AWAY IN A DANGER

Did I say, “Danger”? I guess I meant “manger.”

One of the sure ways to go to Hell for Eternity is to mess with the Baby Jesus. It is too late for me, but perhaps I can dissuade some other youngsters from following my path of depravity. When I was young and reckless (I’m cured now), I was eager to celebrate the Birth of the Baby Jesus each year with liberal use of exploding devices. 
 Back in the 1950’s I was one of several feral boys growing older in rural North Carolina, where firecrackers were absolutely forbidden. It was just a short drive, however, to the Virginia State Line, and the licensed older brother of one of my cohorts was usually willing to transport us there to acquire all manner of explosives then legally sold there, and with a little wheedling, we might be able to purchase some of the really neat Forbidden Fruit sold from, literally, under the counter. Like cherry bombs. And silver bombs (known otherwise by some as “M-80’s”). The really loud stuff.

And in our pious religious zeal, we were only too happy to welcome the Birth of the Christ Child with lots of loud explosions all over several neighborhoods at night, during the Christmas Break from school. I can still feel the cold air hard on my face and plunging into my lungs as we breathlessly prepared our charges and ran like Hell to get away from the dangerous effects AND the risk of apprehension. We knew from experience that we were bullet-proof and would live forever!

Now, I had one friend who was particularly scheming and nefarious in his use of said exploding stuff. There was a great lady who lived just up the hill from my house, and she always decorated her big, beautiful holly bush in the front yard with wonderful colored outdoor lights. It was a reliable icon of Christmas to see those lights go up on the bush each year, and they were truly wonderful. But that did not stop us from "taking steps.”

My friend (let’s not reveal his name here, just for the sake of protecting the guilty), had figured out that the ladyfinger firecrackers (of which we always had pocketfuls) would wedge just nicely in the crease between the bulb and the socket. He then demonstrated that said ladyfinger would explode from the heat of the bulb given enough time. Enough time to easily make our escape. And, of course, that great lady would have absolutely no idea who was sneaking into her front yard under cover of darkness and blowing up her Christmas lights.  No-sir!  As I was the only adolescent male in the neighborhood, we were sure of it!

Now, back in the years immediately following World War II, most Christmas lights were wired in series, meaning that the current for each light had to pass through all the other lights. Thus, if one light went out, the whole string went out. And, unfortunately, those beautiful, multi-colored holly-tree lights were wired in series, so that when the ladyfinger popped, the whole string of lights went dark, gratifying our craven little souls to no end. We were greatly amused at the magnificent power we wielded with such minimal effort. Each year she would put up those lights, and each year we would pop them off at least once. The fact that we were annoying my poor neighbor greatly did not even enter into the equation. This was not about her. We had no beef with her. We just liked to plan and execute. Just like soldiers blowing up Jap or German bridges in war movies.

It never occurred to any of us that most rational adults would readily conclude that we were at the bottom of these pranks. We were impervious to such conclusions. After all, if we were not actually caught in the act, then in our linear minds we had what would later come to be known as “plausible deniability.” We had no comprehension that such an absurd defense would be as equally ineffective then as it is today. It is sobering to reflect on those times and to realize that those national leaders claiming such defenses today are exhibiting no more intellectual sophistication than we were able to muster on those cold winter nights. One must wonder what those folks reflect upon, if anything.

Eventually, we tired of such stuff and quit making those essential runs to Virginia to obtain the contraband necessary for our nasty deeds. I guess we had done just about everything that could be done with fireworks and got bored. But practically all of us were at one time captivated by the notion that having time off from school meant using fireworks. It was a given. It was a true Christmas Tradition!

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JUST FOLLOWING ORDERS

From "Wilderness: A Journal of Quiet Adventure in Alaska" by Rockwell Kent, 1919:

Doing as one is told is an attractive trait in children and a most unsettling trait in grown-ups.

DEATH, AS DEFINED BY CHILDREN (Song)

(The following is a ditty we used to sing as children for our own amusement that I recently sent to a friend, after commenting on a TV program I saw about pathologists studying dead bodies' decomposition and recording the data therefrom to assist with time-of-death determinations.)

"Didja ever think when a hearse goes by,
That you would be the next to die?
They wrap you in a big white sheet,
And bury you about 6 feet deep.

You're quite all right for the first few weeks,
But then your coffin starts to leak--
The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out,
The worms play pinochle on your snout!

Your stomach turns a slimy green,
And guts pour out like thick whipped cream!
You sop it up with a piece of bread,
And that's what you eat after you're dead!