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- Story Listed as: True Life For Teens
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Biography / Autobiography
- Published: 07/21/2020
Climb a Light Pole
As a kid, climbing trees became one of my favorite past times. The taller, the better. The first few feet to the nearest branch were the hardest to climb. I would reach around the trunk with my hands, not my arms, place one foot against the trunk's front side, and place the other foot above the first. Then lunge upward to bring my bottom foot over my top one, lean forward, let go with one hand, and reach upward, maybe a foot, to grab the trunk again. To me, this was like walking up a tree. Once into the branches, I smoothly slithered among limbs until they started to sway—time to stop. Hiding among leaves and branches up high, I watched people below. No one saw me when I stayed still. Birds didn’t see me as long as I didn’t move, so I waited and watched them miraculously flutter through limbs and leaves to land in their nests of eggs. Squirrels scampered up and down, around and around, in continuous motion. Occasionally I even saw their nest in a hole in a tree. Dad was right when he said I must have been half-monkey. Climbing came easy for me, so I didn't think anything of it.
One spring night at thirteen years old, I roamed my North Dallas neighborhood, bored and alone. I sat on a curb of a major arterial road with streetlights. After watching cars go by for a while, it occurred to me that metal light poles looked like trees without branches. Hmm. Slippery trees, but with a diameter of about eight inches, my hands would wrap nicely around them. Maybe about twenty- five feet tall. I watched cars for a while longer until traffic died down in each direction, then stood up to saunter to a light pole in the median. I reached out to touch the cool metal, rubbing it gently to get a feel of a metal tree. This pole would be too hot to climb in the summer. A smooth finish meant a really tight grip with my hands was needed. I put my rubber tennis shoe sole on the metal. It would stick as long as I pushed hard against my hands with my feet. I could climb it as long as my legs and feet pushed hard against the pole while my hands held it tight.
Looking both ways, no cars approached. I grabbed that pole at eye level, stepped up with one foot, then placed my other foot above the first. Yes, the shoes stuck. For three seconds, then slid down. Hmm. This was a bit harder than a rough-barked tree. Okay, push harder with my legs. I stepped up again and stuck. Yes. Now push upward with my feet and grab six inches higher. Yes, again. Push up, reach up, fall down. Three tries later, I found my groove. Step by step, reaching and stepping one hand and foot at a time, my legs pushing as hard as possible. Up that pole I walked, step after step. Five feet. Ten feet. Twenty feet. Getting pretty tired. Five more feet and I reached for the horizontal light arm with both hands. I threw a leg over the arm and pulled my body on top of it. Yes, I had climbed the light pole. Going down would be easier.
I stayed still and rested like being at the top of a tree. Cars passed beneath me. Where were they going? Could they see me? Probably not; most people didn’t look up at streetlights.
That’s when a spotlight blinded me. Oops.
"What in the world are you doing up there, boy?" a policeman shouted.
I’m in big trouble now. I had never even talked to a cop before.
“Come on down,” he commanded.
I swung back to the pole and slowly walked down its length as the spotlight followed me. What excuse could I make? Nothing came to mind. At all.
When I reached the ground, the officer asked, “What were you doing up there?”
“Watching cars,” I said meekly.
“Watching cars? Were you trying to break that light?”
"No, sir. I just wanted to see if I could climb it. Then I watched cars going by."
“Ump. Where do you live?”
“On Cottonwood.”
“Why don’t we see what your parents say about this?”
My head dropped. Dad would kill me tonight.
My first ride in a police car smelled like sweat and vomit. Boy, I was in trouble now.
He pulled up in front of my house, then got out and said, “Come on, let’s go see your parents.”
I was dead meat.
The policeman pushed the doorbell. I had no reasonable excuse, so I had to take Dad’s wrath. He opened the door and looked with surprise, first at the officer, then me. His shock turned into a grimace. My sister's heads appeared behind him, eyes and mouths wide open.
“Mr. England?” the policeman asked.
“Yes. What has he done?”
“Is this your son?”
“Yes, that is Gordon.”
“He didn’t really do anything wrong, but we found him on top of a light pole the next block over.”
My sisters giggled.
“Did he break the light?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
"Gordon, what were you doing on that light pole?"
“Watching cars,” I said weakly.
Behind Dad, my sisters broke into hysterical laughter. Dad hushed them.
“Are you charging him?” Dad asked.
"No, no. He didn't break any laws, but being on top of a light pole is dangerous. He shouldn't be up there again."
"Don't worry, officer, he won't climb one again. Will you, Gordon?"
I hung my head. “No, sir.”
“Stick to trees,” the cop said with a smirk.
“Thank you for bringing him home,” Dad said.
I went inside, and the door closed. My sisters disappeared as I received a chewing out and a week's grounding. My light pole climbing ended that night.
Climb a Light Pole(Gordon England)
Climb a Light Pole
As a kid, climbing trees became one of my favorite past times. The taller, the better. The first few feet to the nearest branch were the hardest to climb. I would reach around the trunk with my hands, not my arms, place one foot against the trunk's front side, and place the other foot above the first. Then lunge upward to bring my bottom foot over my top one, lean forward, let go with one hand, and reach upward, maybe a foot, to grab the trunk again. To me, this was like walking up a tree. Once into the branches, I smoothly slithered among limbs until they started to sway—time to stop. Hiding among leaves and branches up high, I watched people below. No one saw me when I stayed still. Birds didn’t see me as long as I didn’t move, so I waited and watched them miraculously flutter through limbs and leaves to land in their nests of eggs. Squirrels scampered up and down, around and around, in continuous motion. Occasionally I even saw their nest in a hole in a tree. Dad was right when he said I must have been half-monkey. Climbing came easy for me, so I didn't think anything of it.
