Memorial Day Revisited

On this Memorial Day, I invite you to read my archived post dated May 27, 2006, entitled, "Memorial Day." It recalls the city of Everett's Memorial Day observances as we honored them during our childhood days back in the early 1960's.

Having relived those heartfelt Everett traditions already, I thought it would be nice if we spent a quiet moment together to reflect on some of the things we haven't yet touched upon. So after you've finished reading last year's Memorial Day posting, come on back here and set a spell. I'll put the kettle on and we'll have a good gab for ourselves.

Do you remember what Memorial Day was like back when we were little kids growing up in Everett? The most important part about Memorial Day for us kids was the fact that we had no school that day. On typical no-school days we were out and about at the crack of dawn.

There was always a peaceful quietness that seemed to blanket the city on Memorial Day. If we got a little rowdy on that day, one of the neighbors would get after us. They'd remind us to have some respect because after all, today "is" Memorial Day.

Like every other day, I had newspapers to deliver. That's when I really got to experience how that peaceful quietness established a certain decorum that everyone seemed to voluntarily respect on Memorial Day. Early mornings on any other weekday in Everett had a certain quietness to them, but it was somehow different on Memorial Day.

On any other day, you knew that quietness was more like the calm before the storm. By the time I finished my paper route the city of Everett was usually into full swing, but not on Memorial Day. On Memorial Day, the city didn't seem to wake up until everyone gathered on the sidewalks to watch for the parade.

We were even a bit subdued inside Robie's newspaper office up there on Broadway while getting our newspapers together for delivery. The usual clowning around and talking out loud just didn't happen for some funny reason. We somehow knew, even as kids, that on this day it was our moral obligation to maintain a quiet repose in honor of our fallen heroes.

I've often wondered if it was just my imagination, but it always seemed as though we enjoyed fair weather on most Memorial Day holidays. I do remember delivering newspapers in the pouring rain only once on a Memorial Day, but that is the only one I recall. As for the many houses I delivered to, there was only one that I didn't like down on Timothy Ave. Other than that one, every other house was a pleasant experience.

Growing up in a run-down, six-family complex, I really admired some of the better homes along my route. There were a few nice homes on the far end of Hancock, and of course many nice houses on Hampshire Street that I would love to have grown up in. I often imagined what it would be like to have two bathrooms. It's almost a must if you've got any girls in the house.

Girls love bathrooms. Believe me, if there's one thing us guys notice about girls, it's that. If you grew up with girls in your family then there's a really good chance that you've had to sneak out into the backyard under the dark of night to relieve yourself every once in a while. Girls have a way with keeping the bathroom tied up for hours on end.

Wrap around porches are another thing that caught my fancy. You know, the kind that bends around the corner and runs along the side of the house. Our front porch up on the second floor was about the size of a baby's playpen. It was great for firing snowballs down at the girls as they walked by, but other than that, it really wasn't any good for much else.

Because the houses in Everett were so close together, delivering newspapers was a snap. And for as much as everyone complained about how close together our houses were, I always thought it was that physical closeness that contributed to our being so closely knit in spirit.

When the lady next door yelled at her kids for being pathetic slobs, there was really no need to crouch down at the window to eaves drop. She sounded like she was in the same room with you anyway. Besides that, my mother would start yelling about the very same thing only a few minutes later. Hearing everybody else's business took the mystery out of who your neighbors were. More often than not, they were just like us. We all had the same problems. Putting on airs in Everett was a big waste of time.

Most of the stores were closed on Memorial Day, including Gorins, Grants, and the Stop & Shop. Larger stores like Zayre, J.M. Fields, and Sears, opened up in the afternoon for the big Memorial Day sale. It just seemed like after the Veteran's dedication ceremonies at the Glenwood Cemetery ended, so did Memorial Day. The city came back to life after that.

By mid afternoon, the kids were back out on the streets playing stickball. The traffic picked up down on Ferry Street. And that peaceful quietness that ruled the day faded off somewhere into the sunset.

They always showed war movies on TV that afternoon. My dad stretched out on the couch and watched every single one of them. Well, he didn't actually watch them. What he did was fall asleep to them. Before he stretched out on the couch he'd yell out, "Hey Paul, don't you want to watch the war movies?"

"Nah, I already know who wins," I'd laugh.

Besides, I didn't have time to sit around watching movies. A world war was going on right out there in my backyard. Somebody's got to step up to the plate a bear the cost of freedom. Nobody's more willing to take on that challenge like a bunch of little boys, let me tell ya.

There was actually a lot more to playing war than you would think. It took a lot of imagination. We had that galore. None of us had store bought guns that shot plastic bullets. Don't get me wrong, we'd have welcomed them with opened arms. We just couldn't afford such luxuries.

You don't need store bought goods to have fun when you're a little kid. It actually diminishes the experience sometimes. Kids get so wrapped up in the moment that they don't stop to think about how that broom handle isn't really a rifle. In a kid's mind, that Ford Fairlane really is a downed B-52 bomber, and that old dried up sponge they found in the trashcan really is a hand grenade.

Mrs. Day sat up at her kitchen window on the second floor of Henry Gray's apartment building down on Ferry Street for hours on end watching us play. I used to feel sorry for her sitting up there all by herself, sipping on her cup of tea. I thought that she was bored out of her mind. Little did I realize that she was enjoying unrehearsed live entertainment like nothing she could ever hope to find on television.

Have you ever taken the time out of your daily routine to sit and watch the children play outside? Now that I'm a "little" bit older, I can really appreciate seeing it from the other side. If nothing else, it really takes you back to a time when you were totally devoid of all the negative vibes that adulthood imposes on you.

Kids don't care what anyone thinks. As a matter of fact, they are completely oblivious to it. They also couldn't care less about whatever else is going on in the world around them. All they care about is what's going on in their own little world. That's precisely what held Mrs. Day spellbound as she sat up in her kitchen window all afternoon watching the mind of a child at play.

The forsythia bush out in front of our house was the perfect setting for a three-legged machine gun. From inside that hideout we could mow down waves of Nazis as they invaded our territory. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. We riveted them with round after round as they tried to scale our barricade. They wound up dangling from the barbed wire with more holes through them than a piece of Swiss cheese.

Well, that's what it looked like in our mind's eye, but in reality, what we perceived as a barricade of barbed wire stretched out for as far as the eye could see was actually just the chain link fence in front of our house. And they weren't really Nazis either. They were just the kids from across the street. We had to take turns at being the bad guys. It's only fair - right?

The down side to crouching in that machine gun turret is that while you were mowing down the Nazis coming at you head on, the other ones could sneak up from behind and take you out. I hated that. Just as I was mowing down the enemy in record numbers, I'd hear footsteps come running up from behind. I grabbed a hold of that machine gun (more than likely, it was a broken hockey stick) and spun around.

"Bang," he shot me dead.

"We knocked out the enemy's stronghold," he'd shout. "I shot him dead."

"No suh, you missed. I shot you first."

"No way, you didn't even yell "bang." What've you got -- a silencer on a three-legged machine gun? I don't think so."

He's right and you know it. Even still, nobody likes getting shot dead, so you try to argue your way out of it. You know you don't have a leg to stand on, especially when your own platoon sides with the enemy.

"Come on, Paul. He shot you fair and square. You're dead."

Fair's fair, so I stumble across the front yard in a dramatically overacted agonizing death that takes about four and a half minutes to play out until I finally drop dead. The Nazis then storm our barricade and occupy the land we so valiantly gave our lives to protect. As the enemy victoriously tears down our flag, you can hear the voice of a despondent mother cry out in the distance.

"Hey Paul, that better not be your good school clothes you're wearing to lay around on the dirty ground." Now there's a mother's love for ya. She'll take the nasty sting out of death with the back of her hand if you're foolish enough to go out and defend your homeland in your good school clothes, believe you me.

While the war rages on all around the front of my house, Julie and Martha are out back playing house with a tea set and a couple of dolls. That's when you really get to see how deeply rooted those motherly instincts are imbedded into a girl's mindset. If you want to see how ferocious a girl can become, just try storming through her make believe house with a make believe machine gun and she'll give you a "real" beating you'll never forget.

"Hey," Julie shouts, "You're running right through the middle of our house!"

"What are you talking about?" I snap back. "We were here first."

"You were not. Go back out front. You're scaring our children."

"Scaring your children? They're only dolls."

"Oh yeah, well your stupid gun is nothing but a broken hockey stick."

"Yeah, well at least I'm not trying to give it something to eat."

"I'll give you something to eat if you don't get out of here."

"Oh yeah, what?"

"A knuckle sandwich."

That's when Carl came storming into the backyard behind me. He happened to be one of the Nazis on this day. He pointed his gun at me and yelled, "Bang! You're dead."

"Timeout, Julie and Martha think we're scaring their children," I laughed.

"I'll fix that," he said. With pinpoint precision he spun around, pointed his stick at both of their dolls and yelled, "Bang! Bang! Now they're both dead." That kid scares me sometimes.

Keep in mind that all he did was point a stick at two inanimate objects and yelled "Bang!" No living things were actually harmed in the process. Even still, those two girls completely lost it. They not only chased after him, but when they caught up to him they gave him the kind of beating you usually see in a saloon on a "Western Movie."

It was one of those times when you would have given your right leg for an 8-mm home movie camera. I'll bet Mrs. Day got an eyeful, not to mention an earful of the bad language they unleashed upon him while they were beating the daylights out of him. So much for those two cute little innocent girls playing house - right?

Another good thing about little kids is that they really don't take things to heart. For as much as they may have pounded away on Carl for shooting their dolls, they all laughed it off when all was said and done. More than likely, it all turned into a game of tag. They broke up housekeeping, and the world war went on hold for another day or two.

It was around this time that they'd call us all home for supper. My mother and father always spent the better half of Memorial Day cooking a big meal. Don't start salivating just yet.

Whenever I had the opportunity to eat over any of my Italian friend's houses, I'd choose that first over going home to eat. Yes, I treasured the moments we shared together as a family, but what my mother cooked for supper as opposed to what Mrs. Forgione cooked for supper were worlds apart.

