Growing Pains

I walked outside at mid-morning, beginning another sultry summer day the same as any other.  The humidity combined with the heat in Iowa July’s has become more unbearable for me as I have grown older, but at 11 years old, it was what helped to define summer; wet and hot, as though you were wading through thin water.  Summer was also defined by freedom from all things repressive; school, bullies at school, bullies on the way home from school, and the bully at home, dad. 

Staying at my grandparents’ house was a reprieve from tension and fear.  In the town of Ute, Iowa, population 385 and dwindling, there were few rules and fewer boundaries (within reason).  My cousins and I would come up with new adventures and shenanigans to get ourselves into and out of every day.  I was always the faint representation of reason and apprehension, pointing out the flaws and sometimes legal and moral issues in their plans, but I was forever overruled.  I always went with them regardless of my apprehensions though in order to avoid the inevitable taunting and smack-talk that kids are gifted at delivering.  Sometimes there was even a hint of danger in what we did, whether real or imagined.  We could always tempt fate by hanging around the river bridge and telling the story of Greg Hunter, the local ex-military madman who was the deliverer of terror to kids all over town.  The stories about Greg were varied from one telling to the next, but they all involved the Soldier River Bridge and an army rifle, shooting at a group of kids, though nobody could tell you who those kids were for sure.  But nothing else would hold us back from executing the best laid plans of adventure and exploration.

That particular summer, my cousin Kevin was staying with my grandparents the same two weeks that I was.  Though Kevin was a year younger than me, we were essentially the same size in body, but he was much bigger in personality.  I always took to being second with him: taking orders, following his lead, and never without fail, I got the single-speed bicycle with the handlebar problems while he got the ten-speed that ran like a dream.  I had little chance of changing the status quo any given day, so I swallowed what little pride I did have and didn’t say a thing.  I was used to that at home as it was.  My father presented the human incarnation of all things unfair and evil in the world of a child.  Staying away from him was a full time job.  Swallowing ones pride came right along with all of the other lumps one would receive in run-ins with dad.

Kevin had decided that we were going to Charter Oak one day to go to the pool because the river was running high, and I was terrified of being drug under and swept away in the nitrogen-laden water, where monstrously huge snapping turtles lurked behind every rock and bend you couldn’t see around.  It was six miles to Charter Oak along highway 141, and I knew that once we got to the bottom of the hill outside of town, the next five miles would be angled uphill, and I was already relegated to the one-speed for the day.

We spent the morning waiting for the pool to open tinkering in the garage on our bikes, performing unnecessary and ineffective maintenance and repairs.

“What should we do until lunch?” I asked Kevin.

“I thought we could go up-town and practice our jumps off the high curb by the school.  I tightened up my chain and lowered the seat on my bike, so I should be able to get a better start than last time,” Kevin announced with full confidence.

“I want to stop at Co-op to fill up my tires again with air.  Every day it seems that they lose all of their pressure, but I don’t have a patch for the inner tube,” I told him.  “Maybe we can get something to snack on while we are there, too.”

Kevin finished up his ‘repairs’ and hopped on the bike to begin the utterly long and strenuous trek up the highway into town.  It must have been a whole quarter of a mile straight up since my grandparents’ house was located a block from the river and town limits.  No matter where we went in town, it was inevitably up hill.  I turned my bike around and walked it out of the garage, then stood on one peddle to begin the ride out of the driveway, putting all of my 80 pounds of weight into each rotation of the peddle in a vein effort to catch up with Kevin, who, in his ten-speed glory was already 100 feet ahead of me and pulling away.

When I finally reached the top of the hill, face reddened and winded, Kevin asked “How come it takes you so long to get up here?  I’ve been here for like ten minutes waiting on you!”

“Sorry… I was… on my way…………. but this bike… sucks,” I explained between pants.

“Well, you just need to get into better shape if you’re going to ride with me all summer.  You don’t see me tired,” he proclaimed as he laid his bike down on the curb in front of the Co-op gas station window and proceeded to go inside but not before jumping on the hose laid out by the gas pumps that sounded a “ding, ding” inside of the garage.  I got off of my bike and pushed it into the open garage door, protesting to myself everything my cousin had said, and getting madder by the minute.  Suddenly my uncle Jim (another cousin’s Uncle Jim, but we all knew him as Uncle Jim) came out from under a pickup suspended in the air by the hydraulic lift.  A partially smoked cigarette hung from his mouth as he wiped the grease from his ever-oiled hands.

