The Lessons We Learn

My head whirled, my heart raced with excitement! There was no escaping this, no chance at all!

Adjusting my elbows against the sturdy wood floor, I pushed upwards, engrossed in the Saturday morning cartoons. Superman found himself ensnared by Braniac, but lo and behold! Batman swooped in with a batarang, turning the tables and saving the day! 

Two iconic heroes colliding on screen, AWESOME! 

Adrenaline surged through me as I leaped up, spinning and fist-pumping towards the sky. A team-up in cartoons - had to be a kid who thought of that!

This revelatory development had to be shared with the Superman club in our clubhouse.

Taking a deep breath, I composed myself and ascended to my "Fortress of Solitude," my sanctuary within my bedroom. Darting past my army of toy soldiers and beyond Major Matt Mason, I gazed out of the window at the whims of the weather.

I looked across the street and saw my girlfriend, Angie, looking back at me through a dance of raindrops. I raised my hand to wave, and she mirrored the gesture. The stupid rain cascaded relentlessly distorting Angie's image.

I pressed my finger against the chilled glass, following the path of raindrops as they journeyed down to the sill. With a playful breath, I sketched a sign to my one love. A perfect Superman symbol amid the mist on the windowpane.

I jumped off the bed and brushed by hands together.

“Looks like I'm not mowing today.”

My mouth drooped as I thought about the stingray sitting in the garage. There would be no riding to the store today.

But a smile crept along my lips as I thought about the new rubber boots my mom just got for me and Brenton creek was a short walk through the woods. No reason to waste a day just because of rain!

As I shed my cozy PJ's and slipped into my socks, a surge of determination swept through me. Today, I was destined to shatter a world record in the art of sock skating. Stepping into the hallway, I positioned myself at the starting line, feeling a thrill of anticipation course through my veins. 

With a burst of energy, I launched myself forward, gliding effortlessly on the polished wooden floor. The cheers of an invisible audience filled my ears as I gracefully slid my way to victory. 

"Thank you, thank you," I humbly acknowledged the adoring crowd. Perfect scores from all the judges! With a wave goodbye, I bid farewell to my imaginary fans and began preparing for the adventures that awaited me in the day ahead.

When I got back to my room I saw the toys laying around the room on the floor and I knew there was no way my Mom would let me out of the house with it looking like this. 

Being a boy genius I dropped down and pushed everything under the bed. I made my bed, as only an eleven year old can, and I made sure to pull the covers down to the floor.

“She'll never look under there.” I smiled.

The rain drummed ferociously against the windows which promised a creek swollen to overflowing - the perfect playground for my brand-new red rubber boots, their tall design ensuring my feet remained snug and dry. 

Content in the neatness of my room I mounted the banister, anticipation bubbling within me as I prepared for my descent.

Upon reaching the ground floor, a tantalizing aroma enveloped me - the delicious scent of my mother's freshly baked bread wafting from the oven, its comforting embrace stirring my hunger for the cinnamon rolls adorned with plump raisins that awaited me.

Stride by stride, I pressed onward towards the kitchen, the muffled sound of my mother's phone call filtering through - the snakelike cord meandering its way across the room as she settled at the table, bathed in the warm glow of the window's light.

My Dad always said an atom bomb could detonate in the back yard and she would not even bat an eye while having a phone conversation.

I stood by the door not wanting to interrupt. A Faux Pas like that risked her getting mad and a denial of going out to play in the rain.

Instead I waited thinking about the sticky, yummy, goodness that baked in the oven.

“He doesn't know a thing.” She said into the phone. Then she laughed.

Did not know what? Who? Who Did not know? What was she talking about? I slid father back away from the door.

“No, Jim is going to be 35. Yep, I've been saving on my food allowance for the last year. In the cookie jar, where else?” she snorted, “Jim? No, no way. The man never gets anything from the kitchen for himself. No, it's fine with me. He works hard too. Well I have to get back to my bread. Ok, you too.” He high heels clicked on the floor as she walked towards the door and hung up the phone.

I stepped away from the door and rushed to turn the TV off before she asked me why I had left it on.

