Grandpa Raines’ big old butt probably would’ve squished me to Silly Putty if I didn’t do a quick-scootch all the way to the other end of the swing-glider bench.       

“Ahhh,” he sighed, as the glider groaned.  “Ain’t it a fine morning, boys.”

Fine morning, my Aunt Fanny’s fanny. 

His innocent smile did nothing to disguise the underlying cagey smirk cleverly calculated to contrast with our doggedly horse-drawn faces.  Grandpa never passed a pot without needin’ to stir it.  “So, what kind of thrilling adventure will you four musketeers embark on today, eh?” 

The other guys blame-squinted me like I’d actually invited my grandfather to his own front porch.  All I could do was wide-eye my righteous innocence—for all the good it would do.  In perfect kid-logic he was my grandpa, therefore, my responsibility.    

Finally, after way too long a long pause to be polite, Joey and Stan squirmed and mumbled indistinct ‘I-don’t-knows’ while Ray and I just squirmed.

“I see,” said Grandpa, as he pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket, carefully refolded it, and without so much as a sniffle or a sneeze, stuffed it right back where it came from.

Grandpa and his ever-lovin’ snot-rag.  What, they didn’t have sleeves in the olden days?     

“Umm-hmm,” he said.  “I think I know what’s wrong. Wasn’t no different in my day, troops.  Early one September morning me and my gang of ruffians woke up and realized we only had one day left to live, too.”  He clucked his tongue, lowered his head.  “Unless I miss my guess, school starts up again tomorrow.”   

Stan made his worst sour-lemon face.  He was sitting Indian style on the porch deck leaning his back against the house shingles and digging at his sneaker treads with a dirty fingernail.  “Do us a favor and don’t remind us, huh, G.R.?” 

Grandpa Raines let the other guys call him G.R. like they were lodge brothers or something, but let me try it just once …

 Adults and their stupid traditions.

“Yeah, G.R., don’t remind us,” chimed little Joey, Stan’s unshakable shadow and constant echo.

Grandpa’s smile beamed even brighter, but he sing-songed his voice like he was calling us cry-babies.  “Well, I am so sorry, girls.  Far be it from me to rub sand in your scabby scraped knees.”

Far be it from him?  In a blind pig’s eye. 

I let him have it.  “Cut it out, Grandpa, me and the guys ain’t in the mood for your shenanigans today.” 

Shenanigans? When did I turn into Grandma Raines?

“Ain’t in the mood,” contributed Joey before realizing Stan hadn’t spoken. 

Ray, probably the brightest light in our dim four-star constellation asked, “So, G.R., what kind of stuff did you and your roughriders do on the last days of your vacations?”

An appreciative look passed over Grandpa’s face.  “Ah, you transposed G.R. into T.R.—for Teddy Roosevelt, and ruffians into his Roughriders.  That was very clever, Ray.  Wasn’t it, boys?”

That was very clever, Ray.

Me and Stan made eye contact and scowled a silent pact to show suck-up Ray just how much we appreciated him being showing off how clever he was on this day of all days.    

Grandpa slapped his thighs.  “Why, we lived it up, Ray.  The last day of vacation was the day we’d let out all the stops—no holds barred, heck-bent for leather, and darn the torpedoes!  Yes sir, our last day was always the most memorable day of every vacation.”

Ray was the first to crack a grin.  Then Stan—and by extension, Joey.

“Really, G.R.?” said Stan and Joey—in proper pecking order.   

I was reluctant to fall in line. 

Adults and their stupid ‘In my day’ stories. 

“That’s all well and good, Grandpa, but we don’t got no leather to heck-bend, and no torpedoes to darn.  And all we’re going to get is homework, hard chairs, and high and mighty teachers.”

G.R. rubbed his chin.  “Is that true?  You boys got no leather to heck-bend?”

We shook our heads.

“No torpedoes to darn?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Well, that is a terrible shame.  But I’m sure Wet-Willy’s Amusement Park over in Hallow’s County has enough to spare you some.”

Is he sayin’ what I think he’s saying?

The four of us exchanged wide-eyed, breath-retarded looks.

“You mean it, Grandpa?  You really gonna take us up to Willy’s?”

He acted like it never occurred to him. “What?  Well, no.  I had been planning to go by myself …”

Our four fragile hearts hiccupped in harmony.