Mrs. Forgione cooked raviolis and sweet Italian sausages smothered in thick tomato gravy topped with mouth-watering hand shredded Mozzarella cheese. My mother cooked a boil dinner. If you've never had a boiled dinner then just grab yourself a spoon and head on down to the garbage pail out in the backyard. I see little difference between the two.

My father was a salt freak. You'd never believe me if I told you how much salt this guy dumped on top of his food. It made no difference what it was we had for supper. This guy literally mounded the salt up on top of his food. He even salted the french fries he bought at McDonalds.

My mother was a pepper freak. She was just as much a fanatic with pepper as my father was with the salt. She blackened her food with pepper. I'd be halfway through with my supper before she finally finished with the peppershaker. If you sat next to my mother at the supper table you'd sneeze your brains out. And she'd get mad at you for it, too. Jeez, what a bunch.

I'm talking way back before my older brother, Billy, ever got his license. He was too old to play war with me and Carl, but not too young to be standing on the corner watching all the girls go by. My dad would turn to me and say, "Go down the corner and tell Billy to pull his eyes back into his head and get up here for supper."

If you take a stroll down to the corner of Arlington and Ferry, off to your left is where Gray's apartment building stands. In between the house that Major (the most dangerous dog in the world) lived and where Tee Gee's Sub shop used to be, is this weird looking cement slide. It's right there at the bus stop. Well, that's exactly where Billy and his friends hung out.

They'd all be standing around trying to look as cool as cool could be to impress the girls. You know, tee shirt sleeve rolled up around a pack of Luckys, another cigarette tucked in behind the ear, and sporting dog chains with their hair all greased back, except for that curl all the teenage guys had that dangled up and down on their forehead.

"Hey, here comes little Huff," Artie laughed.

"What do you want?" Billy said as if I'm interfering with something really important.

"Dad says to pull your eyes back into your head and come home for supper."

"Oh, what a pain in the ass," he'd moan.

"I'm telling Dad what you said," I'd laugh and take off running.

"You're dead, you little twirp," he'd take off after me. We'd collapse on the front steps in a fit of laughter.

"So, who won the war today?" He'd ask as he messed up my hair.

"War got called on the count of supper."

"Always does, doesn't it?" He'd laugh.

We'd gather around the kitchen table. Julie would start telling my mother about some makeup vanity she's had her eye on for quite some time now. Billy would tell my father about the coolest set of wheels he saw cruising down Ferry Street. And me and Carl would get into an argument over who got the most french fries.

Funny thing about my dad is that nobody took a bite until we said grace. It was the only moment during supper when he would not tolerate any shenanigans. After that, it was no holds barred.

So there it is. You just witnessed a typical Memorial Day down on Arlington Street in Everett back in the early 1960's. So what was so special about it? In my opinion, absolutely everything.

That's what my childhood was like. That's what growing up in Everett was all about. And it was all made possible by the willingness of all those Veterans who so selflessly laid down their lives to preserve my way of life.

Every waking moment of my life, from the cradle to the grave, was bought and paid for by a Veteran. They paid the ultimate price to ensure that I would enjoy the freedom of speech, the freedom to worship in my own way, the freedom from want, and to live without fear. They gave without asking for anything in return.

They are larger than life in my eyes. They are giants in the historic timeline of human kind. Let this be their day. Give to them but a moment of your time. Honor them in your own way, but by all means, honor them.

Let a heartfelt thanks cry out to our Veterans on this day. Let them know that we do respect, honor, and love them with all of our might. For if not for them, we would never have been able to throw back our shoulders and proudly shout, "We're from Everett!"

The Way We Were

Nothing ever ceases to amaze me about this constantly changing world we live in. I've spoken many times about the many unprecedented changes in technology we've seen in the last decade alone. As sensational as they may seem, I must honestly say that the most dramatic changes I've experienced in my lifetime took place during my transition from toddler to adolescence while growing up down there on Arlington Street.

Looking back on the way we saw the world around us when we were little kids makes us wonder how we could have ever possibly believed in some of the things that we did. It does make us laugh at ourselves sometimes, but when you really think about it, we honestly do miss that age of innocence. For just as these new advances in technology have turned science fiction into reality, losing that childhood innocence has turned a magical paradise into a cold insensitive world.

Nothing opens your eyes to the harsh realities of life like opening your big mouth and saying something stupid in front of all of your friends. Let me give you a for instance. I'll never forget that time in the first grade during recess at the Horace Mann school playground when all of my friends surprisingly looked at me and asked, "Don't tell me you still believe in Santa Claus?"

Not wanting to look stupid in front of all my friends, I quickly retracted my comment about getting all excited over going to Gorins to tell Santa Claus what I wanted for Christmas. It's funny how that fear of what others think forces us into following along with the status quo. It wasn't until I grew up and went to college that I realized that Santa Claus was, in fact, real.

One by one, I saw so many of my childhood beliefs vanish in the face of hard facts. For example, let me take you back to a time before I ever set foot into kindergarten. After my older siblings had all gone off to school every morning, I sat on the couch and watched Jack Chase give the morning news while my mother stood out in the kitchen washing up the breakfast dishes.

It's not like I was really into the news or anything like that. It's just that the morning news came on before the Little Rascals did. On this one particular morning, Jack Chase was talking about the homeless people in Boston who didn't have any money to buy food. That bothered me deeply, especially because I had the power to do something about it.

What could I do about it? It's rather simple really. On top of the bureau in my bedroom was a dime and a nickel. If I gave that money to Jack Chase he could give it to the poor people and they could go down to Anna's Variety on Ferry Street and buy a whole bunch of penny candy. It isn't much, I know, but at least it's something.

My first obstacle was how to get that money to Jack Chase. That's not a problem. You see, Jack Chase lived inside my television. We woke him up every morning when we turned on the TV. I knew that because when you looked through those little slots in the back of the television you could see all kinds of lights turning on in his little apartment back there.

That wasn't the only reason I knew that Jack Chase lived inside my television. The other reason was because the picture did not come onto the screen until the television warmed up. That's exactly how it worked in our apartment, too. When we woke up too early in the morning, our house was always freezing cold. My father had to go down into the cellar and shovel coal into the furnace to warm the place up.

That's why the TV didn't work until Jack Chase woke up. He had to turn on all those little lights in the back of the TV and warm the place up. You understand how it all fits into place now, don't you?

You would not believe how many people lived inside my TV. There were hundreds of them. If that doesn't amaze you then wait until you hear this one. If you can see them then they can see you. It's true. I found that out the night my mother made me change into my pajamas right in front of the TV. As soon as I pulled my pants down, Imogene Coca burst out laughing.

I felt so mortified that she saw me in my underwear and it was all my mother's fault. Why do these things always happen to me? You know what's going to happen next, don't you? She's gonna tell Jack Chase. If I know him, he'll tell the whole world on the morning news that Imogene Coca saw Paul Huffman in his underwear. I'll never live it down.

Speaking of Jack Chase, let's get back to that news item about those poor people in Boston. What I did was run into my bedroom and grab that money off of my bureau. Then I deposited it into those slots in the back of the TV. Don't worry, I was careful to drop them into one of the slots towards the side of the top so they wouldn't fall down and whack him in the head.

The dime fell all right, but the nickel caused a bit of a problem. It must have hit one of his table lamps in there because one of those lights in his little apartment went out. Less then a second later, all the other lamps went out, too. Then the whole TV shut off. He never said good-bye, or even thanked me for my contribution.

Maybe he got so excited over getting that money that he just closed up shop for the day and ran right out to feed the homeless. Even still, there was no need to shut everything off. After all, I could always sit and watch the Little Rascals until he got back. I just hope he had the courtesy to tell everyone where he got the money. I may be young, but I do know we should always give credit where credit is due. My Dad always said so.

Now I'll be honest with ya. Feeding the homeless takes precedence over my watching the Little Rascals. When the TV didn't turn back on after pushing that button three or four times, I just sat there on the couch waiting patiently for Jack Chase to get back. When my mother came into the living room, she wanted to know why I had shut the TV off.

"I didn't turn off the TV," I explained. "Jack Chase did."

"Jack Chase?"

"Yeah, he went to feed the poor people with my money."

"What are you talking about?"

I though my mother was going to be so proud of me for doing such a good deed. That's not the way she reacted at all. As soon as I told her about giving my money to Jack Chase to feed the poor people, she yelled, "Oh Paul, You didn't?"

If you think kids believe in crazy things, just wait until you hear some of the nutty things that grownups believe. When my Dad got home from work that afternoon, he had to take the TV all apart. Believe it or not, after all that bellyaching about feeding the poor people, Jack Chase never used any of that money I gave him to help them out. He left it lying around right there where it fell.

Now here's a shocker for ya. You know how neat and clean Jack Chase looks on television -- right? Well you should see the condition of his apartment inside my TV. You would not believe what a filthy pigsty that guy lives in. I'm almost embarrassed to even talk about it. That guy never dusts anything off. He's a slob.

My father burst out laughing when I commented on how dirty Jack Chase's house was. Okay, so maybe I am a bit naive, but wait until you hear what my father thinks. He said that nobody lives inside our television. According to his theory, they get into the TV by traveling through the wire when you plug it into the wall. Can you believe that?

There are more flaws in my father's theory than there are in mine. I know it's hard to believe that people are so small that they could live inside your television, but to honestly think that they could fit through a wire is even more absurd than that. Besides, we've got all kinds of wires plugged into those sockets. How would they know which one goes to the TV?

Can you imagine the implications? When Jack Chase called on Bob Copeland to come forward and give the weather report, he could mistakenly take a left turn behind the coffee table and wind up inside the light bulb in our table lamp. See what I mean? It doesn't make any sense.

Okay, so if Jack Chase doesn't live inside my TV then where does he live? When I asked my father that he just laughed and said. "He probably lives in Wellesley or Newton. He certainly doesn't live in Everett. I can promise you that."

I don't see what's so funny about that. Do you? All that says to me is that Jack Chase probably doesn't get a free Hoodsie at the park on the Fourth of July, and he probably doesn't get to follow the National Guard back to the Armory on Chelsea Street after the Memorial Day parade for free food. It serves him right for not living in Everett.