“Sweetie?” my Mom said as she came into the living room

“What Mommy.” I smiled. I used “Mommy” instead of “Mom” as a precaution in case I was in trouble.

She made her way to the coat closet. 

“I need to take some milk to Mrs. Cranston next door. You wait here until I get back.”

“OK Mommy.” I looked down at my feet. The detective in me needed an answer and this was the perfect time. She walked back to the fridge a grabbed some milk and with a blast of cold air headed out the door.

I wasted no time.

I dashed into the kitchen and reached for the cookie jar, where Mickey Mouse’s eyes seemed to follow my every move with a mysterious knowing. With a rush of anticipation, I removed his ears and reached inside, the crinkle of paper resembling the sound of autumn leaves stirring in the wind. My fingers closed around the source of the noise, pulling out a bundle of bills - fives, tens, and twenties jumbled together.

My heart jolted and breath caught in my throat at the sound of the front door handle clicking. Filled with urgency, I quickly stuffed the cash back into Mickey and carefully returned him to his spot, then hurried to the fridge.

“What are you looking for?” my mom said as she removed her plastic head scarf.

I needed to think fast. My heart raced as I thought of something to throw her off the scent of me snooping.

“Something nutritious.” I said smiling my best smile back at her.

“Well don't hold the door open.” She said as she closed the door.

Then came the line. The one thing we all hate to hear our Mom say. Her eyes narrowed, “Have you done your homework?”

“H-h-homework?” I smiled broadly trying to misdirect her.

“Yes. Homework. I found the last homework rumpled up in your pocket last time I did laundry. You didn't even turn it in. Now you march right up those stairs and get it done.” Her finger point angrily to the ceiling

“Awww gee Mom, it's Saturday. All the fella's will be playing by the creek today and besides,” I knew she would relent when I hit her with this, “ Robin the Boy Wonder never has homework.”

HA! I had her with that one!

“Well he's busy saving Gotham.” She gave me a pat on my rear end.

How did she come up with that? I did not even think she knew about Gotham.

My bare feet slamming against the wooden stairs as I stomped up to my room reverberated off the walls. I tugged at my wooden desk chair and it screeched across the floor. Crossing my arms across my chest I plunked myself down in the chair.

“You keep it up mister and I'll show you how to pout!” My Mom yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

I grabbed my PeeChee that was laying on the desk. I ruffled through the disheveled papers until I found what I needed: Mrs. Johnson's Friday handout.

I read the description: 

“This week will be a little bit different. We will have a contest.”, Well this was promising, “Write a story like you are a newspaper reporter. The stories will be printed and then sent home to be judged by your parents. The best one will get to be on our new school paper.”

Clark Kent! I'd be just like Clark Kent, a reporter! My head was dizzy. I laughed out loud and shook my head. This homework would be a cinch.

But what do I do a report on? The weather? The New Superman/Batman hour? I frowned, nah, adults do not like cartoons. I needed a real story.

Then I remembered the mysterious money Mom had in the cookie jar. Why was it there? What was it for?

The pencil in my hand felt like a tool to decode the mystery. Gripping it tightly, I started jotting down every memory fragment, eager to get my Mom's words on paper.

I jabbed the pencil at the end of the last sentence.

"Period!" I proclaimed, a sense of pride swelling within me as I gazed at my masterpiece. I couldn't help but imagine esteemed journalists like Walter Cronkite struggling to match the brilliance of my work. With a smile, I swiftly stashed the paper into my PeeChee and bounded out of my chair, eager to meet Rocky and the gang for our usual playtime. 

The long-awaited Tuesday arrived amidst a whirlwind of days blending into one another, each moment tinged with mounting anticipation. Then, just five minutes shy of three o'clock, Mrs. Johnson's figure loomed into view, a stack of papers precariously cradled in her hands. 

With a sudden rush of excitement, she distributed the assignments onto each desk with a finality that left my heart pounding in my chest. As I gazed down at the top sheet, a jolt of surprise shot through me - my familiar work was there, but instead of my own handwriting, it was neatly typed out before me.  

