Fortunate Son

As a young boy I loved being out doors. I was very fortunate to grow up in the perfect place for this. Rossford was on the banks of the muddy Maumee river and I was lucky enough to live 100 yards from one of its tributaries Grassy Creek. The Crick as I always called it. It was my oasis, my happy place, I shot pellet guns and fished and hiked and got into trouble, the good kind of trouble.

If I have it my way, (and let’s face it I am the only one writing these stories) there will be many more chapters about the river and crick.

From the time I was a little boy to I was well into my twenties I lived the life of a “river rat”. Building forts with Crazy Pete’s sons Derrick and Todd and camping out for days at a time during the summer it was heaven. Fishing, smoking cat tails or punks. Uncle Paul’s mother had property right on the crick and as long as we were respectful we could use it ad nauseum.

As I got older and into my teens Johnny Egg passed down his row boat to me a 1962 Richline I believe. It is still in the top of my barn today. Rowing around the crick and river was great fun and a lot of work we made the most of it. Soon I had mowed enough lawns to buy a ten horse Johnson motor for it. On good days if we were lucky and on a mission for Uncle Paul we used his five-horse Evinrude. That beat rowing but not by much. When I was finally able to get the very used ten-horse unit and made 100 trips to the library to consult the service manual and get it running it was as if we had been propelled by rocket power!!! A new world just opened up to us!! More on that in other stories for sure.

Having a mode of water travel now meant we could camp on the island “Huck Finn” style. Free of any parental overwatch and free to make mistakes on our own. There was all night fishing derbies and burnt hot dogs and beans. Radios that ran on batteries. Home was this oversized tent my dad had for the trips with the Troopers to Ronny Rowes in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. I was lucky enough to visit there as a wee lad.

The tent was way overkill for Derrick and Todd and myself and then later my good friends Forehead and Son of G-Spot Man. Yeah everyone had a Nickname. This tent was like a six-man affair that you could stand up in. It was canvas and while I am sure this was not in the brochure leaked like a sieve in the event of rain. I can still smell the flame retardant when I think about this tent. It was everything a couple of thirteen/fourteen your old’s could do to carry it and set it up. You take what you can get when your budget is ZERO dollars.

As the formative years progressed Mad magazines were replaced with Playboys and if we were living right maybe a stolen beer or two or a partial bottle of peppermint schnapps. No one was going to miss that around my house.

Then high school happened and hair was growing everywhere and suddenly we didn’t care if the ladies had cooties we were willing to take the chance. Except we were awkward dumb fucks that had no idea if girls were even human.

So it was the summer I was sixteen and we were planning a campout on the Island. Myself ,Son of G-spot Man, J.D. and King. OH and somehow J.D. being the popular one we had girls. Real girls! And J.D.’s brother was supposed to provide us with a means to alcohol. Oh the humanity!!! I didn’t even know what I was excited for but I was excited!

We went out to the island earlier in the day and set everything up. Fresh radio batteries, fishing poles I never planned on using, junk food galore. We were ready to roll. A time in your life where everything is new and exciting. Did I mention real girls, this caveman was almost walking upright. I was just imagining what kind of cool and worldly shit I was going to lay on them. Afterall I had barely been out of Rossford at this point. But in my mind steam and silk were going to flow out of my mouth!

Looking back maybe my mom had questions on why I had showered (maybe even longer than normal) before camping on the island. But we had plans!

At 6pm we were to meet up with J.D.’s brother and get our social lubricant. We rendezvous, no J.D.’s brother. No phone calls? No alcohol. 7pm no J.D.’s brother. Me and my flower are wilting. Seems my letter to Penthouse forum was going to have to wait. Christ, its 36 years later and I am still waiting to write that. Oh no what are we going to do. Our window is fading…

I am not going to say that E. Linda Drouard was the cool mom because that goes without saying. Sure by the time I was sixteen I allegedly had a beer or two around the house. We needed beer.

So I did what every child does, I asked my mom. Except my mom was already in her night grown and had the requisite evening Salem burning. Listening to the Tigers no doubt. It was pushing 8pm and she was shocked to see me as she figured we had long since left to go to the island.

I said “mom we have a problem, our beer connection ditched us and we were wondering if you would somehow go buy us a 12-pack of beer?” I was doing my best Oliver Twist, hat in hand, hell Son of G-Spot Man looked like his house burnt down. It was as sad as it gets.

My mother turns around and takes a long drag off her Salem blows the smoke out and says “NO WAY!” Fucking Christmas is cancelled!! We are devastated!

She was not finished speaking, “I am not getting out of this house in this night gown unless I am buying a case! YEP YOU HEARD THAT RIGHT!

Now by this time I was working a nice high profile job at the local Sunoco so it was obvious I was rolling in money. But between myself and the other three clowns we rained money like nickel night at the brass pole ballet! Turns out we had enough for three cases of the beer of the summer,

Miller Genuine Draft!!! Rudolph power up the sled Christmas is back on!!!

We loaded her into my 1972 Pontiac Catalina and RACED to 7-11. It was magic.

Yeah my mother. Yes I am the fortunate son.

By the way, I am not an idiot, I never mentioned there were girls involved. That would have been game over. Instant game over. It didn’t matter anyway. For that night anyway, my flower remained intact.