There are a lot of things about Everett that make me glad I live here. I may not know all that much because I haven't gone to kindergarten yet, but I do know this. There was this big girl who lived up on Foster Street who made an honor roll at Everett High school. I think it's something like a giant submarine sandwich. Well, because she did that, they gave her a scholar ship.

Do you believe that? If you make a giant submarine sandwich in high school they'll give you your very own ship. Man, am I glad I live in Everett. She's probably half way to Madagascar by now.

Here's an interesting landmark in Everett you might not know about. One day, while riding in the car with my father, we drove past Everett Square, up over a highway, and then we passed by a bunch of big oil tanks. After that, we came to this bridge that crossed over the water. We saw these great big smokestacks while driving over that bridge.

Guess what they were making with those smoke stacks? They were making clouds. Did you know that the clouds come from Everett? Will wonders ever cease?

I also happen to know that if we ever have another war, Everett will win because Everett has weapons of mass destruction. It's true. My big sister told me that they had a "fire drill" up at the Horace Mann school. Imagine that? I'm sure you can burn your way through just about anything with one of those.

Another interesting thing I know about Everett is that every couple of years or so, two Paula Tishuns run for mayor. Isn't it odd how those two people always have the same name? Well anyway, they have a race (I think they run around Glendale Park a few times) and the fastest one gets electric. The one who gets electric becomes our mayor. Weird huh? Because of that, I've always wondered if the mayor could light up a light bulb by just holding it in the palm of his hand.

Believe me, there's even stranger things than that going on in my neighborhood alone. My big brother, Billy, told me that Jacky White downstairs could play guitar by ear. I'm dying to see that. My only question is "Why would he want to?" That sounds like it hurts.

I've actually heard people say that they're not all that crazy about Everett. Hey, let me tell you something. There are a lot worse places than Everett. Trust me. If there's one place I never want to visit, it's Gunpoint. That city is always on the news and it's always bad. They are constantly reporting news stories about hostages being taken, and banks getting robbed, at Gunpoint. Stay the heck away from that crazy place.

See what I mean? There's just as much weird stuff going on in the grownup world as there is in ours. They all laughed at me the night they caught me sneaking up on the refrigerator in the dark to quickly jerk the door open. I was trying to catch that little guy who shuts the light off. They'll all be laughing on the other side of their face if I ever catch the little bugger, now won't they?

Here's another one I couldn't get over. My mother collects S+H green stamps that she gets whenever she goes shopping. She sits at the kitchen table late at night listening to Larry Glick on the radio while sticking hundreds of those stamps into little booklets. When she gets enough of them she sends away for free stuff.

So now she plans to send away for a rubber stamp. God only knows why she would even want one. The paper ones work fine. They stick to the envelope all right if you give them a good lick. Even if they do fall off, they only flutter down to the floor right next to your foot. A rubber one would probably bounce all over the place. It may even bounce under the refrigerator or the kitchen stove.

That's what I mean about grownups. They don't always have good common sense. You know what my father did? He went down to Glendale Hardware the other day and bought some Duck Tape. We don't even have a duck, and he doesn't work at a zoo or nuthin.

Besides, ducks are living things. If you break one you're probably gonna have to take him to an animal doctor. I rather doubt if you're gonna be able to fix him up with any kind of tape.

I do have this sneaking suspicion that there may be ducks living behind our kitchen stove that run all around the kitchen floor at night when nobody's out there. I've never seen one, but I've smelled them. I think my Dad's the only one who's ever seen one.

Every once in a while we'd hear this loud "quack" out in the kitchen and then we'd smell a foul odor that stunk like rotten egg salad. Whenever I ask what that bad smell was, my Dad always said, "I just stepped on a duck." So maybe that's why he bought that Duck Tape. He keeps stepping on those ducks whenever they come running out from behind the kitchen stove.

Another funny thing about my father is that he keeps elbow grease in his toolbox. I guess his elbows get squeaky every once in a while. He's always saying something like, "All that needs is a little elbow grease." So I guess you can use it for all kinds of stuff. He also has a set of doojiggers and thingamabobs. I'm not sure what those do, or what they look like, but he's always saying, "Pass me one of them doojiggers," or "give me one of them thingamabobs."

My father was just telling us the other day that they plan to install automatic answering machines in the offices down at Tufts University. Man, what will they think of next? I told him he should get one for Billy so he can take it to school with him. That should really bring his grades up. Then they won't have to holler at him all night long every time he comes home with his report card.

Oh yeah, and since we're on the subject about my father, did I ever tell you about the time he got really mad at me when I tried to fill my pocket up with ketchup? He said that was the dumbest thing I ever did. Actually, I thought it was an ingenious idea.

The reason I did it was because I wanted to go out and play after supper, but I hadn't finished all of my french fries. So I put the rest of my french fries in my left pocket, and some ketchup for them in my right pocket. Now I could finish up my supper while I went out to play. I don't think that's so dumb. It's no dumber than carrying pictures of dead presidents around in your wallet all day. What the heck is that all about anyway?

Okay, if I haven't convinced you yet that grownups have some pretty strange ideas of their own, just wait until you get a load of this one. Guess what my mother gave to my big sister for her birthday? Are you ready for this? She gave her a little bottle of toilet water. Is she serious? And here's the clincher. My sister loved it.

Is it me? Am I the only one who doesn't get it? Because honestly, I'm gonna make my sister the happiest girl on earth come next Christmas. I'm gonna give her the biggest bottle of toilet water she's ever seen in her life. The best part about it is that it's not gonna cost me a single penny. I know where I can get an endless supply of that stuff, and she's more than welcomed to it.

The problem with grownups is that they don't open up to each other and help each other out the way us kids do. Kids don't have all the inhibitions that hold back grownups from learning new stuff. We think nothing of asking each other seriously personal questions. And that's because we don't get offended as easily as the grownups do.

Grownups can really get touchy sometimes, even when you're only trying to find things out. The good thing about a kid is that they won't even think twice about sharing the truth with you no matter how personal you get. That's what friendship is all about.

For example, if it wasn't for one of my girl friends from Arlington Street, I never would have known that girls didn't pee out of their bum. They always sat down to pee so what else was I supposed to think? And likewise, because of my willingness to share some personal info about myself, I was able to set another one of my friends straight on a question that was troubling him about white people.

He wanted to know if white people did white pooh poohs when they go to the bathroom. He had seen some white poop on the sidewalk and wondered if a white guy had done that. Because of my inside knowledge on the subject matter, I was able to assure him that white people did not do white pooh poohs. That would be a terrible misconception to go through life believing, don't you think?

A good friend will straighten you out on things like that before you make a fool of yourself in front of a bunch of strangers. You'd hate to express a wrong opinion like that when you're trying to impress a potential client, or standing in front of an audience making a speech. You know what I mean?

Well, that was then, and this is now. Nobody lives inside my television. There are no ducks hiding behind my kitchen stove. And, they don't give you a free ship because you made a giant submarine sandwich in high school. But I'd rather those things were true other than most of the things that are.

Gone with the innocence of my childhood went the illusion of a magical paradise where Hoodsies were free, and everybody was nice to each other all of the time. In its stead stands a world full of deception and greed. Now I know what they mean by "ignorance is bliss."

It's ironic how the older I get -- the more the innocence of my youth tugs at my heartstrings. Every inch closer to the end of this journey opens my eyes to what really is important along the way. So in a funny sort of way, how we see the world around us kind of goes full circle just like everything else in life.

I'm willing to bet that when your time comes to stand on the threshold of the next dimension, you'll realize that what you cherished most were those moments you shared with the people you loved. And the more people you love, the more moments you'll have to cherish.

Take it from me. I know. I have many cherished memories because I loved a lot of people. And they didn't come from Gunpoint either. They came from Everett!

What A Day for a Daydream

Forgive me if I get a little carried away here. It happens to the more creative types sometimes. We do strive to be normal, and we do pull it off in public most of the time, but every once in a while, our creative bent gets the best of us, and we go way out over the edge.

That is precisely what troubled me throughout my school years. Every time the teacher went into one of those long drawn out monologues, my mind drifted out the window, up over the tree tops, and off into another dimension. I'd get so lost in a dream that I'd lose all contact with the rest of the world. That's why I jumped up out of my skin nearly every time the teacher called my name.

I can't count how many times I remember my sixth grade teacher (Miss Blake) at the Horace Mann school saying. "What planet are we visiting now, Paul?" to the backdrop of a classroom full of giggling classmates. Whenever I'm off in parallel universe like that, my alternate reality shatters into a thousand tiny fragments and I get sucked right back into the real world as soon as I hear my name called. It's like waking up from a deep sleep. I actually come out of the experience somewhat dazed and confused.

She'd often ask, "What were you daydreaming about?" I'd just shrug my shoulders and say, "Nuthin." Because honestly, some of those fantasies were not meant for mixed company, let alone a sixth grade classroom. Everyone thought I was bit eccentric already. I can only imagine what they'd think if I actually got up and gave a detailed account of one of my mental screenplays.

Not all daydreams make sense. Of course, I needn't tell you that. After all, you're from Everett. If one quote from Bob Dylan ever hit home to me it was that line from "It's All Right, Ma" that says, "If my thought dreams could be seen they'd probably put my head in guillotine."

If you don't daydream, you'll never come up with any new ideas. You'll never discover how to make it rich, or compose a song, or figure out how to strike up a conversation with that girl in your class you keep drooling over. When you look at it that way, you're not really daydreaming anyway. You're brainstorming.

On the other hand, some of those brainstorms produce hysterical results. Thinking back to when I worked summers cutting grass at the Woodlawn Cemetery reminds of the time we were all sitting along the edge of the road having our coffee break one morning when I noticed one of my coworkers staring off into space.

"So Dennis, what planet are you on?" I had to ask.

"I just came up with a foolproof idea that could you make you rich."

Who doesn't want to know how to strike it rich? So I asked, "So are you gonna share this with the rest of us or are you gonna keep us in suspense for the rest of our lives?"

"You'll only laugh and call me crazy anyway."

"Oh, what are we getting sensitive all of a sudden? What do you care what I think? Hey, look at it this way. Everybody laughed at the guy who invented the Pet Rock, didn't they?"

"Okay, I'll tell ya, but before you laugh, let me explain, okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"You could get rich with a couple of clown dunking machines. You could rent them out on the weekends and make a fortune."

