A Prairie Home Companion from American Public Media: First Person

Mitch and Parker's Independence Adventure
by Roger Aschenbrener
April 4, 2007

NOTHING, and the punctuation does not exist to adequately enhance this statement, NOTHING has the ability to capture the imagination of boys between the ages of 6 and 60 more completely than pocket-size personal explosives! They are, for better or worse, the ingrained essence of all our sense of adventure and on July fourth of every year we all, whether pyromaniac or pyrophobic, get the opportunity to orchestrate a global conflict in our own personalized ten square foot war zone.

Mitch and Parker watched enviously as a group boys, having reverted socially to a state of ancient tribal ritual, danced slowly forward placing their heads together. An arbitrarily selected flame bearer performed the delicate task of ignition. That done they all danced backwards in unison, hands on cheeks: one set or the other. In fixed anticipation they wait the expected result. If the ritual was successful and ignition takes place the entire group breaks into a frenzied freeform dance the duration of which was determined by the strength of the boom, bang, blastoff, fizzle, flight, or whistle plus one second of reverential silence at which time there erupts a chorus of lemme, Iwanna, smiteurn, youallreadyhaddaturn, and of course the all powerful incantation dadsaidIcould. The sacred flame is then passed, (and this is what I mean by arbitrary), not necessarily to the best singer. With all this complex ritual being performed it didn't seem plausible to Mitch or Parker that a simple inquiry such as "hey can I try one?" would get much attention, and not to be denied their ten feet of global conflict they began to form a plan to arm themselves.

"Your dad bring fireworks? Parker asked Mitch"

"No but he said we could get some" Mitch replied.

Mitch's cousin, Tom, had also been watching the other boys. He, in a rather authoritative tone stated "We passed a fireworks stand on the way out here. I think it was on Spotted Rd."

Tom wasn't really sure it was a fireworks stand but when they had turned off the highway onto Spotted Rd. there had been a small building that looked like a fire works stand. "It wasn't very far." he said.

"Let's go see if we can get some money," Mitch said, "I'll ask my Dad."

Mike was dosing on the couch, or as Mitch would later describe it, "He was out of it." Mike is an All American Family man, with a high stress job. For the next few days though his only task was keeping the jetski's fueled up so he was relaxing.

"Dad can I have some money for fireworks?"

"Wha ya wh wll" Mike mumbled.

"Dad? You said we could get some fireworks"

"Where from" Mike asked dazedly.

"From the fireworks stand on Spotted Rd. "

"Spotted Rd?" Mike chuckled quietly reaching into his pocket and pulling out a twenty.

Grinning Mitch snatched the bill and turned to dash out the door but pulled up short and went back and gave his dad a quick kiss and a hug

"Thanks dad" he said and dashed out the door.

"Woo haa I got it" Mitch whooped, colliding with Parker as he ran out the door.

"How much ya get" Parker asked?

Mitch waved the bill in front of Parkers face and snatched it back when Parker tried to grab it. The boys high-fived and, walking across the yard, began discussing what ordinance they would need to conduct an effective conflict.

"M80's PGHOOOOOO!!" Mitch made the long growling sound of an explosion.

"My friend Larry said his uncle had some M120s" Parker said.

"Man that would be louder than anything. We could probably put a frog in orbit with one of those, or with some mortars" said Mitch.

In a loud raspy voice they both said in unison "YEA MORTARS."

Young boys have an innate understanding of the adult perception of right and wrong. . They also know exactly when they are about to step over that line. The degree to which they step over that line can range from the eyeballing the line while carefully studying the attending adults face to see if they've noticed, to the toe test wherein a toe is slid over the line, wiggled contemptuously and pulled back. Mitch and Parker were about to cross by way of the unpremeditated leap. Innocent as far as intent, yet generally the most embarrassing method.

The boys looked at each other, their heads tilted slightly one eyebrow raised, the way a dog eyes you when you've done something completely outside the realm of dog reason , Parker said ?How are we going to get there?? "Well. . . " Mitch said haltingly "we could walk, if its not too far."

Show an eight year old tickets to Never land sometime, then ask him how far it is to Disneyland, this should remind you what far means at that age. . .

