's grocery store. He was bent over and grinning. His huge hands had grabbed Doodlebug's rear wheels. That's why the handle wouldn't move and the wheels wouldn't turn.
"What is this?" Bob asked. "It for sure isn't a Chevrolet or a Ford, is it Carrot Top?"
I shrugged and wiped away tears at the same time. "It's not a car. It's what my Dad says is a Doodlebug."
Bob examined the label. "Parson's Irish Mail Pedal Car, huh?"
"It's actually a Doodlebug. That's what Dad says."
"This is no ordinary pedal car. Is it? And it doesn't have any pedals. But it's a fine piece of equipment, it is. Yes, a fine piece." He scratched his head. "You wanna know something?"
"Yeah."
"I've seen it many times before. Over many years."
"Over the years, where?"
"The hardware store across the river. It was hanging from the ceiling."
"That's where my Doodlebug came from."
"What did you call it? A doodle—"
"Bug. It's a Doodlebug, but I call it Bug."
"When did you get it?"
"Yesterday. For my birthday."
"Your birthday, huh? Why didn't you tell me? Come over to the store this afternoon. You know that blue box kite you always look at when you come in?"
"You mean Hi-Flyer?"
"Yeah, Hi-Flyer. It's yours. A present from me."
"Honest? You aren't spoofing?"
"Would I lie to you, Carrot Top?"
"No, I don't think so."
"You don't think so?"
"No, you wouldn't lie, Bob. I know so. You wouldn't lie to me."
"Doodlebug," he said again, shaking his head. "If my dad could've given it to me when I was your age, I would’ve spent a lot of time on it. A lot of time. But Dad was no doctor. He had too many mouths to feed, including my mother and my brothers. I was a kid when I first saw that bug of yours hanging from that ceiling. It's been hanging there for years and years. That's because most parents couldn't afford it. And now your folks bought it or you. I'm jealous."
"Dad and Mother bought me a real nice gift, didn't they, Bob?"
"They surely did, Carrot Top. They surely did."
"Bob, how many times must I tell you my hair isn't green?"
Bob laughed.
"You wanna ride it?" I asked.
"I'm too big for it. Besides, I have a car. Two, in fact. If I wanted, I could go out today and buy a third one. The wife and I have only one child, a son. No, your Doodlebug is just the right size for you, though, the perfect size." Bob let go of the wheels. "Well, you'd better be on your way. I've got to open the store. Couple of customers are already waiting at the front door."
I saw them. "They're waiting, all right. You really want me to come over this afternoon?"
"You can take that to the bank." Smiling, Bob looked both ways and crossed the busy street. He turned back to me, waving. "See you this afternoon, Carrot Top."
Wow, I received a real expensive toy from my parents. Added to that, the blue Hi-flyer box kite was going to be mine that afternoon. Maybe I wasn't such a reject, after all.
Push-pull-push-pull-push-pull. I must've gone around our block thirty times before I went indoors and ate a bowl of Rice Krispies. When you pour milk over it, it goes, "Snap, Crackle, and Pop." It actually does that. If you listen. Carefully.
That afternoon, I was really excited as I read the directions for putting together Hi-flyer. I didn't understand them too well. Maybe because I was too excited and wanted the kite to put itself together. And guess what? Dork helped me out. And he didn't call me dumb. Or Piss Pants either.
Doc III said I was stupid because I couldn't follow written directions. What Doc III said didn't surprise me one bit.
What did surprise me is that Dork didn't call me names. Instead, he helped me put together Hi-flyer. Can you top that?
As my friend, Bob Martin, would say, "Life's full of surprises, Carrot Top. You can take that to the bank."
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