Hi, Diary.
Wouldn't you know? Before I could get on my Schwinn, Mother yelled, "You're not going anywhere until you clean your room."
"But I promised Paul and Glen I'd go to their house."
"You're not going anywhere until you clean your room. You have to get rid of those worms in your dresser drawer."
"Dresser drawer? Worms? I always dump the ones I have left after I fished in our garden."
"I know that, but do you recall those acorns you put in that drawer last fall?"
"No. Maybe. I think so—yeah."
"Well, there's a tiny hole in each acorn and out of those holes wriggled these little white worms. Most are dead but some are still alive."
"Why can't I take care of them later?"
"Because for you, everything is always later and things never get done. You'll get rid of those worms right now and pick up all your dirty clothes from the floor and take them to the basement and I also expect you to dust mop the floor, especially under your bed. You don't have dust bunnies. You have dust elephants."
White worms, yuck. I removed the drawer and carried it outside and as I emptied worms and acorns into a garbage can, Paul and Glen rode up our driveway. "You said you were coming over to our house," yelled Paul. "What're you doing with that drawer?"
"Had worms in it."
"What'd you say?"
"It's a long story. I still have to pick up stuff in my bedroom and then dust mop the floor."
"Get going," said Glen, "we want to get there before Snowball does."
I finally got my room clean enough to meet Mother's approval, and while my pals and I biked to the dump, I explained the worms.
"How'd they get inside those acorns in the first place," yelled Paul.
I shrugged. "Danged if I know."
We finally made it to the dirt road that led to the Grand Rapids dump. "Snowball could be here," I semi-whispered.
"How? Yelled Paul.
"Somebody could've given him a ride."
"Who'd let a human skunk ride in his car?" demanded Glen.
"A farmer could've let him ride in the back of his pickup truck with a bunch of pigs."
We stopped talking but my right pedal kept hitting the chain guard, making a lot of noise. Paul pointed to the guard and gave me a dirty look. That's when I put the brake on, dismounted, and walked while holding the bike's handlebars.
The Petersons followed suit. When we passed the dump sign, we knew we must've been very close to the actual dump. Thus, we laid our bikes down in a brushy area behind a couple of large trees so nobody, especially Snowball, could see them.
"See that smoke?" whispered Paul although his whisper was as loud as a normal boy's voice. We soon discovered the smoke was pouring out of a tube-shaped tin smokestack on top of an old Ford delivery truck with faded words on its side that read, "Buy Wholesome Holsum Bread. It's good for you!" As we made it by the truck's side, its door opened. It was the infamous Snowball. "What're you kids doing here?"
All three of us froze. Electric shocks coursed up and down my entire body. I was certain his eyes were flaming red. Scared and shaking, I had to pee.
Glen, however, said in a calm voice, "Uh, we're looking for parts for a soap box derby racer."
"Yeah," agreed Paul, "my brother—that's him." Paul pointed. "He's building one and needs four wheels."
Glen nodded. I did too. Snowball said nothing for a very, very long time. Boy, did I have to pee. I was waiting for the cuss words and screams, ordering us to get out of there. "You boys have to use official Soap Box Derby wheels on those racers. Didn't you read your rule book?"
"He just wants temporary wheels now," said Paul. Fast thinking, that Paul.
Snowball pointed to an area on the bottom of the hill. "If you go to the bottom of the hill, right in back of those refrigerators and that old wood stove, you'll find a baby buggy. Still has its wheels. If I remember right, they're in good shape, too. By the way, where are your tools?"
We shrugged.
"How'd you expect to get wheels if you didn't have tools, huh?"
Honestly, Diary, we didn't expect Snowball to talk so politely. We thought he'd scream and cuss and carry on.
"Cat got your tongues?"
"No," I told him. "Could we borrow tools from you?"
"I should lend you mine?" Snowball zeroed in on me.
I had to come up with a quick fib because I needed to pee worse than ever. "Yeah, maybe because you feel sorry for us since we didn't bring our own."
"Hah," he shouted, "you kids make fun of me and call me Snowball and I should lend you tools?"
"No, we don't make fun of you."
Again, he became silent and glared. Finally, he said, "Okay." He went into the truck and made lots of noise. Eventually, he returned, holding pliers, a hammer, and a screwdriver. "You can use these, but you'd better return them."
"Yes sir." Once we were down the hill and behind those refrigerators, I unzipped and peed. After I finished, Paul said, "Why would he, of all persons, read the official soap box derby rule book?"
Glen and I shrugged. "At least, he's not acting crazy," I said.
Finished, we carried wheels plus tools up the hill. Paul knocked on the truck door. Out came Snowball. Miracle of miracles, for the first time ever, Julius "Snowball" Peters smiled. "Any time you boys need something, you're welcome to come here, but don't tell any other kids, okay?"
"Okay."
On our way home, we agreed that our city's oddball wasn't such an eccentric individual, after all. Later, we kept our promise and didn't tell other kids about Snowball's truck, and whenever I saw him in town, I greeted him with a smile. "Hi, Mr. Peters, how are you doing?"
"I'm doing just fine," he returned.
Although he never bathed, I didn't make fun of Julius Peters ever again. I don't think Paul or Glen did, either.
