I was undercover, as much as a grade schooler could be. My grandma didn’t notice me slip upstairs to my bedroom. She was too busy spending time with my sister on a sewing project. But it didn’t matter. I had received a secret assignment from an invisible branch of the government known as the Action Alliance. It was my job to get Captain America past the canyon and to the new flight port behind our rickety garage.

With my Captain America toy in hand, I proceeded to open my second story bedroom window and climb out. I had seen workers on our roof before and knew that I just had to be careful with my footing to avoid falling off. I wasn’t afraid, as my new sneakers would grip the shingles and keep me safe.

The roof was steeper than it looked from the ground so I had to lean toward the peak of the roof as I climbed. I was startled when Mrs. Williams shouted with panic in her voice, “Get down from that roof or I’ll call the police!” My heart raced. Fear shot through my veins. I was petrified, well, that was until I realized that if I moved to the end of the roof I would be able to see the entire back yard from a bird’s eye perspective.

The view was incredible at 35 feet.

I checked the parachute on Captain America and tossed him high into the air out over the backyard. The Captain peaked from my toss and started to fall, forcing the parachute to pop open. The sight was amazingly beautiful, as I watched the Captain slowly drift down into the yard. Once he landed I headed back to my bedroom window.

By the time I got downstairs I could hear my grandma talking with Mrs. Williams at the back door. I moved to the kitchen and tried to figure out who was winning the argument. Mrs. Williams saw me and glared. She was satisfied that I was off of the roof and headed home.

Grandma turned to me and asked, “What kind of trouble have you been getting into?”

I shrugged my shoulders and headed into the backyard to play. The Captain had landed within a few feet of the new flight port, so I picked him up and wrapped the parachute for another jump. I climbed on top of the garbage cans and then shimmied onto the garage roof.

The roof was less stable than the house since the garage was on an angle. My dad suggested at dinner a few days earlier that it would soon fall over. But for me, it was the perfect launch point to toss Captain high into the air and watch the chute pop open for another successful mission. The Captain landed perfectly in the sandbox, which was next to the flight port.

It didn’t take long for the Action Alliance to congratulate me on getting Captain back safely. He had just completed an intelligence mission tracking the notorious Chet Dagon, super lord of the evil swazitey empire. I knew that a call would come requesting my expertise in the near future, but for the time being I headed into the kitchen for some milk and cookies

 Copyright © 2013 by CJ Powers

Kindergarten was a lot of fun, except for those things we had to learn – Back when learning was a chore, not about engaging the mind. Aside from the required nap that interrupted my play and the lessons that tired my brain, I really enjoyed it. Of course, it didn’t hurt to have an extremely beautiful teacher to look at. Well, that is until she left us to have a baby.

The replacement teacher started off fairly well. She got accustom to our large room and seemed to use different areas for specific purposes. The large walk-in coat closet was in lieu of lockers and had shelves for those who brought lunch boxes.

I rarely used the lunch box shelf, as I lived one block over and was allowed to go home for lunch. If my dad worked the night shift, he’d make my sister and me open-face bologna sandwiches for lunch. During the winter he would add soup to the menu and during warmer weather he’d serve cottage cheese and applesauce. If dad was working the day shift, my grandma would come over and make us lunch.

My teacher had set up a clean area next to a big art sink. It was used for messy art projects and setting up cool science experiments. I remember her giving us large white bowls filled with water and having us sprinkle lots of pepper into it. She then asked us to guess (form a hypothesis) what would happen if we put a drop of dish soap on our finger and touched the water. The outcome was much different than my guess, as all the pepper instantly shot to the sides of the bowl when my finger touched the water.

Other areas in the room included the teacher’s desk where I had to stand to talk about all the red marks she made on my papers. The large wall of windows with the eastern exposure was lined with shelves of toys for playtime. And, my favorite area was the large alcove set up like a playhouse where I could pretend to be a dad and businessman.

I suppose having come from a family who constantly shared stories made the teacher assume that my favorite area was by the fireplace where she read stories to us, but she quickly changed her thinking after giving me a choice that she’d never forget.

One day the teacher had our class sit along the rim of the oval rug by the fireplace, while she rocked in the chair and read out loud. The story was boring to say the least and I was close enough to the shelf of toys to grab a couple of building blocks – One became a race car zooming around, while the other was the emergency vehicle to quickly aid in every crash.

I hadn’t noticed that the drama of my play was causing the teacher’s words to stop flowing. Nor did I pay any attention to how many of my classmates were watching me create incredible stunt scenes with my block car skidding, flipping and crashing. Even the rescue squad made entertaining moves as I swung the vehicle around to save the stuntman at the last second, before the car blew up.

The teacher called out my name and everyone’s head turned to face her firm look of disappointment in me. Her eyes locked onto mine. Her look suggested words of punishment were about to roll off of her lips in some form of an ultimatum. She knew how important story was to me and she was about to threaten me with a choice.

“Young man,” she stated firmly. “You can either put away the blocks and listen to the adventure story I’m reading the class, or leave our cozy storytime area and spend the rest of this time in the playhouse.”

The playhouse? Cool! She had just extended my time of make believe and sent me to my favorite part of the room. How awesome was that? Well, the decision was easy and the reward so fun that my enthusiasm was contagious.