Uncle Jim was a tall, lean man without an ounce of meat to spare.  He wore his stripped Co-op work shirt that held his soft pack of GPC’s in the left breast pocket tucked into his blue mechanics pants and stood in a pair of brown steel-toed work boots.  His hair, which I had never seen straightened or combed, lay on his head in a dusty heap and terminated down his long jawline in a pair of out-of-fashioned sideburns that nearly reached a push-broom mustache, concealing most of the looks in his repertoire.  Uncle Jim was held up by other adults in my family as a hard man who deserved our respect.  My grandmother would tell me that he has never known a day without work, and you don’t find that in people any more.  She then went on to question me why I’m not more like that myself.

“What seems to be the matter with your wheels, there Paul?” Jim asked me as he took a long, slow drag on his cigarette.

“Oh, hi Uncle Jim.  I was just needing the air pump to re-inflate my bike tires again today,” I told him, having to conceal my annoyance with my cousin for a while.

“Why don’t you come in first thing tomorrow, and I’ll patch those ole’ tubes up for you in a jiffy.  How does that sound?”

“Are you sure you have time to do that?”  I asked since it always took an hour to tear down my bike tires and fix them myself.  Plus, when did adults do favors for kids?

“Sure.  We’ll have you back out on that bike in no time flat!” he said with a chuckle.  “For now, just go ahead and fill ‘er up.  You know where the compressor is.”

“Thanks Uncle Jim.  I’ll bring it by in the morning.”  I pushed my bike over to the garage wall adjacent to the convenience store and unscrewed the caps off of the valve stems.  I filled the tires up and used the squeeze test, pinching the tires between my thumb and forefinger to tell when there was enough air to last for another 24 hours, hung the air hose awkwardly back up on the wall hook, and then rolled my bike out to lay it on the curb next to Kevin’s.

When I went inside, Kevin was talking to Aunt Linda, outlining our plans for the day and how long it took me to ride up the hill, unlike him.

“Hi ya, Paul! Didja find Jim in the garage and get yer tires filled up?” she asked, trying to change the topic.

“Yes.  But I did it myself.  Uncle Jim is going to patch the tires for me for good tomorrow, and then maybe I won’t have to fill them up all the time like I have been,” I said as I milled around the store seeing what I might want to drink.

“You know, you probably ride the bike wrong and that’s why you always have flats,” Kevin professed.  “If you only knew more about bikes like I do, maybe you wouldn’t have all of these problems.”

I looked up and gave a dirty look to the back of Kevin’s head, but quickly lowered my glance and averted eye contact when he spun around to ask me if I could buy him a pop, since he didn’t have his money with him.  It was asked, but I knew it really implied that I would buy whatever he wanted and probably wouldn’t get paid back for some time… if ever.  I reached in and grabbed a glass bottle of Gatorade for myself while Kevin reached in for a Dr. Pepper.

Aunt Linda rang up our two items at the register as I dug around my pocket for my dollar bill and loose change.

“Ok boys, that comes to $1.65.”

I laid out the $1.75 in Aunt Linda’s hand with reservation, because it was then that I realized I now only had 10¢ left when she handed me back a dime, and I didn’t have enough for a candy bar now because Kevin didn’t have the foresight to think ahead.  Damn it!  That candy bar was one of the reasons I wanted to ride up here in the first place, but now what do I do?

Kevin opened his pop and took a long draw of syrupy soda, letting a little bit of it splash out of the top and fall to the floor when he took it away from his mouth.  He started talking again to Aunt Linda, and that’s when my plan materialized.  I would just take a candy bar from the shelf without paying for it.  I was shocked at myself for thinking of stealing from my own aunt’s store, but that makes it easier, right?  She might have just given it to me anyway, I figured.  Besides, it was Kevin that owed her the money since he just drank my remaining 75¢ in the first place.

As I cased the joint, looking for the easiest grab, I realized that Kevin was right in front of the chocolate bars.  ‘Damn,’ I thought to myself.  ‘I really wanted a Snickers or Twix, but that won’t be possible now.’  I looked for a little longer and saw my target of opportunity.  Just out of eye shot from both Kevin and Aunt Linda was a side rack laced with various hard candies and assorted nuts.

I could feel my heart quicken.  ‘I’m really going to do this!’ I thought to myself.

Sweat began to build on my forehead.

My palms became clammy and cold.

Nothing like this had ever come to me before.

I had to time it just right.

I had to time it so that nobody sees a thing.  I surreptitiously shuffled to my right and closer to the rack.

I reached my right hand out while keeping an eye on the conversation.

I could hear the words they used but I had no idea what they were saying.

Almost have it.

Almost have it,

There! They both looked out the window!  I eyed my prey, the closest thing to my hands, a roll of Life-Savers, and grabbed them with pinpoint precision and accuracy, quickly dashing the goods into my front shorts pocket.

I took a look behind me to make sure that none of the mechanics had made their way into the store through the back door near the storage and break room, and then turned back to realize that Kevin was staring at me.