“Now, You all have copies of each others stories. I have typed everything out, and left your names off, so the contest will be fair. There's a large envelope at the back to return it sealed. Instructions for your parents are included. No peeking! Once your parent has placed them in the envelope do not open it!” She said

The bell chimed, signaling the end of class, and I dashed for the classroom door, ignoring Mrs. Johnson's warning to stop running. This was no ordinary assignment.

Mounting my trusty steed, "Trigger", my sleek stingray bike, I pushed the pedals with all my might, shifting up to third gear! Arriving at home the tires screeched against the sidewalk as I slammed on the brakes. I dropped the bike by our front steps and sprinted up the stairs, desperately gasping for air upon reaching the door. 

"Don't slam the door," my mom's voice called from the kitchen.

"OK, mom," I panted, shutting the door with a muffled thud.

Glancing over at my dad immersed in his newspaper, wisps of smoke curling from his pipe like fod over a mountain, I greeted him. "Hey, dad."

The newspaper rustled as he peered over it. "Yes, son?"

"Could you check out my homework? It's for a contest to become a news reporter," I managed to say between breaths.

Taking the stack of papers and instructions from me, he sifted through. "Mine is on top," I added.

His expression darkened, his brows knitting and his lips tightening around the pipe. "I'll have to pretend I didn't hear that. It's supposed to be a secret," he muttered, setting down the newspaper to peruse my work.

Sitting at the edge of the couch, swinging my legs nervously, I accidentally kicked its side. Midway through reading, my dad's eyes widened, and he began coughing, beckoning me over with a gesturing hand. Surely, he was about to praise my writing skills.

"Listen," he whispered cautiously, eyes darting towards the kitchen doorway, "What you did was wrong. It's called eavesdropping. The money your mom is saving is for my birthday party. You've spoiled the surprise."

My heart sank, and tears threatened, but I held them back, steeling myself. His hand on my shoulder, he spoke gently, "It's alright. I'll pretend I didn't hear. Just please, don't do it again."

I absorbed his words like a sponge, determined never to disappoint my dad like this again.

Mom emerged from the kitchen doorway, her eyes gleaming with mysterious intent. I searched her gaze for any sign that she had discovered my deception.

"Hon, could you and dad please make a trip to the grocery store for me? There's a list of items I urgently need," she requested, her tone carrying a strange twinkle.

Dad seemed to sense the enigmatic aura too, simply replying, "Okay," before guiding us out of the front door.

The shopping list seemed never-ending as we wandered through the aisles. Surprisingly, despite my recent misstep, dad ended up surprising me with two colorful comic books.

As we journeyed back home in the car, dad broke the silence, pulling over on our street and fixing me with a meaningful gaze.

"When we walk in, the house will seem eerily quiet, except for your mother. Suddenly, a bunch of people will burst out from hiding and yell 'Happy Birthday!' We must act as if we had no inkling of the celebration," he whispered with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He didn't need to repeat his instructions.

After parking the car, we each carried in a bag of groceries, dad cautioning me, "Be careful not to drop anything."

Meeting us at the entrance, mom relieved dad of the bags and placed them on the table in the entrance. I sat mine next to them.

The living room was dimly lit, the quiet broken as she flipped on the lights.

"SURPRISE!" A cacophony of voices erupted as a crowd of people materialized from every nook and cranny of the house. Laughter filled the air, reminiscent of the lunchroom at school but with a adult voices.

Overwhelmed, I clapped my hands over my ears.

My mom approached me, promising cake and ice cream in the basement with the other children.

"OH BOY!" I exclaimed in delight. Not only did dad get a birthday surprise, but I received get stuff too!

Among the gathering were all my friends, including Angie. We reveled in games for hours. We indulged in copious amounts of cake and ice cream too. There was nothing but joy in the basement that night. The time passed way too fast and soon we were all called upstairs. 

Bid farewell to my friends at the door as everyone exited thorugh the opening like sand in an hourglass. My mom shut the door as I rubbed my eyes. She kissed me on the cheek and I ascended the stairs, changed into my Spiderman PJs, and sank into bed.

That night became a treasured memory, etched into the tapestry of my childhood.