"What in the world is a clown dunking machine?"

"You know, it's one of those booths the clown sits in above a tub of water and everybody throws a ball at him to try to dunk him in the water."

He was right. I burst out laughing.

"Oh yeah, I can see your point," I said. "I don't how many times when I wanted to put the make on a chick that I'd walk up and say, "Hey honey, how about coming over to my place for a couple of free rides on my clown dunking machine?" That's why I always reserve mine before the weekend rush."

"You don't rent them out to individuals, you dummy. You rent them out to organizations and churches for functions." Can you imagine? He's calling me a dummy.

"I'll tell you what, Dude. You go ahead and make your fortune on clown dunking machines. Give me a call when your company goes public and starts trading on NASDAQ. Okay?"

He never did call. And I don't ever remember seeing any trucks going up and down the streets of Everett advertising for "Dennis' Clown Dunking Machine Rentals" either.

Another brainstorming session that really went haywire happened when I was only in the third grade. We came up with this splendid idea of how to create our very own real live fireball show to light up the night. We squirted lighter fluid all over a beach ball, set it on fire, and then tried to roll it down the middle of Arlington Street. Don't ever do that.

The ball exploded as soon as I touched the match to it. It sprayed burning lighter fluid all over me and caught my clothes on fire. Everyone gathered around in a frantic effort to slap the fire out. Thankfully, they succeeded.

My clothes were still smoldering when I ran into the house. My mother demanded to know why I didn't have any eyebrows. Man, did I catch it good that night - let me tell ya. It's amazing what three nine-year-old boys can come up with when they put their heads together. As they say, "Great minds think alike."

Ever since I was a little kid, I've often fantasized about time traveling. "Back to the Future" is still one of my all time favorite movies. If you've ever done any reading on the subject matter you'll discover how closely many of the idiosyncrasies portrayed in that movie accurately reflect the many modern scientific theories in time travel research.

Somebody's doing research on time travel? Yeah, CERN is. Who's CERN? They are the "European Organization for Nuclear Research" and you can learn all about them here Visit CERN. Perhaps their most notable invention to date was in 1989 when they invented the "World Wide Web" that you are using right now.

That is not, however, to diminish their great accomplishments in nuclear medicine, as well as so many other notable achievements in particle physics. Keep in mind, many of their scientist have received numerous awards, including Nobel prizes.

The next thing to really catch my interest was the story of Time Traveler, John Titor. This American soldier from the year 2036 started posting on news groups back in October of 2000. It seemed like a hoax on the surface, but after analyzing some of the things he said about the near future, it gave me the chills. Read all about him here The John Titor Story.

There was once a time when the mere mention of time travel invoked a sense of imaginary science fiction. Now let me ask you this. How long ago was it that you thought "cloning" was impossible? Not that long ago - right? Come to think of it, it wasn't actually that long ago when we couldn't imagine pausing and rewinding television programs.

I don't know how many times I've heard somebody say, "Everett ain't what it used to be." Let's face it, "Nothing ain't what it used to be." The world we grew up in is gone. There will never be another "Beatles" - ever! Everything's changing faster than you can blink.

It's hard to explain to your kids what a pain in the ass it was to keep changing the 45's on the spindle of your record player when they start complaining about their iPod. By the same token, it's hard to explain anything at all to your kids nower days without having them roll their eyes at you. They all eventually get to that age of cynicism where as soon as you open your mouth they'll say, "Yeah, yeah, I know. You had to walk to school every day uphill both ways." I know that age of cynicism only to well because I've been there and done that myself.

I vaguely remember the first time I heard the term "blog" mentioned on television. At the time, I couldn't imagine why anyone would spill their guts out into the world like an opened book. Just as I'm sure that you never imagined that one of these newfangled doohickeys would reconnect you with your childhood growing up in Everett.

Whoever thought that CD's would become obsolete? Have you checked out those new 360-gigabyte USB storage plugs? I've got over 200 CD's of computer data taking up two shelves of my bookcase. All of that will soon be transferred over onto a USB storage plug that will fit neatly into my watch pocket.

If that isn't enough to make your head swim, consider this. I haven't bought a newspaper within the last 5 years, and I used to be a paperboy. By the time they report anything in the newspaper today you've already heard it six or seven times. Newspapers are going the way of the U.S. Postal Service. We can email each other back and forth a thousand times by the time one letter gets from me to you through the snail mail. And we don't need to buy any stamps either.

I also wonder if there's anyone else out there who remembers our Everett high school biology teacher, James Micarelli? That guy made some startling predictions back in 1970 that we all scoffed at. First, he said that the day would come when we would all be paying for clean drinking water. Well guess what? We don't drink tap water at my house. We don't even cook with it.

The second prediction he made was that the day would come when we would all have a personal computer in our homes. We laughed at that one, too. I always thought my workday would begin after I fought rush hour traffic to punch a time card. When I go to work today, I don't even leave the house. I log on and I'm there.

At any rate, I think traveling back and forth through time would be a blast and a half. That's kind of what archeologists do when they dig up and identify ancient artifacts. Have you ever read, "Motel of the Mysteries?" Check that one out.

It's all about archeologists from thousands of years into the future who discover a buried ancient civilization. What they deduce from the artifacts they find is that they believe they have discovered an ancient religious shrine called a "motel" in a land called "Usa." They then go on to try to identify the different artifacts found in the motel. Some of their misinterpretations are hysterical.

All of that leads up to the daydream I'm dreaming today. There was a special quaintness to our childhood days when we were growing up in Everett that I would love to have the opportunity to show to our children's children. Telling them about it is one thing, but to actually walk them through it so they could live the experience first hand would change their outlook on life.

I'm one of those who honestly believes that to have a good understanding of who you are, you need to understand where you came from. Me? I come from Everett. So let's start there.

When we wanted to play a game we did not log onto Neopets and begin to grow and nurture a virtual life form. What we did was reach up for the pull chain to turn the ceiling light on in our bedroom. Then we reached in under our bed to pull out a box that said "Monopoly" on it. After spreading out the game board on our bedroom floor, we sat around it with our brothers and sisters to divvy up the money and game pieces.

When we got mad at each other, we didn't block each other on instant messenger. What happened is that as soon as two of us reached for the racecar instead of the shoe, we leaped at each other and rolled and tumbled across the game board until my mother came storming into the room swinging the belt. She'd make us stand in separate corners, facing the wall, until we learned how to behave.

Sports were not played on the TV with a joystick. You had to actually go outside, walk across the street, and stand on the sidewalk yelling, "Hi oh, Joey, coming out?" You had to keep doing that until you got a half a dozen of your friends together. We then "bucked up" to see who got first pick on choosing who's on your team.

When was the last time you bucked up? "I've got odds, you've got evens. One-two-three go! Hey, no fairs. You flinched." Remember that?

A foul ball is not what happens when that blip on the TV hits the side of the screen. It's when that pimple ball bounces off of Martha's upstairs window and Cecil yells out, "Hey Martha, Paul hit your window with a pimple ball."

Martha came running out of the house and chased me all around a parked car until I got all out of breath. She'd grab a hold of me, drag me down onto the ground in a headlock and started giving me fifty-two nugees. And she didn't let up until somebody yelled, "Car's comin!" Thank God for traffic - right? Believe it or not, it was all in good fun. Martha's actually one of my best friends in the whole universe.

You know what else I really miss? I miss going down to Vinnie's on the corner of High and Ferry for penny candy. We must have driven him crazy by standing there for hours on end trying to decide what to buy with our nickel. "I'll take one of those and one of those. No, not one of those. One of those over there behind the Mint Julips and to the left of the Good and Plenty."

The closest thing to that available today is down at Cracker Barrel. They've got the candy, but it costs way more than a penny and there isn't one on every street corner. Losing those neighborhood penny candy stores changed the face of America's landscape forever.

Here's another thing I'd like to show our grandchildren. Remember when the cash registers did not actually add up totals automatically on their own? The check out girl had to add everything up when she punched it into the cash register. People actually had to do the math back then. You didn't leave the store with a registered receipt from the cash register. All you got was a total added up with a pencil on the outside of your "paper" bag.

Do ice cream trucks still cruise up and down the streets in the big cities? I haven't seen one of those in decades. Of course, it's way too spread out here in the Midwest to make any money on an ice cream truck. You'd only get three or four customers every twenty-five miles or so. Back in Everett you get a dozen customers at every street corner.

Here are some other things my kids have never done. They've never had to wait for somebody they didn't know to get off the telephone so they could make a phone call. It's funny how they called them "party" lines back then when nobody was having any fun. They've never had to run around looking for a pay phone to call home. And they've never had to boil pots of water to defrost the freezer.

At the age my daughter was trying to figure out a javascript to make text blink on a web page she was designing, I was still trying to throw an old pair of sneakers up over the telephone wires. It took a thousand tries until I finally succeeded, including all those times they came back down and whacked me in the face. Come hell or high water, I was determined to establish my credibility amongst my peers in the neighborhood by pulling that off.

Hey, here's something I'd like to teach my grandchildren. I'd like to teach them the lost art of how to wash a dish in the kitchen sink by hand. You never know. It could come in handy some day.

Come to think of it, when was the last time you had to walk somewhere in the pouring rain? If you haven't done that in a long time, then by all means, go do out and do that. Sounds crazy, doesn't it? Well, guess when the last time it was that I took a walk to the store in the pouring rain? It was just last week and the nearest store to my house is 2.3 miles away. So why did I do it?

We are all just as much a part of this age of technology as our children and grandchildren are. Don't get me wrong, I love all this new technology. What I don't like is the cold isolation it instills into our lives. We touch base with each other and then go our separate ways in the blink of an eye with the click of a mouse button.

Forgive me for sounding a bit old fashioned, but it lacks that personal warmth that once defined the social landscape of our everyday lives. Isn't that exactly what we're always going on about? We talk about how great it was back when all our neighbors knew each other, talked to each other, and helped each other out - right? Well, how on earth do we bring that back into our lives if we don't get out there onto the sidewalks and interact with each other?