The boys walked silently up the driveway, hesitated momentarily as they reached the road, and there being no obvious line it was easy for them to just continue on. I mean what the heck they had come this far they might as well see if there really was a line.

July fourth is without a doubt the years wildest weekend at the lake. With all the campers, huge motor homes, tents pitched in yards and fields barbecues and parties at every house and cabin, it looks like a quasi Woodstock for the well to do, with entertainment provided by Bayliner, Yamaha, and Jetski. For the two boys it was a visual and mental smorgasbord. In the three blocks between the safety of home and the highway they were nearly hit by bottle rockets and motorbikes, offered burgers and beer, and smiled at by a pretty young girl, the latter starting a pre pubescent pushing match between them.

"She was smiling at you frog face," Parker ribbed, "I think she likes you."

Mitch blushed, "I don't Think so."

The boys talked as they continued walking toward the highway, the cabins disappeared, and the noise of the lake faded, as if someone was slowly stuffing cotton in their ears, duller more distant almost silent. Tenuously. . . the sounds and smells of the woods grew more pronounced. The titter and cheap of small birds chasing one another through the trees, the hollow echoing "TOK TOK TTTTTTOK" of a woodpecker hunting dinner, and the "CHIT CHIT CHCHCHCHCHCHIT of a gray squirrel-sentinel of the forest. They quit talking, the pitch and frequency of nature impressing on their minds images of the creatures hidden there.

The boys turned down the highway, I call it the highway because everybody calls it the highway, in reality East Deer Lake Rd. is a treacherous two lane road with no shoulder and a 50 mile an hour speed limit. There is a sign that reduces this to 35, but its small and really hard to see. . . when your going 50 miles an hour. For most of the two and a half miles between where they turned onto the highway and the and the ?T? at Garden Spot Rd. the nonexistent shoulder is bordered by steep gullies, forested marsh or rocky cliffs and the boys traversed this dangerous stretch of road doing the things that boys do when adults aren't present picking up sticks to use as guns, swords or bats, climbing steep embankments, and throwing rocks at anything that glitters or moves. . . or doesn?t.

They had been walking for about two miles and were in the process of throwing rocks at an object, that wasn't moving near the creek where it passed under the road. Suddenly Mitch spotted something that was moving across the creek. He mentally thumbed through his Readers Digest Nature Encyclopedia and cartoon reference and quickly identified the critter. Pointy nose, black, white stripe, peppi, Peppi? The assessment bulged his eyeballs and leapt into the air through his larynx, SKUNK!

Skunks aren't bothered by humans as much as humans are bothered by skunks. Oh sure they consider us to be noisy, smelly, and inhospitable but we mostly keep our distance so unless accompanied by our best friend, dog, we're tolerated. Therefore when Mitch yelled skunk, the skunk just looked up, sniffed for dog, threw the boys an irritated look and went back to a skunks life. The boys on the other hand, seemingly driven by the need to prove that they are dedicated members of the most civilized species on the planet, proceeded to throw rocks at the skunk.

An irrefutable fact of war is: that in the heat of battle superior weaponry does not always triumph. This was once again proven when the skunk turned and raised its tail, a signal of warning known to all North American kinder gardeners. The boys also turned, and ran.

They hadn't gone ten steps when Parker turned and ran straight into Mitch. Parkers wild behavior and garbled speech led Mitch to believe he was merely confused by fear and in a tangle of flailing arms and elbows Mitch pushed by him only to be stopped by the sight of another skunk approaching at a fast waddle. Mitch turned and joined Parker still running in place. They paused for a second, (proving that even in the face of impending peril some parental programing is more powerful than fear) they looked both ways and fled across the road.

They kept on running until they got to the intersection of Garden spot and E. Deer Lake Rd.

"That was close!" exclaimed Parker breathing heavily.

"Yea, that skunk had backup," Mitch quipped.

Parker gave him a quizzical look and they both broke out laughing.

There is more traffic on Garden spot Rd. Its more open than E. Deer Lake Rd. and the fierce afternoon sun created shimmering heat waves over the the pavement as it rolled off into the seemingly interminable distance. It seemed like they had been walking forever. Having come about five miles the boys were hot, tired, hungry and they were beginning to have second thoughts about ever reaching Spotted Rd.