I froze.

I was caught, but how?  I thought for sure I had got away with it!

I thought my heart stopped beating.

“Well, are we going or not?  You always take too long when we go places, Paul.”  Kevin said, rolling his eyes and apologizing to Aunt Linda for my odd behavior.  I didn’t wait long enough to hear his full explanation.  I darted, head down with Gatorade in hand, out to the bikes and began peddling out of the gas station lot and up to Main Street.  I could hear my Aunt Linda bidding us farewell, then the sound of Kevin jerking his bike to its tires and giving it a running start, but he never did catch up to me.  I rode the four blocks up the school, peddling non-stop until I arrived beneath the oak tree near the curb, where I turned around and waited for Kevin to arrive.

When he pulled up, he shot me a disgusted look as if to say ‘How dare you beat me to the school!  I’m in charge here, not you!’  I began to breathe again for the first time since I ran out of the store.  To look calm, I unscrewed the cap from my Gatorade and took several short sips like adults do with hot coffee or cold beer.  Kevin took another drink of his pop, and then threw the bottle and the remainder of the soda into the closest garbage receptacle next to the school building.

“Ok,” he started. “This is the jump I was telling you about.  Now you just stay here and watch me do this properly.”  He rode to the top of the incline and paused long enough to sight in the obstacle, then began pumping his legs hard on the peddles until he came to the curb where he yanked upwards on the handlebars, and then dropped over the edge with an astounding thud, nowhere close to resembling a real jump.

All I could think about was what had just happened.  I had become a thief.  I was unsure what to feel at first: the weight of the guilt for having carried out the crime in the first place or the relief of not having been caught in the act.  Either way, I was excited by the rush of the whole ordeal.  I took out my ill-earned prize from its concealment and stared at it, as if it really wasn’t there, only something I had imagined.  I turned it over and over in my hands, examining the candy roll, taking in every detail of the wrapping, how heavy it seemed to be, the way it rolled back and forth in my palm, the colors of the paper, the…

“What is that!?  Where did you get those Life Savers because I know you didn’t buy them?”

In all of my glory-basking, I had forgotten to keep an eye on Kevin who keenly observed that I wasn’t doing what he had instructed me to do, watch him.

“Oh, uh,” I stammered since I was not accustomed to or any good at lying.

“You stole those, didn’t you?”

“Uh, I uh, I must have grabbed them without thinking, you know, on accident?”

“You stole those from Aunt Linda and don’t try to deny it because I’ll tell on you!  You have to take them back right now and apologize, and maybe you’ll be forgiven,” he demanded with conviction, acting as if he were a canonized saint, helping to save my immortal soul.

I froze momentarily, making rapid glances back and forth between the candy and my cousin’s stern-twisted face.  On one hand, I had just committed an act of brave resistance, and therefore declared my new found sense of control and purpose.  But, on the other hand, I had been found out, and the meaning of what I had just done began to set in like pain after adrenaline wears off.  The next thought running through my head at that point was wondering if Dad would find out.  Having done something wrong is bad enough, but to have broken the law… well, to the boy of a uniformed police officer, there was a whole other level of hell and fury that would surely come.  I wasn’t afraid of jail, but being dealt with by my father was a punishment I wouldn’t wish upon anyone.  If he found me out, I may never see the light of day again!

“Ok,” I said.  “I’ll take the candy back, but you have to promise not to tell anyone what happened today, ok?”  I pleaded with my best matter-of-fact face I could conjure up at that moment.  Kevin sat on his bike seat for a minute, pondering the repercussions of my actions, and what it may mean for him as well; my dad was his uncle, after all.  Finally, his face relaxed and he said to me “You know, we all make mistakes, and it’s not too late to fix this one.  Let’s take back the candy and nobody else needs to know about this.  It’s between you and me,” he concluded with reverence.

Relief swept over me in a humid wave, but it wasn’t over with yet.  I still had one obstacle to overcome: returning the candy to Aunt Linda at the station and hoping that she was as kind hearted and merciful as I wanted to believe she was.  Kevin began to peddle down the street.  I followed, keeping a respectful distance knowing that for now, he really had to believe he was the one calling the shots.  My fate rested in the hands of my younger cousin, and now what little pride and self-respect I may have had left needed to take a back seat to diplomacy until this ordeal was over and behind me.

We peddled up to the gas station slowly and with intent, laying our bikes back on the curb in front once again, but this time Kevin didn’t announce us via the garage bell.  We walked into the store and Aunt Linda greeted us with a perplexed look on her face.

“Did you boys forget something?”  Before I could utter a single syllable, Kevin stepped up in front of me and announced like the town crier “Paul has something he needs to tell you.”

“What is it honey?”