Wouldn't you know? Before I could get on my Schwinn, Mother yelled, "You're not going anywhere until you clean your room."
"But I promised Paul and Glen I'd go to their house."
"You're not going anywhere until you clean your room. You have to get rid of those worms in your dresser drawer."
"Dresser drawer? Worms? I always dump the ones I have left after I fished in our garden."
"I know that, but do you recall those acorns you put in that drawer last fall?"
"No. Maybe. I think so—yeah."
"Well, there's a tiny hole in each acorn and out of those holes wriggled these little white worms. Most are dead but some are still alive."
"Why can't I take care of them later?"
"Because for you, everything is always later and things never get done. You'll get rid of those worms right now and pick up all your dirty clothes from the floor and take them to the basement and I also expect you to dust mop the floor, especially under your bed. You don't have dust bunnies. You have dust elephants."
White worms, yuck. I removed the drawer and carried it outside and as I emptied worms and acorns into a garbage can, Paul and Glen rode up our driveway. "You said you were coming over to our house," yelled Paul. "What're you doing with that drawer?"
"Had worms in it."
"What'd you say?"
"It's a long story. I still have to pick up stuff in my bedroom and then dust mop the floor."
"Get going," said Glen, "we want to get there before Snowball does."
I finally got my room clean enough to meet Mother's approval, and while my pals and I biked to the dump, I explained the worms.
"How'd they get inside those acorns in the first place," yelled Paul.
I shrugged. "Danged if I know."
We finally made it to the dirt road that led to the Grand Rapids dump. "Snowball could be here," I semi-whispered.
"How? Yelled Paul.
"Somebody could've given him a ride."
"Who'd let a human skunk ride in his car?" demanded Glen.
"A farmer could've let him ride in the back of his pickup truck with a bunch of pigs."
We stopped talking but my right pedal kept hitting the chain guard, making a lot of noise. Paul pointed to the guard and gave me a dirty look. That's when I put the brake on, dismounted, and walked while holding the bike's handlebars.
The Petersons followed suit. When we passed the dump sign, we knew we must've been very close to the actual dump. Thus, we laid our bikes down in a brushy area behind a couple of large trees so nobody, especially Snowball, could see them.
"See that smoke?" whispered Paul although his whisper was as loud as a normal boy's voice. We soon discovered the smoke was pouring out of a tube-shaped tin smokestack on top of an old Ford delivery truck with faded words on its side that read, "Buy Wholesome Holsum Bread. It's good for you!" As we made it by the truck's side, its door opened. It was the infamous Snowball. "What're you kids doing here?"
All three of us froze. Electric shocks coursed up and down my entire body. I was certain his eyes were flaming red. Scared and shaking, I had to pee.
Glen, however, said in a calm voice, "Uh, we're looking for parts for a soap box derby racer."
"Yeah," agreed Paul, "my brother—that's him." Paul pointed. "He's building one and needs four wheels."
Glen nodded. I did too. Snowball said nothing for a very, very long time. Boy, did I have to pee. I was waiting for the cuss words and screams, ordering us to get out of there. "You boys have to use official Soap Box Derby wheels on those racers. Didn't you read your rule book?"
"He just wants temporary wheels now," said Paul. Fast thinking, that Paul.
Snowball pointed to an area on the bottom of the hill. "If you go to the bottom of the hill, right in back of those refrigerators and that old wood stove, you'll find a baby buggy. Still has its wheels. If I remember right, they're in good shape, too. By the way, where are your tools?"
We shrugged.
"How'd you expect to get wheels if you didn't have tools, huh?"
Honestly, Diary, we didn't expect Snowball to talk so politely. We thought he'd scream and cuss and carry on.
"Cat got your tongues?"
"No," I told him. "Could we borrow tools from you?"
"I should lend you mine?" Snowball zeroed in on me.
I had to come up with a quick fib because I needed to pee worse than ever. "Yeah, maybe because you feel sorry for us since we didn't bring our own."
"Hah," he shouted, "you kids make fun of me and call me Snowball and I should lend you tools?"
"No, we don't make fun of you."
Again, he became silent and glared. Finally, he said, "Okay." He went into the truck and made lots of noise. Eventually, he returned, holding pliers, a hammer, and a screwdriver. "You can use these, but you'd better return them."
"Yes sir." Once we were down the hill and behind those refrigerators, I unzipped and peed. After I finished, Paul said, "Why would he, of all persons, read the official soap box derby rule book?"
Glen and I shrugged. "At least, he's not acting crazy," I said.
Finished, we carried wheels plus tools up the hill. Paul knocked on the truck door. Out came Snowball. Miracle of miracles, for the first time ever, Julius "Snowball" Peters smiled. "Any time you boys need something, you're welcome to come here, but don't tell any other kids, okay?"
"Okay."
On our way home, we agreed that our city's oddball wasn't such an eccentric individual, after all. Later, we kept our promise and didn't tell other kids about Snowball's truck, and whenever I saw him in town, I greeted him with a smile. "Hi, Mr. Peters, how are you doing?"
"I'm doing just fine," he returned.
Although he never bathed, I didn't make fun of Julius Peters ever again. I don't think Paul or Glen did, either.
RSS Feed