DAY 41: DARTH VADER

That's the second biggest Camouflaged Darth Vader head I've ever seen! 

DAY 40: THUNDARR THE BARBARIAN

(Related posts: Days 15, 22, and 36)

Demon Dogs! Lords of Light!


The Saturday had started off normal enough, a bowl of Boo Berry and some Hilarious House of Frightenstein, followed by the post apocalyptic adventures of Thundarr, Ariel, and Oookla the Mok. Then onto an extended game of Wizard of Wor forced upon me by my brother, which quickly escalated into violence and ended with extensive electrical damage to the family domicile. This expensive disruption to my father's otherwise quiet weekend, coupled with a Jack Tripper-esque misunderstanding resulting in him receiving a head wound, necessitated a daring escape from my own home. My pops was pissed and I was fleeing the Wrath of John.


Once free from what would surely have been my messy demise I hauled ass, limbs flailing like an epileptic in a strobe light factory.  I didn't stop running until I hit the top of my street and Old lady Zimmerman's Place. Now what? I knew how to get to all but 3 destinations from my home: the Mall, my grade school, and my friend Paul's house. Paul was on vacation with his family, a yearly event he referred to as "Going Abroad". To the Left was the Mall, to the Right my Catholic grade school, which was closed for the summer. I'd never been to The Mall without supervision, mostly in part due to my mother tipping me off about the undercover RCMP officers that posed as congenial teenage video arcade patrons that wanted nothing more than to arrest me for trafficking the narcotics that the undercover Drug Dealers that also posed as congenial teenage video arcade patrons would innocuously slip into the pockets of my hand-me down GwGs.


Back to school it was. I crossed the street and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible, but by the very nature of trying to be unseen I felt I was as exposed as an aroused leper in a nudist colony. I don't know what rationale goes through the minds of the average pre-teen these days, but I seemed to think that the best way to detract attention from myself and remain invisible would be to take on the guise of a homeless brain injured gladiator from Thunderdome. I pushed down one of my knee-high yellow and black trimmed sport socks, bunching it around my boney ankle, the other pulled high, clinging tenaciously to my hairless knee. I put my Frogger t-shirt on inside out and backwards. Crushing a clump of sun-baked soil in my hands, I rubbed the powdered dirt on my face and arms, and using the sweat collecting on my brow and from behind my knees like a precursor to gel I tousled my shoulder length shock of white hair into a tangled mess. I looked like a crazed diminutive post-apocalyptic Albert Einstein.


I was across the street from the school now, and hesitated before proceeding any further. The parking lot should have been empty but it was now filled to capacity with Full-Size behemoths: Plymouth Gran Furys, Dodge Diplomats, Chrysler Fifth Avenues. There was an overflow parked three deep on what I knew as the "British Bulldog" lawn, a field of magnetic CB antennas swaying in the sticky summer breeze.


As I approached my school there was a nagging gnawing in the pit of my stomach and a not entirely unpleasant tightening in my testicles, feelings I have long since learned not to ignore. Something was not quite...right. With every step a suffocating pressure began to wrap itself around my entire body. It was like falling into a swimming pool wearing clothes two sizes too large and becoming tangled in the pool cover. And if that wasn't enough to raise an eyebrow, there appeared to be 2 hulking men patrolling the parking lot.

The sun was setting, casting a crimson hue over the brown bricked structure. Summer clouds like swabs of bloodied cotton dabbed ineffectually at the slashed wrists of the sky. This was a red and angry world. Every nerve and fibre of my prepubescent being screamed at me to get the fuck out of there. Danger Will Robinson, Danger! But I was young and a boy and Curiosity kicked Common Sense's ass every time. Slipping past the sentries was no problem. 5 days a week this brick and mortar was my sanctuary, my playground, and my war zone. A byproduct of my love for science fiction and fantasy was being adept at hiding and eluding. 


I imagined the patrolling security as a pair of roving Daleks. In my yellow and black socks I ran along the unwatched side of the building, going in low and fast like some strange albino bee flitting from parked car to parked car. There was a moment when I almost blew my cover by fumbling through a completely awesome but unnecessary shoulder roll from an AMC Hornet to a rusted out 1973 Oldsmobile Delta 88. The thick thorny hedges that ran along the entire front of the building afforded me plenty of cover and I easily slipped past the Daleks and into the front door that was propped open with a worn wooden wedge due to the air conditioning being shut off during the summer break. Too easy for this renegade barbarian and his fabulous Sunsword!