One spring night at thirteen years old, I roamed my North Dallas neighborhood, bored and alone. I sat on a curb of a major arterial road with streetlights. After watching cars go by for a while, it occurred to me that metal light poles looked like trees without branches. Hmm. Slippery trees, but with a diameter of about eight inches, my hands would wrap nicely around them. Maybe about twenty- five feet tall. I watched cars for a while longer until traffic died down in each direction, then stood up to saunter to a light pole in the median. I reached out to touch the cool metal, rubbing it gently to get a feel of a metal tree. This pole would be too hot to climb in the summer. A smooth finish meant a really tight grip with my hands was needed. I put my rubber tennis shoe sole on the metal. It would stick as long as I pushed hard against my hands with my feet. I could climb it as long as my legs and feet pushed hard against the pole while my hands held it tight.
Looking both ways, no cars approached. I grabbed that pole at eye level, stepped up with one foot, then placed my other foot above the first. Yes, the shoes stuck. For three seconds, then slid down. Hmm. This was a bit harder than a rough-barked tree. Okay, push harder with my legs. I stepped up again and stuck. Yes. Now push upward with my feet and grab six inches higher. Yes, again. Push up, reach up, fall down. Three tries later, I found my groove. Step by step, reaching and stepping one hand and foot at a time, my legs pushing as hard as possible. Up that pole I walked, step after step. Five feet. Ten feet. Twenty feet. Getting pretty tired. Five more feet and I reached for the horizontal light arm with both hands. I threw a leg over the arm and pulled my body on top of it. Yes, I had climbed the light pole. Going down would be easier.
I stayed still and rested like being at the top of a tree. Cars passed beneath me. Where were they going? Could they see me? Probably not; most people didn’t look up at streetlights.
That’s when a spotlight blinded me. Oops.
"What in the world are you doing up there, boy?" a policeman shouted.
I’m in big trouble now. I had never even talked to a cop before.
“Come on down,” he commanded.
I swung back to the pole and slowly walked down its length as the spotlight followed me. What excuse could I make? Nothing came to mind. At all.
When I reached the ground, the officer asked, “What were you doing up there?”
“Watching cars,” I said meekly.
“Watching cars? Were you trying to break that light?”
"No, sir. I just wanted to see if I could climb it. Then I watched cars going by."
“Ump. Where do you live?”
“On Cottonwood.”
“Why don’t we see what your parents say about this?”
My head dropped. Dad would kill me tonight.
My first ride in a police car smelled like sweat and vomit. Boy, I was in trouble now.
He pulled up in front of my house, then got out and said, “Come on, let’s go see your parents.”
I was dead meat.
The policeman pushed the doorbell. I had no reasonable excuse, so I had to take Dad’s wrath. He opened the door and looked with surprise, first at the officer, then me. His shock turned into a grimace. My sister's heads appeared behind him, eyes and mouths wide open.
“Mr. England?” the policeman asked.
“Yes. What has he done?”
“Is this your son?”
“Yes, that is Gordon.”
“He didn’t really do anything wrong, but we found him on top of a light pole the next block over.”
My sisters giggled.
“Did he break the light?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
"Gordon, what were you doing on that light pole?"
“Watching cars,” I said weakly.
Behind Dad, my sisters broke into hysterical laughter. Dad hushed them.
“Are you charging him?” Dad asked.
"No, no. He didn't break any laws, but being on top of a light pole is dangerous. He shouldn't be up there again."
"Don't worry, officer, he won't climb one again. Will you, Gordon?"
I hung my head. “No, sir.”
“Stick to trees,” the cop said with a smirk.
“Thank you for bringing him home,” Dad said.
I went inside, and the door closed. My sisters disappeared as I received a chewing out and a week's grounding. My light pole climbing ended that night.
Jason James Parker
07/31/2020A great story and very well told, Gordon. Took me back to my own youth (much climbing there, too). : )
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
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JD
07/26/2020That was FUN one, Gordon! Not sure I'd want to do it, but your light pole climbing success and subsequent shaming and scolding was a lot of fun to read about, so thank you for sharing the story with us! :-)
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
JD
07/30/2020Hopefully all the tree climbers out there will not go trying to climb the neighborhood light poles, now! But since you got caught, I guess some of the appeal has been doused.
Anyway, Happy Short Story STAR of the Day, Gordon! :-)
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JD
07/27/2020Hi Gordon,
I didn't mean to suggest that YOU were 'shamed'... only that they tried to shame you. There definitely was no actual 'shame' involved in what you did. It was pretty cool.
The 'red flag' is the same as what appears on stories for the first 24 hours after they have been posted. It is a way for stories or comments to be removed and sent to admin for review, if they are judged abusive or offensive in some way.
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Gordon England
07/27/2020What does the red flag by you comment mean? I was scolded, but that happened a lot because I was a handful. Shaming? No. I believe that is an overused phrase for someone giving you a hard time for doing something different than they believe in. I was not ashamed, just bugged I got caught. Made for a good story to tell my friends.
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Gail Moore
07/21/2020Great story, I loved to climb trees as a kid. Don't know if I could have done a pole. Well done.
When you talked about the smell in the police car it reminded me of my sons first arrest when he joined the police.
He came home and told me he had to arrest the poo person. The rest I shall leave to your imagination. :-)
Who would want their job!!
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Gordon England
07/22/2020I would rather be the first person of the night arrested than the last for that reason. There is also the smell of sweat and fear on the back seat. Glad you liked it
COMMENTS (4)