Tales from the House of Twins: Combat

Tales from the House of Twins: Combat(Ric Wooldridge) Tales from the House of Twins:
Combat!

“What in the name of purple bellybutton fuzz do you two think you’re doing?”
Pete and his wife had worked hard to get into their new home. The place was ideal, being a three bedroom house on a full acre of property. There was even a detached garage with a small apartment above it that Pete had converted for his office and the shop he’d always wanted. That being the case, there was still plenty of room for their boys, Mick and Tal, to raise havoc.
Pete had come looking for his two extroverted future prospects for high blood pressure when things had become too quiet for him to be able to work without suspicion. They were nowhere to be found in the back yard, which was a young boy’s paradise. It backed right up to a little creek that was edged by a thicket full of deer trails. Perfect for exploration and falling into. The rest of the yard was full of plunder and projects, and one seriously skewed excuse for a fort that the boys had built themselves.
They WERE in the front yard, hence the colorful exclamation. Not only were Mick and Tal not to play in the nicely manicured front yard, they certainly were not to dig a six foot trench, three feet wide by three feet deep. Dirt abruptly stopped flying out of the hole as two small heads belonging to two nine year old bodies popped up like a couple of prairie dogs. Yup! Nine year old identical twins with, at the moment, some kind of weird contraption on their heads, obviously simulating military helmets.
“Uh,” they looked at each other. “Dad!”
“Well, you’ve identified me.” Pete paused for a moment before he said, “It looks to me like you two are in for some hard times in the near future, unless you can convince me different.”
“Uh, Dad! Honest! We had to do it!” Mick spoke up.
“And why is that.”
“Crazy Bobby and Joey are dragging a wagon full of water balloons up and down the street and nailing everybody!” Tal put in for his defense.
“Yeah, Dad. We had to fort up.”
“There’s no trees to hide behind here, and Mom’s rose bushes are too wimpy.”
“Alright. Hold up. Enough with rushing your Pop. Let me ask you some questions, ok?”
“Sure, Dad.” They spoke in unison.
Pete could tell that the boys thought that hey had scored and were off the hook. He looked around for a moment, then asked, “What were you going to do when Crazy Bobby and Joey attacked?”
They both turned a bit shame faced and looked at each other to see who was going to answer. Pete could see the bucket that belonged in Sissy’s kennel, and right next to it a stack of paper bags.
“Well?”
“Dad, they are really stupid bullies,” Tal blurted.
“Mick fessed up, “We’re going to nail’em with Sissy poop!”
“So, after you’ve dished out what’s coming to them what did you plan on doing?”
“Oh, were going to the movies with Marky and her Mom,” said Mick without hesitation.
“Yeah! You said we could last week,” Tal added, like there was no problem and there never had been.
That made Pete think back to his own history. He pursed his lips and nodded as if in agreement. Then Pete said, “I see. So, you’ve dug a long pit in the center of the front yard, in preparation of mixing up a massive batch of mud that will spread across the lawn, when Crazy Bobby and Joey start their bombardment of your fort. Then you planned to splatter Sissy manure up and down the street in front of our home. As Crazy Bobby and Joey are making a heinously smelly retreat, you plan on leaving for the movies. Did I leave anything out, besides leaving a new trail of muck and dirty clothes to your bedroom, because you forgot, again, to take off your shoes and things at the back porch?”
“Uh, Dad! We didn’t mean that!” said Mick.
“Yeah, Dad. We’re sorry.”
“I thought that might be the case, but what do you think your Mom will say when she sees the condition of her front lawn?”
Tal looked at the foxhole with a resigned sigh and said. “We’re gonna die.”
“Probably not. But I can pretty much guess you’re not going to the movies this afternoon. You might want to start filling in this open grave, just in case she starts getting ideas.

Pete went back in the house where he could watch the boys fill in their entrance to sheol, shaking his head. It was amazing how much damage his two innocent young escape artists could do in just a few moments of inattention. After getting a glass of ice tea he settled on the sofa to watch as every third shovel of dirt would deliberately fly like a missile to collide with the back of the head of one twin or the other, and then go down his neck. This would result in a short wrestling match and gales of laughter. Pete didn’t interrupt. The hole was getting filled and compacted while Dad was being entertained.
About this time, Killer, the household Lord and Master decided to make an inspection of his foremost lounging area. The back of the sofa.
“Hello, your Highness. So considerate of you to grace me with your most sacred presence,” Pete says with just a hint of sarcasm. As usual, Killer ignored his existence. And, as usual, Pete just can’t live with it. As Killer plops down and proceeds to begin the bathing process, Pete reaches over and gently scratches her head. Soon, he’s rubbing her ears and petting her and she’s purring like she’s really enjoying the attention. Suddenly, Killer is all teeth and claws and Pete is bleeding from fingertip to elbow. He quickly makes a knuckle and raps Killer on the forehead, after which she yeols and quickly struts off, pleased with herself. This is, at least, a bi-weekly occurrence.

As Pete is washing off his battle wounds, his best friend and partner in crime comes in from work and sees what he is doing. “Killer had her way with you, again, did she?”
“Stinking beast has a demon! The only reason I don’t shoot her is she’s a great mouser.”
“If she’d only not leave the evidence in my bedroom closet.” Then his wife asked, “So, who are the boys burying in the rose bushes?”
Looking a little sheepish, Pete answered, “Sorry, Jack. The little monsters got away from me, again. I did stop most of the mayhem. The neighbors definitely would have objected to the smell.” Then he told her of the battle plans.
“Ugh!”
“If I remember right, it was your dad that told them about the poop bombs in their various forms.”
“He would,” Jackie said.
“Well, I passed judgment. They’ve made an attempt at restitution. Formal sentencing is in your court.”
“Ok Petey. Between us we’ll turn out a couple of good, thinking humans. Got any thoughts?”
“I was just thinking, it might be good for them to learn where lawns come from.”
“Sod or seed?”
“Let’s do it the hard way.”

That’s the way our parents worked. Dad was an engineer and a totally mad inventor. Mom was a Photographer and a Charter Pilot. Tradition meant nothing when compared to thinking for ourselves. Although we were taught to respect others and their ways, following the crowd in anything was detestable.
As children, this often made things difficult. Peer pressure is brutal and we wanted to be cool. Now, as adults, we realize Mom and Dad were cool! We are so grateful for the tenacious love and wisdom of our parents. What an amazing thing!