Once inside I heard the dull babble of many voices speaking at once coming from the gymnasium. As I eased the heavy door open a crack I recognized the murmur for what it was: the creepy cadence of prayer. It wasn't any litany I was familiar with, but there were plenty of "Amens" and "So Sayeths", and I found myself lulled by the rhythmic intonations.  


Upon the portable wooden stage, where a mere 8 weeks ago I had brilliantly portrayed the villainous Shere Khan in a musical production of the Jungle Book, was a young woman sitting in a wooden assembly chair. And she was screaming. Not yelling, nothing intelligible, just a visceral primal scream.  And she was thrashing wildly. If it were not for the 2 burly men on either side of her holding her fast she would have surely have toppled off the stage. A third man was reading from a book I could not see and flicking water at her from what appeared to be a pestle. I could only make out 2 words above the cacophony and they were "Purify" and "Deliver".


I was frozen in shock and terror. What was I bearing witness to? I shouldn't be here. She screamed again and for a fleeting second her eyes caught mine before rolling back in her head. I REALLY shouldn't be here. Fear writhed in my belly like a swollen black worm. I began to imagine a red haired Malachi pushing his way through the crowd, singling me out as an "OUTLANDER"! I began to slowly back out before someone realized there was an interloper in their midst. A weathered calloused hand fell on my shoulder and a stillborn scream curdled in my throat. I looked up into the blank face of one of the Daleks. His eyes were not unkind and they seemed to say "You need to see this". I hung my head in resignation and he took his hand off my shoulder briefly to open the weighted gymnasium door for me. And I took off like a bat out of hell and never looked back to see if I was being pursued. I had seen enough. 


I didn't stop running until I reached my driveway. In the deepening dusk I noticed that the lights were back on, like a welcoming beacon. That illusion was quickly shattered as the front door was violently flung open and my father filled the doorway, a fresh bandage adorning his furrowed brow and a scowl darkening his face as he boomed "WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN!".


Where the hell indeed.


He was beyond pissed and I was well aware that the punishment that was to be meted out would be legendary. 


I had never been happier to be home in my entire life.

DAY 39: DOUBLE FRACK

Frack me? Frack ME?!

NO! Frak US!

That's my wife. 

The concessions she makes to humor me never cease to amaze me.

Alternately, Nerd is contagious.

DAY 38: FLASH GORDON

Dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun FLASH aaahaaa!

DAY 37: SUPERMAN (DISTRESSED)

I lost a dear friend last week. His name was Norman, and he was my father-in-law, but to me he will always be Papa D.


It was very sudden and unexpected, but it was also without fear, suffering, or indignity.


He was a great man, full of life and history, strength and resolve. A man of boundless compassion and infinite mirth. A Superman.


He was the type of guy who asked "What are your intentions with my daughter", and meant it. The type of guy who if he could not find a word to describe something he invented a completely new word, often a hybrid of several known words.


Years of hard work and hockey had forged a physique capable of kicking sand in Charles Atlas' face. Even in his twilight years he was possessed of what I called Old Man Strength. When he was 75 he helped me remove a stubborn tree by ripping it out by its roots. With one hand. He was a marvel.


He never threw anything out because everything had a use, and anything could be repaired with an old hockey stick, from banjos to barbecues. He only paid $2.50 for a haircut, but would come home from George the Barbers with only one side of his hair cut because he was generous to a fault and didn't want to hurt George's feelings by commenting on the unfinished work.


To the best of my knowledge he only owned 3 shirts.


We used to make each other roar with laughter. Not a fleeting or polite chuckle, but the deep down full body belly laugh that brings tears to your eyes. All of his stories involved characters from his youth that had names like Stinky and Butch, and I knew if we had known each other back then we'd have been fast friends.


If he were here right now I'd thank him for everything he has given me: nothing but good memories, laughter, and most of all my wife, his daughter, and for that I am eternally grateful.


He was just a really good guy.


I'll miss you Papa D.

DAY 36: HULK

(Related posts: Days 15, 22, and 40)

The second time I ran away from home was purely a matter of survival. At the time I honestly thought I was going to suffer a horrible and painful death if I were to remain in close proximity of my family.

As a byproduct of a vengeful transgression against my brother and the melee that followed, an electrical wall socket in "The TV Room" had been violently torn from its housing, throwing my family home into complete darkness. The absence of light was a harbinger for the blackness that was to come.