Let me tell you a cute story. It didn't happen a long time ago. It happened just last week. I'm telling it to you because it touched me in a warm personal way just as much as it did the other person. It is just such sentiments that are missing from our lives that we need to reclaim if we want to bring the humanism back onto the planet.

On the day before Mother's Day, I went for one of my afternoon five-mile walks. While walking along the sidewalk of one of the more pleasant residential streets here in town, I saw this little old lady walking towards me. Let me explain that. I called her an "old lady," but she was probable no more than about 10 or 12 years older than me. I called her "short" because she was. She'd have to stand up on her tippy toes to reach my chin and I'm not very tall by any stretch of the imagination.

It was obvious that she, too, was out enjoying her daily constitutional. As she passed by, she turned to me, smiled, and said, "Beautiful day, isn't it?" But of course, they're all beautiful days here in southern Indiana so long as there's no tornadoes touching down in the area.

"It's a very beautiful day," I smiled back. On second thought, I added, "By the way, Happy Mother's Day."

She stopped dead in her tracks. With the most thoughtful look in her eyes she said, "You have no idea how much that means to me. I lost my husband just a few months ago, and I lost my only son last year. At this very moment, I was just thinking how I have nobody to wish me a Happy Mother's Day this year. And then you came out of nowhere and said that to me. That is so nice. Thank you."

No doubt about it, that random act of kindness made a lasting impression on her. It also filled my heart with a sense of generosity knowing I had done something so thoughtful for someone who truly needed it. That's what it is about kindness. It benefits both the giver and the recipient. And that is precisely what is missing from our lives in this new age of technology. The reality is, it doesn't have to be that way.

What we do with this new technology is entirely up to us. We can even travel back in time to reclaim that true sense of good-fellowship we once enjoyed when we were growing up in Everett, and bring it back into our lives here in the future. It's worth doing. We could teach the world a thing or two about true friendship. That is one thing we do know about. And we know that because "We're from Everett!"

The Everett Girls

Last year, I posted a tribute to my mother on Mother's Day. You'll find it listed in the Archives list for May 13, 2006. It's entitled, "One from the Heart."

This year, however, I wish to honor all of the girls from Everett.

Who were these creatures anyway? The very moment I touched down on this planet I knew they were different from the rest of us. There were two of them living in my house. My mother was one. So was my sister.

There was a few them in my neighborhood, but I never realized how many of them there really were in the world until I started going to school. One thing I noticed about them is that they did show up for school every day. They certainly had a better attendance record than I did, that's for sure.

I got the feeling that they were a bit stand offish because whenever we lined up to go anywhere, they stood in their own line. That wasn't the only reason. They not only played in the other playground at recess, but they even used a different bathroom from us.

My curiosity got the best of me one day so I snuck into their bathroom to see what was so different about it. The teacher grabbed a hold of me by my ear and yanked me back out into the hallway before I got a chance to see anything. That only made me all that more curious. What's the big secret anyway? That's what I'd like to know.

You know what else they do? They sit in front of a mirror and brush their hair for hours at a time. It takes them an hour and a half to take a shower. By the time they come out of the bathroom they look like an entirely different person. The whole time they're in there they color their hair, paint their finger nails, put makeup on their face, and outline their eyes with a pencil. Just make sure you make a mad dash into the bathroom if you've gotta go before one of them goes in there. Once they take possession of the bathroom it gets sealed off like Fort Knox.

Just wait until you hear this one. They actually like to go shopping. They thrive on it. You ought to see them. They will stand and look at one item for over an hour before they decide whether or not to buy it. Then they've got the audacity to look at you and ask, "Is that football game still on?" It makes you want to say, "Yeah, football games last about as long as it takes you to pick out a lipstick." And chances are, if they do decide to buy something, they'll only bring it back the next day to exchange it for something else. Now, you tell me. Is that weird or what?

Have you ever heard one of them describe anything at all? Now there's an experience you won't soon forget. They won't just say, "A red car came speeding down the street." They're more apt to say, "A red car with a plush interior that looked as though it once had a paint job because the shine was a bit dulled on the hood, and had one headlight out of align because the left tire looked lower than the right one, that was driven by an older man wearing glasses with a receding hairline, came down the street so fast that I couldn't tell whether or not it had a Massachusetts' license plate."

In the classroom they seemed so much quieter and more reserved than the rest of us. They seemed a whole lot smarter, too. They always got the best grades, the most stars for good behavior, and all the praise from the teacher. I don't remember the teacher ever making one of them stand in the corner all day long. That proves favoritism right there because the teacher "is" one of "them."

They have this way about them as if they've always got their noses stuck up in the air about something. It's almost as if they think they're better than we are. Can you believe that? They don't know nuthin about football. Maybe that's why they keep them separated from us all day long in school.

Well, I better clarify that. The teacher often sat them in between us on purpose so we'd have a hard time trying to fool around in class. They ain't all that much fun when you come right down to it. They certainly don't laugh at the same stuff that we do. They don't even laugh when a kid goes out for a long bomb and smacks his face into a telephone pole. They don't see the humor in that.

They think that laughing at somebody else getting hurt is sick. See what I mean? How can you relate to someone who doesn't think that's funny? The things that make them laugh are the very things that make us yawn and say, "So what?"

Another thing I noticed about them was that, for the most part, they couldn't fight their way out of a paper bag. They did hang around with us sometimes. Like when we played "Can't Cross The River," Hide And Go Seek," and things like that. Whenever we played "Tag-Rush," "Stickball," or "Off the Wall," they went off by themselves to do things that were about as much fun as watching paint dry.

I've heard them referred to as the "weaker sex." My teachers often said that the day would come when one of them might actually become president. That was always good for a laugh, wasn't it? Every time they said that, we'd bust a gut, because in the back of our minds they'd always be just "girls."

Well, that about sums it all up back when I first started this journey on planet Earth. But I'll be honest with ya, it didn't take them very long to turn my whole world upside down. Wait a minute. Let me clarify that one also. It's not so much that they turned my whole world upside down as it is that they shook loose all of the misconceptions I once had about them. In reality, what they really did was turn my world right side up.

You want to talk about growing up in Everett? Okay, let's do that. Let's narrow it down, once and for all, what it was that really made Everett so special.

What made Everett so special was the "girls."

You think I'm kidding, don't cha?

Think about it. I don't care how important you are, how big and strong you are, or what you've done, or what you're going to do. If it weren't for a girl, you wouldn't be here. Yeah, okay, I know, it takes two to tango, but let's face it. It's the girl who nurtures that microscopic organism from the moment it takes seed.

From the very beginning, they forget all about themselves and focus all of their resources on caring for that seedling. They will love it, and cherish it, protect it, and nurture it with all of their heart and mind. They will go so far as to lay down their own life to ensure its survival. There is no force on the face of this planet that compares to the power of a mother's love.

Our first introduction to girlhood comes from our mothers. What we become in life is the direct result of our mother's unwavering guidance. If not for her, every one of us boys would grow up to become nothing more than knuckle dragging, narrow minded Neanderthals. They accomplished that by never backing down, or caving in, or letting go, no matter how hard we resist or fight back.

They taught us to sit up straight, to wash behind our ears, and to say "please and thank you." They taught us all of the basics we needed to know to survive on this planet before we ever set foot into kindergarten. When the time came to leave the nest we felt secure from all of the love they had given us. We felt confident from all the praise they had bestowed upon us. And we were healthy and strong from all the good nourishment they fed us. That's the truth and you know it.

My second introduction into girlhood came from my big sister. I saw qualities in her that neither of my brothers, nor I for that matter, could ever possibly possess. Even though she was only four years older than me, she was like my knight in shining armor. Believe me when I tell ya, she guided me through so many of life's unknowns that she was like a roadmap for me.

When my mother was hospitalized during the Christmas holiday, my sister stepped up to the plate and took right over as if it was instinct to do so. She cooked our meals, washed our clothes, and got us off to school in the morning when she was only thirteen years old. Come Christmas morning that tree was decorated, the presents were wrapped, the stockings stuffed, and our house was filled with the sound of music. And she did it single handedly.

You know what else she did? On Christmas day she laid out a turkey dinner before us that was fit for a king. My father could concentrate on visiting his wife in the hospital without having to worry about us kids because my sister was minding the fort. He knew we were in good hands. Why? Because my sister is an Everett girl. That's why.

I've been watching these creatures my whole life. I've seen what they're capable of. My sister isn't the only girl from Everett I've seen step up to the plate and hold their families together. A friend of mine dated a girl who went to Pope John High. She lost her mother at a very young age. I watched this girl nurture and cherish her younger siblings as if they were her very own children. What a truly remarkable person she was. And there were many others just like her.

We thought of them as the weaker sex because we thought they couldn't fight. How more narrow-minded could we possibly get? Where we resorted to rolling up our sleeves and balling up our knucklebones to settle our differences, they got to the heart of the matter through logic and reason. They can disarm a worthy opponent without ever clenching their fist. And should they ever resort to clenching their fist, don't hesitate to turn tail and run. As they say, "a word to the wise is sufficient."

Another thing those Everett girls did was to wake us up to a new reality we never dreamed existed. We thought those days would never end when we'd prefer high-fiving our best friend over a touch down to spending any time with a girl. That sure changed fast. Didn't it? Man, nothing breaks up the old gang faster than a girl. Am I right?

How do they do that? You talk about paranormal? I've seen more magic in the twinkling of an Everett girl's eye than I've ever seen on the Twilight Zone. They more than get your attention, they captivate your entire being and hold your heart hostage. It gets to the point where you can't breath easy without them. They fill your world with wonder and dominate your every waking thought. You more than love them. You need them. You become nothing without them

It's harder for those of us who grew up in Everett because not only were these girls stunningly beautiful, but they possessed a charisma and an air of charm that was beyond compare. They were everything a guy could ever want in a girl. And they were right here all around us. We had it made.

The only thing wrong with this ideal situation is the chauvinistic arrogance we boys are inevitably cursed with. Because we are boys, we are so insecure about ourselves that we fear what might happen if these girls ever realized how far superior to us they really are. And deep down inside, we all know that they are. Don't we?

They don't need us. We need them. What in God's name do we have to offer them? Think about that. How do we win their hearts in the first place? We do it by getting down on our knees and pledging our servitude to them. So what happens after they swallow that line? We turn it all around to make them think that it's their duty to serve us. Isn't that right?

