can I get a witness?

What do Jehovah’s Witnesses and Santa Claus have in common? They were both afraid of my childhood dog Pepper.
My mother worked in the sales department for a local radio station thirty miles from my home town when I was old enough to start kindergarten. In the eighties the Idaho public schools had decided on a half day kindergarten program. According to Dr. Spock this would be a good way to transition kids into school without overwhelming them I guess. In the real world this half day school bit presented a logistical problem for many families, and mine was no different. In the days of “Leave it to Beaver” mothers stayed at home all day, but by the eighties women were desperate to shed their housewife image and jump into the work force. My mother didn’t get off of work until five o’clock and she couldn’t very well have me home alone for five hours every weekday. Before starting kindergarten my mom had both my brother and I in a day care program that was located in the same town that she worked. My mom easily remedied the situation by working with the school district in the town that she worked in to allow me to go to school there and then ride a bus to the day care that I had been attending for three years prior. The school district officials grudgingly told her that they would permit it for my kindergarten year but she would have to make different arrangements for first grade.
During the summer between kindergarten and first grade my mom struggled with the decision of what to do with me in regards to my schooling and the distance issue. Reluctantly she decided that since I would be in school until three-thirty she would let me ride the bus home from school, to spend an hour and a half on my own.
The town that we lived in had little more than five hundred residents and by most accounts was a safe place to raise your kids. When my grandparents had moved to Idaho in the seventies they had purchased several acres of land that were bordered by potato fields. As their children got older and started to marry they split the land up so each child could build their own house and settle down. As a result I lived on the same block as four of my cousins. My mother’s decision to let me stay at home by myself until she got home from work was made easier by the fact that we had family so nearby in case I needed anything.
On my first day of school in Teton my mom gave me a list of things that I could and couldn’t do. She made sure that I had the phone numbers to every major government agency in the state, all hospitals in a sixty mile radius, and her direct extension at work.
My mother was not the type of woman who would do anything irresponsible. She always made sure that our bills were paid in a timely manner, she never wore blue eye shadow, and she wouldn’t dream of ripping a tag off of a mattress. In this day and age I would never leave a six year old to their own devices, but it was the eighties and everyone was irresponsible.
My first day at my new school was horrifying. I walked down the long hallway of our small brick school house holding onto my mother’s hand tightly, terrified by the sixth graders who seemed far too large to still be in school. Being the youngest girl of six older female cousins, I knew just how fierce older kids could be. It made it all the more terrifying to know that four of those bully cousins were already lurking around somewhere in this very school.
My mom expertly navigated her way to my classroom and surveyed the bright faces that had all turned to stare at the door. Unlike me they had all started school together and already knew each other. I was instantly the outcast. All the pretty girls were already sitting next to each other in the front of the room, while all the little boys were sitting in the back corner. There was no seating arrangement so I was on my own. After a few minutes of scanning the room I found an empty seat next to a homely little girl with chipmunk cheeks. She told me that her name was Jessica and she was in Migrant Ed. I smiled knowingly at her even though I had no idea what a “migrant” was and I didn’t know anyone named Ed.
My first grade teacher had also been my Sunday school teacher for most of my life and for a brief second when I saw her I felt like everything was going to be ok. I soon found out however that M.J. the Sunday school teacher was nothing like Mrs. Cassidy the first grade teacher. When she stood up in front of the class I shot her my best smile and in return I got a scowl that said, “Your mother might be there to protect you on Sunday mornings, but this is my turf you little brat!”
I sank two inches lower in my seat and tried not to look up for the rest of the day. I spent most of my first recess trying to hide from my cousins on the playground. I knew that if they found me I would be subjected into posing as their little doll for the rest of the school year. I eventually found a nice spot in the tall grass underneath the bleachers on the edge of the baseball diamond. I sat there alone for the duration of the three recesses we were forced to endure during the course of the day.
On the school bus home there was no where to hide from my cousins. They quickly picked me out as the shortest kid on the bus. They invited me to come sit with them and tell them about my day. I knew better and tried to explain why the front of the bus near the bus driver is much safer than the back of the bus, but they weren’t buying it. Reluctantly I picked up my Care Bears lunch box and walked down the aisle to the very back of the bus.
For thirty excruciating minutes I had my naturally curly hair pulled and combed into all of the hottest eighties fashions of the day. Whenever my frizzy hair would not cooperate they would proceed to pull harder until I would cry out in pain. Rachel, the second youngest next to me, would usually lead the assault, knowing that if it were not for me she would surely be the victim. When I was four she had decided to give me a hair cut and managed to give me a mullet. My mom had been heart broken because I had spent nearly three years bald, and just when my hair was starting to come in and thicken it was business in the front and party in the back.
When I finally got off the bus, I ran home a quickly as I could. My mom had told me that she thought it would be a good idea to stay at one of my cousins’ houses until she got home from work, but I valued my hair and decided that it would be safer to tough it out at home.
When I finally arrived out of breath I settled myself down into my room and sat down with Barbie and Ken to decide what kind of trouble they would get into that day. It was apparent from Barbie’s shaggy locks that she needed a hair cut; I trotted into the kitchen to retrieve the scissors, and got the biggest scare of my life. Looking in the windows of our mobile home were two men in black suits. I ran as fast as I could to my younger brother’s room to get a better look at them. In our driveway was a shiny black car with two more men seated in the back seat. My young mind raced. Who were these men and why were they here? What did they want with me? Surely they were spies who were here to kidnap and torture me. I had to think. What does one do in a situation like this? There was only one logical option I did what any kid would do. I did my best army crawl to the living room where the telephone was located. Inching away I avoided the windows, which still had these strange suited men peering through. I made it to the living room seemingly undetected by the spies.
The reasonable decision at this point would have probably been to call my Aunt Rhonda or my mom at work, but I was sure that we had a national security breach on our hands, and this would require the big guns. I picked up the phone and dutifully dialed “911.” When the operator answered the phone and asked me what my emergency was, I informed her that there was a group of international spies parked outside my house and they trying to find a way in. Skeptical the dispatcher asked me if this was some kind of prank. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t she taking this national threat seriously. I let her know that this was a serious matter and she needed to send in the swat team, the coast guard, the marines, and any other branch of the military that she could think of. Still doubting me, she got my address, and said that “someone” would be there shortly.
Suddenly the horrible truth that I was on my own until the authorities arrived settled in. I slithered my way back to my brother’s room where I found his toy periscope discarded in a heap of broken toys on the floor. I positioned myself under the window in a way that I would be able to raise my sight without anyone being able to spot me. I manned my position until I saw a flash of blue lights coming down the driveway. Victoriously I pumped my hand in the air, I had done it, I had waited out the spies, and now they would be arrested and I would get some kind of Medal of Honor for my heroic efforts. My glee was short lived as I quickly realized that the foolish dispatcher had only sent one police cruiser. The odds were not good, one officer against four highly trained spies could not possibly have a good outcome. This was obviously an inside operation and the operator had most likely been in on it. Never the less I decided that I would give up the periscope and go into the living room to have a better view.
I made my way into the living room where I could see that all four men were now out of their vehicle pointing frantically at the far side of their vehicle. What was going on here? Surely the spies were trying to bribe the officer with something in their car! I decided that at this point for the safety of the nation, I would go outside and put myself in the line of fire.
I made my way down the front stairs, and the police officer smiled at me and asked me if I was the brave young lady who had called him to the scene. Proudly I puffed out my chest and let him know that I was the one. My pride was somewhat deflated when I realized that these men were not spies, but were Jehovah’s Witnesses who had come down our driveway to evangelize. The reason that they had been peering in the windows, and had not left was that our dog, Pepper, sensing danger, had chased their car and bitten their tire, flattening it. The two missionaries that remained in the car were too frightened to get out of the vehicle in fear of the ferocious beast that still loomed outside. The men were just peering in the house hoping that someone was home so that they might come in and use the phone.
Even so, the police officer sited the invaders for trespassing. Our land was clearly marked with a “no trespassing” sign as well as a “beware of dog sign.” The cop got a good laugh, and said that more kids needed to be as cautious as I was. My mom arrived home a few minutes afterwards, because she worked in the news department at the radio station she had heard the officer called to our house over the scanner. Terrified she had made her way home as quickly as she could. Everyone involved had a good laugh, except for the poor Jehovah’s Witness who had received the trespassing citation. My mom made me a hero’s dinner that night for my bravery. Little did I know that my antics of the afternoon would serve another purpose, we were never bothered again by the local Jehovah’s Witnesses.

