Guest Blogger: The Croquet Ball, take II

It's only appropriate that I give Dad a chance to tell his side of the story. If you missed Take I click here.

As always, the older sibling gets the last word. [Although I did tell Grandpa he should share his side of the story and he shook his head, and laughing said, "When I heard the noise I thought one of THEM had gone out the window...I knew it was only a matter of time."]

The Croquet Ball-- Take II

I guess I should add my two cents here since the "croquet ball story" is out.

I had no plan, really. Apparently agitation was (Sharon says still is) a genetic trait that I had not fully mastered at the tender age at which the croquet ball was hummed in my direction. My recollection is that by the time I realized that my brother was really mad it was too late-- I was trapped.

I was in the small dormer area where the window and the toy box were located.To get out of this pickle I would have to say I was sorry, or something even worse, and then talk my way past the wild man who was gripping the croquet ball in his hand the way I was sure major league pitchers grip a fastball. Anyway, I decided to bluff. I grabbed the green plastic army helmet. The only plan I had was to duck behind the dresser if bluffing didn't work.

It didn't work. My brother fired the croquet ball.

It sped at me and, if I had not vacated the spot, was headed dead center at me. When the ball hit the window behind me the sound was amazing. It was not the sound of breaking glass. It boomed! The croquet ball was gone. There in the old glass window and the rusty screen on the outside was a perfectly round hole like a canon ball had just gone through it!

As for the jail comment- My brothers and my sister and I had just come through town (Kingston, Pop 312) together in the car, where someone pointed out broken glass in an old store front. Our mother thought for some reason that she should point out to the car full of rock throwing children that "whoever did that should go to jail." So, the "now you did it; now you're going to jail" comment just popped out of my mouth.
All is well that ends well, as they say, and my brother would later put his throwing ability to good use throwing footballs and baseballs with great accuracy. Good thing no one he was pitching against ever made him mad.

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