With an ear splitting bellow like that of a constipated hippopotamus my father announced his displeasure from the floor above us. A glance was exchanged between my brother and I,  an understanding of our pending mortality. Our differences and mutual animosity momentarily forgotten as we stood united in fear and resignation.

The whole house shook as my father's 300 pound bulk came thundering down the stairs, I grabbed the edge of the door frame, bracing myself for impact. I felt my brothers fingernails bite deep into my shoulder. As the elder sibling he knew that he would be viewed as He Who Was To Be Responsible, and to save his own skin we would need to corroborate our stories,  minimize the damage. Time was running out, the hulking patriarch was approaching the last riser. Through gritted braces my brother quietly instructed me, "Follow my lead". Solidarity was our only defense. I  met his fearful gaze, nodded my head slowly, and took off like a bat out of hell.

Under the blanket of darkness I managed to dart past the enormous shadow of my father and quietly slip into the crawlspace under the stairs. Normally I avoided this cramped area, knowing it was a den of filth and dust, the home to grapefruit sized arachnids with dripping fangs and the hairy Lurker in the Dark with its waiting slavering jaws, but at that moment it was a Refuge, Sanctuary. My brother and father were both too large to get any farther than the doorway.

My childhood took place in the 70's. Family dynamics and child rearing had shifted since the flamboyant Peace & Love era of the Sixties and had given way to a concept known as Tough Love. Children were to be seen and not heard, and fathers said "I love you" with their belt. By the screams and whimpers I could hear from my hiding place my father was in a very loving mood.

I crawled as far back into the cave as I could, contorting my small frame into the even smaller space, and held my breath. I closed my eyes tight, although I'm not sure why because even with eyes wide open I couldn't see a thing. I imagined things slithering and skittering towards me in the dark, coarse legs and extended feelers tentatively probing my exposed flesh, powerful mandibles slowly opening wide. Oh God oh God oh God. I was stuck between a Hulk and a Dark Place. I tried to distract my traitorous imagination by trying to discern what sharp cornered object was poking uncomfortably into my spleen. It was either the Weebles Haunted House or Vincent Price's Shrunken Heads Kit.

The sounds of discipline dwindled and eventually abated, but I held my breath and didn't move for several minutes, which in Trapped-In-A-Crawlspace time equalled about an hour. It was quiet, too quiet. The very silence seemed to roar. I cautiously peered from my hiding place. I was surrounded by darkness so impenetrable that, to my terrified mind, never since the world began had light plumbed this abyss of embalmed blackness. Shadows upon shadows.

I perceived more than saw a slight movement ahead of me. There, crouched in the darkness, my brother lay in wait, a hunched and huddled form projecting a rage that was near palpable. My muscles coiled, ready to leap to safety, my stomach clenched. A guttural rumble began to build, coming from everywhere and nowhere. This was bad. I needed to defuse the situation. There was but one course of action left to me: Barney Rubble.

I had a knack for mimicry, cartoon impressions being my forte, and my brother always got a  kick out of it. Deputy Dawg, Droopy, Yogi, Popeye, Boris Badenov, Muttley, Shaggy and Scoob...I could do impressions of them all, but my brothers favourite was the Flintstone's loveable numbskull Barney. Taking in what might be my last breath I commanded my vocal chords to become the diminutive blonde-haired caveman, "Uh...Did I do good, did I huh? Hyuk hyuk hyuk".

A snort and a restrained chortle drifted up from the darkness, but was quickly swallowed by a crash and a bestial roar coming from the TV Room. My father. Instead of taking the time to move the heavy oak end-table that was obscuring the damaged outlet he had wedged his considerable girth between the wall and the table. The crash had been his head violently connecting with the corner of the table as he had reacted to Barney's inquiry as to whether or not he had done good. A flashlight flickered on illuminating my father's livid visage. The rivulet of blood trickling down his scalp accounted for the unearthly bellow heard moments earlier.

Without a backward glance I vaulted over the prone body of my brother and blindly dashed up the back stairs, muscle memory directing my hands to the unseen doorknob, tearing the door open in one fluid motion, and out into the open air.

After having become accustomed to its absence I was blinded by the light, like stinging needles pressed deep into my eyes,  but I kept running,  my terrified mind assuring me the lack of sight was only temporary.

I would not have found the thought comforting had I known what horrors my eyes were going to witness next.

DAY 35: BAT-CRASH

A message to the readers:  I have had to take a short unplanned hiatus. We'll be back next week, same Bat-Time, same Bat-Channel! Be sure to tune in!