We certainly didn't express those sentiments when we were trying to entice them with candy and flowers. Now did we? Of course not, we knew better. So then we wonder what went wrong when they've finally had enough of our bullshit and throw in the towel. After years of listening to us tell them that "they're nothing without us," they finally wake up and smell the coffee. That's when they say to themselves "Hey, if I'm so unimportant then why did he get down on bended knee to beg for my hand in the first place?"

For all of you Everett girls who ever wondered that, let me answer that one for you. We are over whelmed by you. You are far more than we ever expected out of life. It would save us all a lot of hardships and misunderstandings if we guys weren't so insecure by nature. Regardless of what comes out of our mouths, what's going on in the back of our minds is an entirely different line of reasoning.

For example, you know how you're always saying, "You can only trust a man for as far as you can throw him?" And you know how you get suspicious every time we cast a wandering eye whenever a pretty girl walks by? Well, that's how overwhelmed we are by you. You captivate us. We can't get enough of you. We starve for your attention. And we can't believe that God was so generous as to scatter millions of you all over the planet for us to gawk at. If not for you, there'd be no beauty on the planet whatsoever.

It's fruitless to even bring up that age-old theory about the man being the head of the household because he's the one who brings home the bacon. Society hasn't actually lived within that frame of reference since the industrial revolution began in the latter 1800's. Whatever remnants of that archaic school of thought still lingered on were completely wiped out during World War Two. My mother always worked a full-time job. And she did so without ever shirking her household chores or motherly duties.

If a man ever needed anything to survive this crazy world we live in, he needed a woman. That's the way it's always been from the very beginning. He needed a woman to put him on the planet, to nurture him through his childhood, and to stand by his side during his adult life. Let's tell it like it is. We need you. And that is why it is our duty to serve you, not the other way around.

We're lucky. For you have the knowledge and the strength to deal with our shortcomings. You understand us better than we understand ourselves. In our hearts and minds we will always be those irrational little boys we started out as. We don't mature the way you do. I do thank God for that. That's what gives you the wisdom to take care of us the way that you do.

So now those predictions our teachers once spoke about that we so heartily laughed at draw nearer to reality as time goes by. It's got to make you wonder, "What will the world think of us if we were to elect a woman President?"

Maybe it's time we stopped worrying about what everyone else thinks. Maybe it's time we all got together to clean our own house. And maybe it's time we sent the men off to work and let the women take care of the home front.

We've been sending men to govern our affairs for some 230 years now and look at the mess we're in. Our brothers and sisters are getting beat up in somebody else's backyard while the neighbors are running all over our yard living off the fat of our land. My mother would never tolerate that. Why should I?

I think it's time us guys should face the facts. If we truly want to fix this mess we're in, we should do what we've always done whenever we've made a mess of the kitchen stove. We should hand it off to our women and say, "Can you fix this?" and then we should go lie on the couch and turn on the football game. They'll fix it. They always do. They've got my vote.

Today is Mother's Day. On this day I'm gonna get down on bended knee and thank that Everett girl I'm married to for putting up with all my shenanigans over the years. God only knows why she's still here, but I thank my lucky stars that she is.

Not every girl who grew up in Everett is a Mother. Some are StepMothers, some are Aunts, some are Sisters, but they are all girls. There comes a time in every girl's life when she is called upon to render her inborn talents to make someone's world a better place. Thankfully, because they're nothing like us guys, they always step up to the plate and they always perform admirably. They are truly amazing creatures. We wouldn't even be here without them.

From the bottom of my heart do I wish you all a "Happy Mother's Day." And for those of you who are not mothers, let me say, "Happy Girl's Day." For if it were within my power to do so, I would hand you the world on a silver platter and say, "Can you fix this?" And I know that you would for two reasons. First because you are girls. And second because, "You're from Everett!"

Funny Little Fragments

Have you ever stopped to wonder about how many things we take for granted sometimes? As we go through the motions of our daily lives, we arrogantly think we've got it all under control. In reality, many of the little things that go on all around us pass right over our heads. We do pick up on it, but because it seems so trivial, we regard it as nothing more than an unrelated fragment of unnecessary information.

Giving them no priority in the "here and now," we allow these unrelated fragments of unnecessary information to pass somewhat undetected into our subconscious memory banks. That's how come we sometimes get these funny little memories that just seem to pop to the forefront of our mind's eye when we least expect it.

For example, Carol and I were talking about something we heard on the news last night over a cup of coffee. Our topic of conversation was the current threat to world ecology, but the image that came to mind was the day that the Rolling Stones had released their "Flowers" album back in 1967. Don't ask me why.

That's just the way it seems to work. Random thoughts are like popping corn. You never know when they're going to jump out at you. And they always seem to strike when you're engaged in a totally unrelated conversation. Carol starts talking about the ecology and I start thinking about the Rolling Stones. Go figure - right?

Now, I don't know if it's the same for you as it is for me, but once one of these unrelated fragments pops to the forefront of my mind's eye, I've got to run with it. Carol can keep talking about the ecology if she wants to, and I'll be polite and take part in the conversation, but in the back of mind, I'm reliving a moment on Norwood Street that happened some Forty years ago. Now that I think of it, that may be what kept from getting into any of the really good schools.

In 1967, I was in Anthony Sarno's 8th grade homeroom at the Parlin Junior High. Everyone, who knew me, knew I was an avid Rolling Stone's freak. Funny when I think back on that now because I haven't listened to the Rolling Stones in decades. Back in 1967, the Beatles and the Rolling Stones ruled the world. This was also the year that the Beatles released "Sargent Peppers."

Not only did I own every album by the Rolling Stones back then, but I was always the first kid in Everett to get my hands on a copy as soon as it was released. I've gone so far as to skip school twice to accomplish that goal. Believe me, I knew the exact day and time that Rolling Stone's album would arrive at the Everett Music Shop down on Norwood Street.

Freddy (the proprietor of the record shop), had assured me that album would not arrive until sometime towards the late afternoon. Rather than run right down to the record shop after school, I went home to change out of my school clothes first.

For those of you from the younger generations, I'm talking back at a time when you did not wear your street clothes to school. Even worse, the girls couldn't wear slacks and the boys had to wear a tie. It almost seemed somewhat sacrilegious to buy a Rolling Stone's album wearing a dress shirt and a tie anyway.

As I was walking up Norwood Street towards the record shop, I ran into my fellow classmate, and very close friend, Jon. Jon lived on Pleasant View Ave. His mother was a nurse up at the Whidden. During our Junior High school days, Jon and I spent the better part of every waking moment together. That's how close we were.

Jon was carrying a bag under his arm. He waived to me and called out, "Hey Paul, where you going?"

"I'm on my way up to the record store."

"For what?"

"The new Rolling Stone's album comes out to today."

"Look at this," he said. Jon pulled the new Rolling Stone's album from his bag. He held it high up into the air for the whole world to see. He then began jumping up and down in a fit of hysterical laughter while shouting, "I don't believe it. I've outdone Mister Rolling Stone himself. I got it first. You are a loser!"

It really was funny. Even I had to laugh. It was mostly funny because he made such a big ordeal out of it in broad daylight. He even had all the grownups in Everett Square laughing.

"Okay, I concede. You win. So, you coming with me so I can get it too?"

"No way," he laughed. "I'm gonna run all the way home so I can listen to it before you do. I'm gonna be the first kid in Everett to hear the Rolling Stone's new album. I'll be famous."

And that's exactly what he did. He couldn't wait to get to school the next day to tell everybody that he bought, and listened to, the new Rolling Stone's album before I did. Man, what some people won't do for attention.

Another funny thing that happened between Jon and I was that we somehow got into a competition with each other over collecting Chess sets. Most people tend to compete by purchasing the most elaborate and expensive sets. We did just the opposite.

It became somewhat of an obsession to outdo each other by buying the cheapest set we could find. Jon leaped to the forefront of the competition when he bought one for 99 cents down at Rexall Drugs in Glendale Square. About a week later, I found one at Bradley's in Chelsea for 79 cents. I held the title for quite some time.

I'll never forget the day he showed up at my doorstep with that big "you-know-what" eating grin on his face because he had reclaimed the title. He bought a Chess set at "The Coop" in Harvard Square for 69 cents. Believe me when I tell ya, "The Coop" in Harvard Square today is a whole different animal from what it was back in the 1960's.

Jon held the title for many months, but I did eventually take the title back forever. I found a Chess set in Brooks on Broadway (when it was diagonally across the street from the Parlin) for only 29 cents. I kid you not. That set was so shoddy you couldn't really play a game of Chess with it, but it did qualify. That purchase officially ended the competition.

Whenever I think about Jon, I always think about the time he accidentally caught me in an embarrassing situation. We all do funny things in private that we would never do in front of other people. You know, things like telling off your boss in the bathroom mirror, or playing the "air" guitar to your favorite Beatle's record. Those are the kinds of things I'm talking about.

Well, when I was a kid, I used to love to sit on the edge of my bed and rock back and forth when I listened to music. It's not all that bizarre, I know, but it's just something you didn't do in public. At least I didn't anyway.

It embarrassed the dickens out of me when he came barging into my bedroom one day while I was rocking to beat the band while listening to my Rolling Stone's records. And yes, he had a fit of laughing that day, too. He was a true friend after all, for he never did embarrass me publicly over that one.

So, as I was telling you that story, another fragment just popped out into the forefront of my random access memory. This one is somewhat related under the "catching someone in the act of truly being themselves at an embarrassing moment" category.

I had this friend, named Jimmy, who often mispronounced many common words. He used to refer to strange phenomena as a "pair-o-normal" experience. Every time he said that, we'd burst out laughing and ask, "What in the world is a "pair-o-normal" experience? Is that when two normal things happen simultaneously?"

Whenever this kid stared off into space, he totally left the planet. He literary lost all contact with the real world. There is one such incident involving this kid that I shall never forget for as long as I live. It happened right out in front of Ligget's Rexall Drug in Glendale Square.

I had just come out of the Stop & Shop with my father. Now there's an experience and half for ya right there. My Dad was a Midwesterner with a slow drawl. Because he was such a backwoods friendly type, he'd even stop to talk to complete strangers over the most trivial things.