“I, I did something I’m not proud of,” I began.  “I took something from the store without paying for it.” I dropped my head in the posture of prayer.  “I stole some candy from you.”

“You did what?” she asked looking confused.  “Why on earth would you do such a thing?  I thought of all people that you would know that stealing was wrong.”

All of the sudden, it felt as though my conscience came in like a blind-side running-back, hitting me with the weight of my world, and I began to cry uncontrollably.  “I’m so sorry,” I sniffled, trying to hide my face.  “I didn’t have any more money,” sniff, sniff, “but I really wanted some candy.”  I blubbered in self-pity.  “Please don’t tell anyone!  I promise never to do that again!”

Aunt Linda looked down at us from behind the counter and gently told Kevin to wait outside while she dealt with me.  Kevin looked over and said, “I’ll be outside waiting.  Good luck, man.”  And with that, he opened the door of the shop and disappeared around the corner so that he didn’t have to witness the forthcoming brutality and carnage.

Aunt Linda walked around the corner of the counter and instructed me to stay put while she went into the garage.  It seemed like I was standing there for hours, wet on the cheeks and snot dripping, for my punishment to be exacted with wrath for what I had done.  A thousand scenarios played through my head, from a slap on the face, to the embarrassment and pain of a spanking, to an all-out beating about the head and ears.  All I knew was that I was going to feel it for days no matter what she brought back from the garage.  I took up a familiar tension throughout my body in anticipation.

When I looked up, I saw that Aunt Linda had come back in with Uncle Jim beside her.  So it was to be this way, was it?  He was going to have to do the dirty work.  Uncle Jim took a step towards me and I involuntarily stepped back and put my hands over my face for whatever deflection I could manage.   And then, something different happened.  All of the sudden, I was picked up off of the floor in the arms of a gentle giant, and pressed close to him as he whispers to me, “Shhh, it’s ok.  It’s ok.”

At that moment I lost all control and wept on his shoulder uncontrollably.  I could only remember feeling confusion, along with shear relief, as I was being held and not hurt, comforted instead of cornered.  After a couple of minutes, I was set back down of the floor as both Aunt Linda and Uncle Jim pulled up a couple of chairs so that we could look eye to eye.

“We have all made mistakes like yours in our lifetime.  The trick is to learn from them and to not repeat what we have done in the past,” he began.  “You brought back the candy, right?”  I handed him the hotly-held rolled of Life Savers, and Aunt Linda put them back on the shelf.  “You see? By coming back here, you realized what you had done, and decided to do the right thing and admit to it.”  At that moment, Uncle Jim reached over my head, pulled out a cold can of soda from the fridge and opened it one handed.  Then he gave it to me, and instructed me to take a drink and relax.

“So, what’s going to happen to me?” I asked, still trying to recover from my emotional turmoil.

“Well, what you can do is come back tomorrow, and you can help me in the garage.  That should be more than enough to make up for what happened.”

“So I’m not going to be punished?” I asked perplexed.

“No.  I think you have gone through enough punishment on your own.  Why don’t you two go home and forget all about this and I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.” I said as I wiped my face and moved slowly towards the exit.  As I reached for the push bar on the glass door, I turned around and saw my Aunt Linda give me a wink and a smile, and I felt all of a sudden that I understood.  This is how other people work through problems.  Not everything is solved through hatred and pain.  Even though I was completely at fault, they loved me no less than they had before.  I lowered my head and made my way out of the store to see Kevin staring at me with his mouth slacked completely open and his eyes as wide as windows.  I picked up my bike and walked it over to where he was.

“I didn’t know you were going to get it that bad,” he confessed.  “I’m so sorry man.  I didn’t think you were going to get a licking like that, but I heard you crying and I knew you were screwed.”

I looked over at him with my face still red, and said in my straightest voice, “Let’s just keep this between the two of us, ok?  I got what I deserved and no less.”

We walked our bikes slowly down the hill in silence, right past Greg Hunter’s house without a thought.  When we reached our grandparent’s house, we went inside and ate lunch, each of us grasping the events of that morning in or own way.  I never did have the heart to tell Kevin what really happened.  I suppose he can think what he wants and pass on the stories to our younger cousins and siblings as a tale of morality, and just retribution.  As for me, I began to understand that maybe the way I was governed at home wasn’t the only way to be raised.  Perhaps there is room for forgiveness in this world, as well as the black and white view of my father.  He raised me the best he knew how, and he too has learned from his mistakes, as I have learned from mine.  After all, isn’t that all that can be expected of us?

Paul Buck

Paul Buck is a soils specialist with the San Carlos ApacheTribe and manages the farm operations. In his spare time he plays in the Centennial Band and Jazz Band, and acts with the Copper Community Players.