Don’t let the sailor dress fool you.

I wasn’t a sweet child. And Larry (little dude in ivy league esque sweater) wasn’t mellow either.

When we were little (circa second grade for me, first for him) we set up shop in our neighbor’s barn. “Dead Horse Man’s Cave” we called it. We threatened violence on any and all neighbor children to even try to get into our clubhouse. And in spite of years (years I tell you!) of the owners of the barn complaining to my parents, we wouldn’t stay out of it. We were those children in the neighborhood. The ones that were always ALWAYS on neighbors roofs. The one’s that figured if we could climb it, it was our domain. Larry was a first rate climber/adventurer. It was only by the sheer grace of the Lord that we are still alive today. Together we roamed the neighborhood on our bikes. We had clubs and forts all over – from “Bratty Boys” (I can’t believe I’m admitting to this – on the internet no less!) down by the cottonwood mall, an empty field full of bike trails and a tree under which random collection of scrapwood was formed to create shade from the summer sun — to “the Wolverine Woods “. . . with a teepee built of fallen tree branches, and a rope swing to carry you out over the creek on hot summer days, our forts and adventures ended only with the call of mom to come home.

It was in second grade that I became aware of a story . . . Tom Sawyer. Someone must’ve read it to me. Probably my second grade teacher. It was probably her fault.

But that was the first time “skipping school” ever occurred to me.

And so, during Lunch recess, Larry and I decided to give it a try. We went all the way down to the far corner of the school yard, where the lunch lady wouldn’t see, hopped the fence, and off we went.

After an afternoon of playing down at the creek, mom found us hiding in the dining room wrapped up in the curtains, helping ourselves to some snacks.

She returned us to school to receive a sound scolding by the principal and a return to class for the last few minutes of the school day.

Seriously, it was the teacher’s fault.

Happy Birthday Larry!