This guy could not just go into the Stop & Shop to buy a jar of relish without reading every word, on every label, on every jar of relish in the store. If that isn't enough to drive you nuts, he would then ask all the other shoppers what they thought before he narrowed it down to one brand.

Oh, but it didn't end there, believe you me. Once he narrowed it down to one brand, he then pulled out his little, red, plastic "money clicker" to figure out which size was the better bargain. God forbid he should uncover a pricing scam. You should have seen the way he carried on when he figured out that the smaller jar was a better deal that the larger one.

You had to experience this through the eyes of a sixth grader to really appreciate it. Remember how self-conscious and insecure you were back in the sixth grade? It's bad enough when the teacher ridicules and berates you all day long in front of all those cute girls in class, but when your father makes a big stink out of the price of relish in the middle of the Stop & Shop, that really takes the cake.

My father held that small jar of relish up for everyone else in the store to see. Then he loudly announced, "Do you believe it? You get more relish for your money when you buy the smaller jar." I wouldn't mind, but I just spent the better half of that day trying to look cool in front of the girl who was coming down the isle with her mother.

"Dad, please, can we keep this revelation to ourselves?"

"Why should we? Everyone should know they've got a scam going on here. Why should anyone throw their money away on a large jar of relish when the smaller one is a better deal?"

We're talking sometime around 1965 here. Think about it. How much money are we actually talking about? It couldn't have been any more than about eight or nine cents. I guess he was focusing more on the principle of the thing than the actual cost. I wanted to say, "Look Dad, get the larger jar if it's that important to ya and I'll throw in the extra nickel. Let's just get out of here before anybody from school sees me."

On our way out of the store that day, I saw Jimmy standing on the edge of the curb right in front of Ligget's. Now, would you call the sidewalk in front of Ligget's a remote corner of the world? Not hardly - right? You couldn't ask for a busier plot of ground between all the traffic mulling around looking for a parking spot, and all the people going back and forth pushing shopping carts full of groceries. Back then, that little strip mall was like a mini Grand Central Station.

Jimmy stood there, facing the parking lot, and staring off into space while picking his nose like mad. I'm not talking about one of those slight indiscretions here. This kid looked like was trying to dig his brains out. One by one, he jammed each of his fingers up there as far as he could shove them. Then he'd twist and pull at it while contorting his face into every possible distortion imaginable.

He was working so hard at it that he looked like he was having a seizure. Then he'd stand there rolling his prize catch up into a ball before flicking it out into the parking lot. Not exactly the kind of kid you'd want to share your french fries with, now is it?

He nearly jumped out of his skin when I came up behind him and said, "Jimmy, what in the world are you doing?"

"Nothing why?"

"What do you got a fly up your nose or something?"

"Why do say that?"

"Why do you think?"

"I have no idea."

"Because you're standing here in front of the entire city of Everett picking your nose like a mad man. That's why?"

"I am not!"

"What in the world did you just flick off of your finger then?"

"I didn't flick anything off of my finger."

That's when I realized that kid wasn't lying. He just wasn't conscious about what he was doing. He was so far off into space that his subconscious mind took over his vital bodily functions. The kid was a space shot beyond compare. It just so happens that this is one of those kids who used to tell everybody else that I was crazy.

Now that I think of it, maybe he's right. I'm in the middle of a conversation about world ecology and my mind's wandering aimlessly through things that happened in Everett forty years ago. Do I have a problem or what?

I've got millions of these fragmented images of growing up in Everett lodged in the back of my mind. Like the time we sat along the curbing of the front lawns to the Parlin Library up in Everett Square to watch them decorate the storefront windows of Gorins for their upcoming sale. This may be why I felt so compelled to post that image of Gorin's "Back To School Sale" on our "Growing Up Everett" picture page.

We had just stepped out onto Broadway after cutting through the parking lot behind the record store on Norwood Street. This skinny guy in a shirt and tie caught our attention when we heard him shouting, "No, no, move it over to the left. Raise it up higher, no wait, lower it down. Move it back over to the right again. It's crooked now!"

Perhaps the biggest reason why this guy caught our attention was because he became so animated in the process. This guy was totally losing his cool over posting these full-page ads in the storefront windows. He stood out on the sidewalk barking orders, but the girls decorating the window couldn't hear a word he was saying from behind that plate glass. The more frustrated he became, the more animated he got.

You should have seen this guy. From jumping up and down and flapping his arms frantically, to cupping his hands around his mouth to shout at the top of his lungs, he looked like a character caught on Candid Camera. Not only was he getting all flustered in the process, but the girls behind the window were getting really fed up with him.

In no way was he disrespectful to his employees. He was just getting more and more frustrated over not getting those windows to look right. And do you know what his biggest obstacle was? He started asking us for our opinion. That's the worse thing he could have done.

We couldn't care less about how his windows looked. All we wanted was an afternoon of savage amusement. We certainly got that. You should have heard us. No matter what he did, we criticized it. Hey, you get what you pay for - right?

"No, no, move it to the left. No, that ain't right. That looks terrible. Take that back down. Try something else. Nah, that looks worse." We had to bite our lips to keep from laughing. In less than five minutes we had completely disfigured that man's entire layout. What a riot. This guy had us in stitches.

For the better part of that afternoon, he had dressed and undressed that window at least a dozen times. After all that, the light finally dawned on Marble Head. You could see that look in his eyes as if he had just witnessed the great epiphany. He looked at us and said, "Excuse me for a minute, boys."

Minutes later, he came back out onto the sidewalk with the those three girls. "Okay Linda," he said, "since you're studying interior design I'm putting you in charge. Whatever you come up with will be fine with me. I've got other work to do. This is your big chance to shine."

I must say, it was certainly a sophisticated way of saying, "I give up." Why do I say that? Because if he did have any other work to do, he certainly didn't go do it. He stood there out on the sidewalk beside us with a big self assuring smile on his face, silently watching those three girls work their magic. And work magic they did.

We no longer had anything to laugh about. To be honest, we now stood there totally amazed at how efficiently these girls worked. There was no second-guessing. Every solution they came up with fit perfectly. Their manager was trying to design those windows by plastering them with newspaper ads. These girls discarded that idea altogether.

In a desperate attempt for more savage amusement, I turned to the girl in charge and said, "Hey, you know what I think?" Her manager got the last laugh when she turned back towards me and said, "I couldn't care less what you think."

In less than fifteen minutes, those three girls had transformed Gorin's windows into an appealing display that would certainly grab just about anyone's attention. "I only wish I thought of this in the first place," their manager said. Then he said, "Thanks guys. You made me realize that boys have absolutely no sense of design."

Do you believe that? Jeez, that's the thanks you get for lending a helping hand sometimes.

So that's what I mean about those fragmented images that just pop out of nowhere and take over your entire focus. Talk to me about the ecology, and I'll come back with the Rolling Stones, picking your nose, and decorating Gorin's storefront windows. That's just the way it works.

We tend to take those fragmented random thoughts for granted, but they really do mean so much. They take you back to a simpler time when you and your friends laughed until you cried, and spent the better half of an evening playing my eye spies. They chase the blues away. And in their own little way, they tell you not to worry because things will work out, and you will get by. When things get you down, or go the wrong way, they turn it all around. They're what you hold onto so that you don't cave in.

So, am I crazy? Nah, I act this way because "I'm from Everett!"

The Inside Scoop

American Author and Editor, E. L. Doctorow, once said, "Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia." So maybe I am a little bit of a screwball after all. It makes sense. Doesn't it? Think about it. What's the most common trait amongst eccentrics from Massachusetts? That's easy. They're from Everett.

Everyone from Everett knows we're all a little flaky. What am I saying? Even people from the surrounding communities thought we were crazy. Well, didn't they? How many times has somebody from somewhere like Reading or Newton looked at you with wide eyes and said, "You're from Everett? Those kids are nuts!"

There are certain characteristics about growing up in Everett that outsiders just didn't understand. Everett wasn't crazy to us. To us, it seemed normal. I found that out when I met some kids who lived up in Reading. Reading wasn't the bustling metropolis back then that it is today. It was really quite rural by Everett standards.

When these kids walked across the street, they just stepped off the curb without looking both ways. They didn't make a mad dash to get to the other sidewalk like we did. They didn't have to. We did.

In a city where somebody somewhere got hit by a car almost every other day, there were certain rules one must obey to survive growing up in Everett. Looking both ways before you step off the curb, and running to get to the other sidewalk, is more than just a basic rule of survival. It's a moral imperative.

Here's a simple word of advice you may want to jot down if you're gonna spend any serious time in Everett. "Never run out of Richie's Slush with your eyes closed." You want to know where that sidewalk ends, trust me. One extra step and you'll wind up splattered all over the Parkway.

Speaking of getting hit by a car, ask any kid from Everett this question. "What's the most common phrase spoken amongst kids when they're playing out in the middle of the street?" I'll bet you ten-to-one they'll say, "Cars comin!"

Man, I could write volumes about all the kids I've seen get hit by cars on Arlington Street alone. It even happened to me. The funniest one was the time my brother, Carl, took a direct hit from a greaser speeding down Arlington Street in a Pontiac convertible.

We had all tied balloons onto our bicycle back tires so we could ride up and down the street sounding like a bunch motorcycles. Weaving in and out between all of the parked cars while coasting down Arlington Street on our bikes was one of our favorite past times. Should you go too fast to cut that turn tight enough, you'd wind up going ass over tea kettle across the hood of that parked car landing upside down in the middle of the street.

That's only funny when it happens to somebody else. Okay, I know, it's not kosher to laugh at other people's misfortunes, but that's kids from Everett for ya.

So anyway, Carl said, "Hey everybody, you want to see something incredible?"

"Yeah, what have you got?"

"Everybody stand right here. I'm gonna try something that nobody else has ever done before. You're not gonna wanna miss this." That's exactly what he said.

We all gathered at the front gate of my house while Carl took off towards the top of the hill on his bike. Just as he started peddling downhill at breakneck speed, this car came accelerating around the corner of Foster Street. Carl weaved in between two park cars and got up onto the opposite sidewalk. We all thought he did that because he saw that car coming up behind him.