The teacher was speechless when I took half of the class with me, playing house and work. It was one of the most fun playtimes we had ever experienced. As for the teacher, she never gave me another choice the rest of the year.

Copyright © 2013 by CJ Powers
Photo © SLDigi – Fotolia.com

I clobbered the 16” softball, sending my cousin back peddling. Tom turned and sprinted to pick it up before it stopped rolling. He shouted, “25!” as he swept up the ball. Tom was a couple years older than me and was raised in a family of brothers who played 500 all summer long. The only thing that kept me in the game was my ability to hit the ball harder and farther than he thought was possible for a little kid.

For some reason Tom didn’t toss the ball back. His eye was caught on something inside of the fort ruins. He dropped the ball and entered the inner structure. The old Fort Pickens ruins were cold and damp, which made the afternoon Florida sun bearable. Inside the partially underground fort were brick archways that seemed to fade into pitch-black darkness.

The sight was so amazing that I lost track of where Tom had gone. I suddenly found myself lost within the fort’s battery tunnel. Suddenly an old brick took a blaster shot and shattered from the arch above me. The debris rained down as I took cover. I pulled out my raygun and returned fire. Chunks of exploding brick bounced off of the wall.

I noticed a skylight type opening above and climbed the arch. My hands grabbed a chunk of grass from outside the opening and I pulled myself up and out. I shuttled around behind a bush and took aim. Something was not right. No one followed me out, so I took slow steps toward the opening.

BANG!

I was hit. I spun around to see the intolerable menace, Dr. Vorick of the Neuzillian spaceport, pointing his raygun at me. He slowly raised it to take aim and I turned away and rolled down the hill, landing out of sight in bushes. The imaginative moment vaporized when Dr. Vorick, I mean Tom, told me that we had been called to dinner.

After washing the dishes, my family went to a laundry mat. There was nothing to do except daydream new adventures about my escape from the evil Dr. Vorick. On the drive back to camp, mom gave instructions for how the Easter morning service would work and how our camping group would walk together to the beach. The car suddenly swerved to miss an animal and I gasped for fresh air.

I rolled down my window to help my breathing, but the skunk smell poured in more potently than expected. My mom groaned about the clean laundry in the trunk, but wasn’t about to return to the laundry mat until after she shared the moment with her fellow campers. She drove a few times around the campsites until she was confident that everyone from the group had smelled the lovely aroma.

The car stopped next to our camper, which made me realize that sleeping in Tom’s pup tent a dozen yards away would be a better choice. My mother quickly agreed and gave me an air mattress for my comfort.

Tom had put up the tent in a small island like space nestled in among a few evergreen trees. It was a short distance from the fort on one side and a shorter distance from my family’s camper on the other. It was well positioned with one exception – It was in a miniature valley, but there was no forecast for rain.

I climbed into the tent and puffed air into my mattress. It was a long and arduous process that Tom quickly gave up on. He decided that his sleeping bag had sufficient padding so he went to sleep on the ground.

I continued to inflate mine, although it was getting more difficult. Once Tom fell asleep, I felt alone in the dark woods. I slipped out of the pup tent and headed to the camper in hopes of finding some courage, but I stopped cold in my steps when I heard a distant coyote howl. I was suddenly aware that I had the choice of sleeping in the camper or stepping up and being a man. Since I did well keeping up with the older kids playing 500, I decided I could handle manhood and the noises in the night. I was exhausted, so I headed back to Tom’s tent and fell asleep.

A crack of lighting woke me up in the middle of the night. Rain was pelting the canvas, so I assessed the pup tent – no leaks. I closed my eyes and fell back to sleep.

I was awoken to a new sunny day by a weird gurgling sound. It was like a sputtering noise made by… I turned toward Tom and found he was asleep, lying in four inches of water. His nose was dry, but he was exhaling through his mouth at the water line.

I was concerned about my predicament and I found that I was floating on the water thanks to my air mattress. It was one of those strange moments in life that you couldn’t make up if you tried. I decided to hold tight and watch Tom sleep, wondering what it would take for him to wake up. It wasn’t long before Tom shifted in his sleep and his face went in the water. He bolted upright, coughing and spitting. He was soaked.

It was hilarious and I couldn’t hold back my laughter, but Tom didn’t find it amusing. He glared at me, “You’ll have to get wet eventually…to get out of the pup tent.”

I realized that to stand up, my foot would have to get in the water and the odds were the air mattress might buckle in my attempt, pouring water onto my legs.

Tom started to laugh, “I’ve got to see this.” He stepped outside and flipped the tent door flap up out of the way to give him a clear view of my future demise.

But, I stayed low on the mattress and started to paddle. Tom watched as my air mattress drifted out of the pup tent and onto the dry ground. He was speechless.

The sun was just coming up over the horizon and I remembered the Easter service. I ran to join my family at the camper. I soon realize my mother’s loops, scenting the campsite with the smell of skunk, provided early morning entertainment. A sign was staked in the ground next to the camper that read, “Welcome to Stinky Hollow.”

Our adventures at Fort Pickens were memorable and I felt the experience helped me brave the new world of manhood. I also learned a couple life lessons like making sure your tent or house is on top of the hill rather than in the valley.

Copyright © 2013 by CJ Powers