The following is an excerpt from the Unintended Consequences of Being A Teenage Boy, ramblings about my childhood while growing up in Bates County. Hope you enjoy! Doug Mager
Growing up in the Missouri outback during the late
1970’s didn’t openly offer things to do to do, so we found ways entertain ourselves. No cell phones,
internet or social media. We learned to entertain ourselves. Prior to age 16,
it was walk or ride your bike where you needed to go, which lead to some great
experiences exploring the creeks and woods, gravel roads and abandoned houses.
Truly a simpler time, and I never remember hearing the word boredom from any of my friends.
One such incident while checking out an abandoned farm
house sticks clearly in my mind. The old two story sat far off the road, by
itself. No barns or outbuildings. It was visible from the main highway and its vast aloneness peaked my curiosity for a long time. What was in it? Did
they leave anything behind? Even from a distance I could see the roof was
sagging and all the front windows appeared to be broken out. Time to investigate.
Best bud Robbie and I headed there with a tinge of
excitement. Our old house explorations had previously netted a plethora of
interesting artifacts- old radios, coins, unidentifiable things (later turned
out to be antique vacuum cleaner parts) and a little of you-name-it. We hoped
today might be different.
And it surely was.
Upon arrival we slowly made our way through an open
exterior back door that was nearly covered in some viney plant. With a few
wasps buzzing around, we proceeded with caution. The musty smell and littering
of junk, plaster and animal droppings made the trek inside a little slow and
with caution. Interestingly, the old kitchen cabinets still had remnants of
days past- 30 year old cans of spices, a little glassware- even the kitchen
clock hung on the wall, still plugged in with time stopped forever at 2:34.
In the living room a vintage black and white
television sat on the floor completely intact, just a though it had been put
there to be retrieved at a later date. Also laying nearby, strangely enough was
a P trap, a cast iron piece of plumbing commonly used as part of a sink drain.
Great minds think alike, as we spotted it at the same time. I picked it up, a
rather heavy thing, but perfect for
busting out the glass on the old TV. Robbie stood back while I made a hardthrow at the front of the old Philco. The result was hardly a scratch, no
broken glass or anything. Wow. I could see the look in Robbie’s eyes- he was a
pretty tough guy, not easily intimidated- especially by glass that won’t break.
He picked up the P trap and made a classic pitcher’s full throw at the Philco.
No dice. The trap bounced back and landed almost perfectly at his feet.
By now he was full on mad. I could almost read his mind…”I’m gonna kill this thing, just sit
back and watch”. I moved as far back as I could as he made a run at the set, P
trap cocked back and with a full release. KABOOM! Success. Immediately after
the explosion the room filled with a funny gas smell and phosphorus dust. Time to
move on.
The other rooms and upstairs didn’t net any remarkable
finds. We went back outside to find an old style hand water pump on top of a
concrete capped well. For some reason we couldn’t leave it alone. Moving the
handle up and down didn’t bring water up. I could see it was clearly old and
worn out, but Robbie wouldn’t give up. He started pushing the handle up and
down really fast. Faster. He was starting to break a sweat. Finally he stopped
in frustration and gave the old pump a hard, sideways push. Crack! The concrete
well top caved in, leaving Robbie to scramble, clawing, to keep from falling
in. The old well pump fell into the hole and crashed like 10 seconds later,
making me think that was really deep.
By now he was laying in the grass, eyes wide open, and
obviously a little shook up. I peered into the abyss and could see the old well
was about 3 feet wide and who knows, 30 feet deep? We both realized at that
moment that this was another unintended
consequence of being a teenage boy. A near death experience if you will,
and we should learn from this. Or would we?
I reached for a Marlboro and Robbie gladly took one
too. As we had our proverbial smoke, he was looking around. Getting his wits
back, he was looking for something else to destroy; and the front porch seemed
to have his attention. The once stately old porch was the entire width of the
house, but was only being held up with two small posts at each end. The whole
thing was sagging in the middle, too. I envisioned it was like a ton or two of
wet, rotten lumber, with vines and birds nests up in the air just waiting to
hit the earth. Robbie seemed to share my feelings.
One of the posts was at a slight angle, like it was
almost ready to pop out. Robbie made his way onto the porch and gave it a test
nudge. No go. Now a harder push but nothing. Now, I saw the same look in his
eye as earlier with the TV set. This is a kid that won’t take NO for an answer.
With true linebacker form, he made a full frontal attack on the post- resulting
in a deafening explosion that caused me to step back, tripping as I did so.
This was followed by dead silence. I raised my face
from the weeds to see the porch hinged downward, against the house with dust
and Barn Swallows everywhere. No signs of Robbie. No moaning sounds from the
rubble.
My
God, it smashed him to death.
I stood up and ran toward the house- only to find him
well clear of the carnage crouched by some bushes. Again, eyes wide open and
unable to mutter a single word. The fear on his face spoke volumes about his
disposition and quite possibly, he would never do anything like that again. Or
would he?
Either way, it was time to go home and never come back
here.