This was the fastest I ever saw anyone fly down Arlington Street on a three-speed English Raleigh. He reached speeds I never thought possible. When he was no more than about ten yards away from us, he shouted, "Now watch this!"

He made a sharp turn in between two tightly parked cars. Zooming right out into the middle of the street heading towards us, that car broadsided him a good one. Man, did it ever. You should have seen this one. This was like one of those video clips they show on one of those "Most Extreme" cable TV shows.

Carl's bike spun out from under him like a Frisbee. It slid several yards across the hard top sending off a shower of sparks in its path. Carl, however, bounced off the grill of that car and flew up into the air. With arms and legs flailing frantically, he came flying towards us up over the hood of the car parked along the curb. He then tumbled and rolled across the sidewalk and did not stop until he landed upside down in the middle of the forsythia bush in our front yard.

Keep in mind that we're not talking about kids from Watertown or Lynnfield here. We're talking about Everett. Don't even think for one moment that the first thing out of anybody's mouth was "Carl, are you all right?" No way. Kid's from Everett don't think along those lines. The first thing anybody said was, "Did you see that? That was awesome!"

The teenager who hit him never got out of his car. He was afraid to. Charlie Johnson stood right in front of him shouting, "Don't even move. The cops are coming." Along with the cops came an ambulance and a fire truck. Even the crowd of onlookers swelled to epic proportions. It was the talk of the neighborhood for weeks.

Even when they carried him away all lumped up and bloody on a stretcher, nobody asked Carl if he was all right. All anybody ever said was, "Hey Carl, that was excellent! And you're right. Nobody's ever done that before."

He became somewhat a folk hero amongst us for quite a while. That just goes to show ya how far out on a limb you've gotta go sometimes if you want to achieve any status in our neighborhood. It still amazes me how none of us ever grew up to become stunt doubles.

My point is, if you're going to survive growing up in Everett, make this rule number one to remember. "Look both ways before you cross the street." So what's number two? That's easy. It's "Run to the other sidewalk."

Another thing you should know to survive growing up in Everett is that everything you've ever learned about the animal world on Mutual Omaha's Wild Kingdom also applies here. You'll need to establish your rightful position in the neighborhood hierarchy. Simply put, you'll need to know where you stand in the "Who's tougher than who" category. Where you stand in the ratings dictates many things in your common everyday life.

There are benefits associated with being at the top of that hierarchy that are just "understood" as a given by everyone else. The toughest kid gets to pick who's on his stickball team. He also gets an influential voice in formulating the rules of the game.

Don't get me wrong. You don't get it all, especially not in Everett. There are certain responsibilities associated with being higher up in the neighborhood pecking order. Those rated below you will look up to you, if and only if, you respect the obligations associated with the position. They're gonna expect you to mediate when push comes to shove. And they're gonna stand behind you whenever an outsider tries to bully his way into the neighborhood.

There's one more thing I think you should know. This hierarchy hangs in a delicate balance. Don't get too comfortable in any of those higher up positions. By that I mean, don't start throwing your weight around. They'll call you on the carpet if you do.

Remember this about Everett kids. They don't back down. They'll go toe to toe with ya no matter who you are. Everett kids fight like alley cats. They'll kick you, and scratch you, and bite you. You can call em "dirty fighters" if you want to, but I suggest you find the more diplomatic way out if you know what's good for ya.

A good example of that once happened amongst the kids in our neighborhood who were a couple years older than me. There was this one kid who lived up on Prospect street who we all called, "Buddy." Buddy was a really nice kid who never bothered anybody.

Because Buddy was vertically challenged, this one kid from Ferry Street mistakenly thought that he could take advantage of him. This kid I'm talking about was really full of himself, if you know what I mean. For no reason at all he started pushing Buddy around. The straw that broke the camel's back was when he got Buddy in a headlock and proceeded to inflict 52 nugees on him.

Buddy snapped. He unleashed a barrage of left jabs and rights hooks that literally knocked that big bully on his keister out into the middle of the street. So what did that big bully do? He got up and ran home crying like a baby.

Oh, but it doesn't end there. You see, that caused a serious ripple effect throughout the established neighborhood hierarchy. Everyone thought that kid was a roughneck. Now that they knew he was nothing but a big bag of wind, everyone wanted to advance their position in the ratings.

Every kid that ever got pushed around by that bully went looking for him with a vengeance. By the end of the week that bully got chased down and beat up at least four more times. It's like I said. You've got to respect the obligations that come with the position. Abuse the privilege and you'll live to regret it.

Not everyone from Everett is a fighter. Some of us are lovers. Those who can fight stand up for those who can't. Picking a fight with someone you know you can take is a "no-no" in Everett. None of the other kids will tolerate it. Unless you're willing to take on every other kid in the neighborhood, don't do it. I don't know what the kids from other cities think about that rule, but that's how we do it in Everett.

Now, there are a lot of other things you should know about besides how to fight if you want to fit in with the kids from Everett. It is very important that you develop a good sense of humor, especially if the joke turns out to be on you. Don't lose your cool over a simple game of "keep away." It happens to all of us.

Let's say you're on your way home from school on a cold winter afternoon when one of your friends suddenly snatches the stocking hat off the top of your head. When you leap towards him to grab it back, he'll flip it behind him to the kid on his left. So naturally, when you reach for that kid he'll throw it over your head back to the kid who stole it in the first place. The next thing you know a "keep away" triangle takes shape all around you.

There is no way on earth that you're going to get that stocking hat back until they get bored with the charade. Some of these kids have mastered the technique of keeping that stocking hat just beyond your grasp to an exact science. They'll keep that thing flipping back and forth right in front of your face until the cows come home.

If you do start to lose your temper, do yourself a favor and don't let it show. If they find out it's getting to ya they'll never let up. And don't ever get so hot and bothered that you say something nasty about somebody's mother. That's a "no-no" of monstrous proportions. You will certainly live to regret that as well.

Ask anybody who grew up in Everett. If they ever introduce playing "keep-away" with a stocking hat in the Winter Olympics, the Everett kids will bring home the gold every time.

Another thing you should know about is that Everett kids know more uses for a trashcan than most people do for duct tape. Aside from using them for trash, the grownups use them to mark their parking spots during the winter. Us kids used them for hiding spots when playing "Hide and go seek," for gools when playing "Tag," and for goalie boundaries for street hockey. We've also used them for goal posts when we play "Tag Rush." Hey, we've even used one for first base once.

I'll never forget the time a whole bunch of us carried these filthy dirty trashcans up to the Horace Mann school ground. We crawled inside of them to see who could roll the fastest and the farthest down that steep slope at the school ground. I was actually having the time of my life until I whacked my head on the monkey bars.

Besides gonging my head off of that steel pipe, what really sticks out in my mind about that day is the way my mother reacted when I came wobbling into the front door. She didn't asked how I got that bump the size of an egg on my forehead. Instead she asked, "How come you smell like garbage?"

After explaining everything to her in the most simple of terms, she asked, "Why in gawd's name would you play in a filthy dirty trashcan?" Now honestly, if I've got to explain that one to ya then you just don't understand the way a kid thinks.

Here's another survival tip for ya. When you're walking along the sidewalks of Ferry Street, Main Street, or Broadway with a bunch of your friends at night, watch out for cars with only one headlight. Brace yourself if you see one. Whoever sees it first gets "Padiddle" rights. That means they get to punch you in the arm and yell, "Padiddle!"

Sometimes they'll yell out "Padiddle" when they really don't see one. Don't worry. They won't smack you if it ain't there. They're just trying to trick you into turning around so they can say, "Made you look. You dirty crook. You stole your mother's pocketbook."

Another thing we did is that when we called on a friend, we didn't knock on their door or call them up on the phone. We stood outside on the sidewalk in front of their house and hollered, "Hi yo Joey, coming out?" It really gets annoying when you hear somebody outside your window yelling that out for an hour and a half. Some people just can't take a hint.

Other than that, there really wasn't all that many rules to abide by to get along with the kids from Everett. For a newcomer, these kids were easy to make friends with. Once you did, there was a pretty good chance that you've just made friends for life. And it wasn't the end of the world if you did screw up once in a while. These kids are very forgiving. An honest apology goes a long way.

You'll come to discover that most of these kids overlook any disability you might have with more than just a common courtesy. They see their friends as equals. It's as simple as that. They look beyond the surface to see the character inside way before they see the shallow exterior.

All in all, growing up in Everett back then was a lot of fun. We did things that most other kids never even thought of. Where else on the planet did 900 kids get together every Saturday afternoon to tear their popcorn boxes into a pair of goggles to watch a movie? Where else did the kids get all excited over picking through their neighbor's trash? And Everett is the only place I know of where all the kids got together to sled down a steep hill that led directly into a chain link fence and a concrete drinking fountain.

Once you become an Everett kid you'll enjoy such benefits as learning how to sneak into the high school football games without paying. We'll show you how to slip undetected past the ticket taker at the gate. If that doesn't work, we'll show you where to hop over the fence. Don't worry about the cops. There are far too many of us running in all directions for them to catch anybody.

Other secrets we'll reveal to you is how to buy beer when you're only in high school. We used to slip the cabbies down in Glendale Square an extra saw buck so they'd buy us a case. The next thing you'd see is this crowd of teenagers lugging a giant brown paper bag up into the back hills of Glendale Park. That's where I first learned how to "shoot" a beer. Believe me, if you have to ask then you're not from Everett.

Let us not forget how Everett's unique landscape also played an important role in the over all social atmosphere as well. We've got streets that are so steep that they'll wear down the rubber on your bicycle hand brakes in the blink of an eye, and burn out an old master cylinder in under ten seconds. You'll also find a few streets that are so skinny that they look like you'll have to turn sideways to walk down. Even then we'll still park on both sides of the street.

In Everett, we don't even give a second thought to building yet another house on an empty lot that's barely large enough to park a Volkswagen. If that lot is too weird to accommodate a traditional structure, we'll twist it and bend it to the most outrageous proportions to make it fit. Take a gander at that apartment building next door to Ski's Ice Cream Parlor on Ferry Street, or that really weird looking apartment building on the corner of Irving and Nichols if you think I'm pulling your l