My brothers and I finished the chores. We’ve feasted on pot roast with baby carrots and potatoes, and then our parents turned us loose in the backyard. My brother marched with our cold watermelon to the picnic table while I carried the giant carving knife. Whack! I slashed the monster in half, and then sliced off the end. I piled the watermelon slices high on the picnic table. Brothers and sisters, mom and dad, and hired hands grabbed the watermelon as if it were a delicacy heretofore never seen by any of us.
The next sound heard in the wind is, “Patooey! Patooey!” Out came the seeds in little missiles aimed at the closest brother or sister. “Munch, munch, munch, patooey! patooey!” Seeds flew through the air and landed on clothing, picnic tables, and the ground. “Patooey!” If we aimed accurately, a seed stuck right to the cheek of a sibling!
The sweet cold watermelon tasted so satisfying after a long day’s work. We ran around the yard with a fresh slice, and reveled in the taste of something almost as good as ice cream. We targeted anyone we hadn’t hit yet, “Patooey! Patooey!” Mom and dad let the rabble-rousers burn off their last steam for the day and retired inside.
Once our bellies were full, we dragged out the garden hose and sprayed each other off, and then sprayed off the picnic table so that it didn’t become a hotel for ants. The mosquitoes buzzed around our heads, which caused us to hasten our steps. One last spray, we shut off the water, and blasted for the front door of the house.
We jumped into our pajamas and thanked our lucky stars that we lived in the freedom of a farm, where we didn’t have to worry about the neighbors. Satisfied sighs filled the evening as the children settled down into their beds and dreamt of watermelon seeds in their heads. “Patooey!” an Excalibur watermelon warned as a new strategy for an army’s defeat was born.
What are your fondest childhood memories?
.jpg)
No comments:
Post a Comment