"That's a mirage," Parker said pointing to the shimmering heat waves rising from the pavement. "Ya know what that means don't ya?"

Mitch didn't say anything, sometimes Parkers theory's weren't very scientific so he wasn't sure he wanted to know. "It means that we're dying of thirst," Parker went on, "Pretty soon our lips'll start cracking and the mirage'll turn into a lake and a woman that looks like your grandma will be standing out there with a big glass of ice water waving at us and when we go out to get a drink we'll get run over by a truck."

The heat waves did look a little like water and the thought of an apparition of his grandmother standing in the middle of the road was a little more than Mitch wanted to deal with right now. "Maybe we should go back," Mitch said. Glancing back at the driveway they had just passed, the mirage of his grandmother became abruptly alluring. Bearing down on them at high speed were two sets of teeth surrounded by fur bearing bodies. Sucking in their saliva dripping tongues, the dogs let out a long bawling sound, like an old hound dog on the trail of an escaped convict. "Hunter dogs!" Mitch yelled. The dogs barking ferociously charged to within a few feet of them.

"Don't move," Parker said "If you move they'll attack and once they taste blood they won't stop until your dead." Mitch stood his ground and focused on not bleeding if he was bitten. Having made their point the dogs began to back off a bit.

It is the job of a country dog to patrol his property and through the appropriate use of barking, to chase off anything that that could be a threat to his food dish. Country dogs do Not bite children, regardless of the fact that children are sometimes a threat to their food dish. A country dog is well educated as to his position in the food chain.

In fact the "Prime Dog Directive" is, THOU SHALT NEVER BITE CHILDREN. It is the first NO of the BONE TABLET OF THE TEN NO's as brought out from the dump by the benevolent Saint Bernard, Saint Bernard. The Democratic Document of the Division of Dog Labor, written by the Labrador Lawyers Congress states: "Biting is the job of junk yard dogs and police dogs the latter having received six months of schooling is allowed to bite the general public and older children." The congress further states that certain genetic aberrations ie; Chihuahua,. Pekingese, Miniature Poodle and Cocker Spaniel being the sole creation and responsibility of man are hereby deemed exempt from all the above rules. Dog have mercy on your scold.

They had slowly backed away from the two dogs and the dogs ambled back to their country house to check their food dish. When their blood pressure had settled down somewhat Mitch said again, "Maybe we should head back."

"We can't, how are we going to get by those dogs." Parker said trying to hide his nervousness.

"We have to get back sometime," Mitch replied, then added wryly, "Maybe my grandma will appear in a mirage and we can catch a ride in the truck that comes to run us over."

Parker gave Mitch an irritated look which brightened and then widened into a grin, "Hey maybe we could hitchhike." he said sticking his thumb out in front of a passing car. The car whizzed by without slowing.

"I think we're to short to hitchhike? Mitch said. Another car was approaching and Parker stuck his thumb out. At the same time a white Suburban stopped on the other side of the road. the driver rolled down his window and called to the boys, "Hey Mitch. . . aren't you Mike Peterson's boy?"

Mitch replied that he was and then recognized the driver as one of their neighbors at the lake.

"Where are you headed?" the driver asked. "We're going to get fireworks over on Spotted Rd." Mitch said.

"Hmm. . . I didn't see any fireworks on Spotted Rd,." the driver said quickly adding, "Would you like a ride back to the lake?"

"Yeah!" They both whooped and rushed across the road. Settling into the plush back seat of the suburban both let out a sigh of relief. Rick closed the window and all the dangers, fear and fatigue dulled and faded along with the noise of the highway. They had survived their independance adventure. All that was left was to survive the wrath of their fathers. An element of danger that they hadn't yet considered.

About the author:
What can I say.. I am a writer trapped in the body and mind of a skilled tradesman. I've been an APHC fan for many years. I even caught the show once from an Internet Cafe in Cusco Peru. Weird eh.

Wait, it gets better.

I sometimes have dreams in which Sue Scott is chasing me in bumper cars down a four lane highway on a deserted island. Weirder eh.

I sleep in a recliner in front of my computer so as not to miss an insane thought.

I am looking forward to senility, so I keep myself in good shape; I wanna be alert for that phase of life.