If The Dresser Doesn't Fit, Saw It In Half

 I relunctantly invited my father to help me move out of my apartment last summer, only because he could move all of my stuff with the pull trailer my mom had lent him. He showed up at the door, sweaty, shaky and as agitated as always.

Surprisingly, we were able to pack most of my belongings in 2 hours--he had to get back to Hampton Beach for a random concert he had won tickets to. I knew this was his not-so-secret obsession. Every visit was showcased with artists, concert tickets and obscure autographs from people I had never heard of.

We packed all my stuff and there was only one piece of furniture left to move: my oversized impractically large dresser. The only way I ever got it IN my apartment in the first place was when my apartment super begged two kids off the street to help us lug it up the ancient swirling staircase. This time I thought gravity might help it fit down the stairs.

I was wrong, very very wrong.

My dad attempted everything: different angles, shifting, pivoting. Nothing seemed to work and now the dresser was lodged securily in the stairwell between the ceiling and the top several steps. 

"What are we going to do, Dad?" 

"I don't know..." 

He hesitated for several seconds, and I knew he was going to come out with something ridiculous. "Hold on. I'll be right back." 

I thought he was going out into the driveway to have a smoke. You can imagine my surprise when he comes back into the stairwell with a chainsaw. My jaw dropped. 

"You're going to saw this in the stairwell?" 

Who the hell drives around with a chainsaw in the back of their car? Only my father.

After 30 solid minutes of wood flying, sawdust strewing, the dresser was finally moved from my second floor apartment onto the street. It was a Tuesday. Trash day wasn't until Friday. I knew I was going to be in big trouble with the buildings super who was paranoid about our apartment looking like common trash. Oh well, maybe no one will notice. Yeah. Right.

On-going list of stories

Sawing the dresser in half
When my dad sent me porn
Mack the One-Eyed Jack
We Have Your Dad's Leg
My Dad's Friend Joe
Prince Albert