“…but what the heck, a man can’t have too many stout compadres at a rough and tumble place like Wet-Willy’s.  I suppose I could let you hombres hitch a ride—so long as none of you has the farts, or a price on your head.”

Stan began to scramble to his feet, “C’mon, Joey.”

“Whoa there, boys, where’re you rushing off to?”

Stan looked at the old man like he must be too retarded to pass Go.  “We got to ask our Ma is it all right.”  He tugged Joey upright.

“All taken care of, son.  I already spoke with your mothers,” he looked at me, “and your grandma, Curtis.  And after some hardnosed, hard-bitten, and hardheaded negotiations they have agreed to issue each of us a one-day leave of absence…”

Well, we four let out a cheer that would’ve probably woke up Martians if the slimey buggers had ears.

“… providin' we abide by one minor stipulation.”

Our cheer died the Death of a Thousand Cuts.  

Adults and their stupid stipulations.

We crossed our arms and waited for whatever crummy trick Grandpa was playin’.

He held up his hands in a calming gesture.  “I really went to bat for you guys, but…”

Adults and their stupid buts.

“…the womenfolk seem to think you need a ‘school dry run’ to get you ready for the new year.”

Ray tapped his foot as fast and as scary as any vice principal.  “And just what, may I ask, is a ‘school dry run’?”

Grandpa Raines pursed his lips and looked up into the sky.  “Well, I suppose they just want us to pick a topic and discuss it…intelligently…for a little while.”

“Aw, shoot” … “Aw, shoot” … “Figures” … and, “I shoulda known” greeted Grandpa’s awful news.

“But it’s only for a scant thirty minutes, scouts, then we’re as free as ice in January.  And we get to pick the topic we choose to discuss.”

I looked at Ray, and he nodded. 

“That’s perfect, G.R., it takes more time than that to drive to Hallow County.  We can discuss it in the car.”

Everyone but Grandpa jumped up. 

The old man rested his chin on his hand.  “I’m afraid, rangers, the ladies were quite specific about us fulfilling this … obligation before embarking on our adventure.”

Stan, nearly crying with frustration, so great was his amusement park lust, reasoned, “But they’ll never know!”

Joey seemed to think it was a joke, so he danced. “They’ll never know!  They’ll never know!”

Grandpa seemed to stifle a laugh, and I swore I heard the sound of female laughter coming from behind the parlor window curtains.

“Now boys, a deal is a deal. Let’s pick a good topic for discussion, then we’ll be on our way.”

Stan and Joey mumbled ‘okay’ ‘okay’ for all of us. 

“Fine,” said Grandpa, “all we need is a topic, warriors.”

We looked at each other with faces as blank as our minds. 

Finally, Ray, split a grin.  “Baseball!”

Again we cheered and high-fived ‘til it hurt.

Grandpa cleared his throat.  “Maybe I forgot to mention…”

Our celebration stopped faster than a pie in the face.

“…the ladies expressly excluded sports, superheroes, cars, and boogers from the list of acceptable topics.”  He shrugged his helplessness.

Adults and their stupid exclusions.

What’s left?  I whined.

“Opera?” sputtered Grandpa, unable to keep a straight face.  This time I was sure I heard female giggles coming from the parlor.

“Ballet?”  Grandpa laughed out loud, and gales of giggles gushed from behind the parlor curtains.

I shot Grandpa the dirtiest look I dared.  Stan and Joey banged the backs of their head against the house shingles.  But Ray, our shining star, screwed his face into a mask of we-will-not-be-denied.  “I challenge you to a duel, old man!” he shouted.

Grandpa Raines burst into a belly laugh so intense, so unexpected, his teeth nearly shot out of his mouth.  Meanwhile, something in the parlor crashed, and the giggles from inside turned to uncontrolled cackles.

Ray ignored the cacophony, and presented his plan.  “Just me against you, G.R.  We both have to answer the same question.  Best answer wins.  I will let you chose the topic, but I will choose the question.  Agreed?”

Grandpa was still fighting to control his laughter.  “That wasn’t the arrangement I made with your mothers…”

Just then the screen door flew open and Grandma, Mrs. Kulak, and Mrs. Abrams filed out onto the porch.  They were all stifling laughter and wiping their eyes with their aprons.

“Forget the arrangement, Zeb,” said Grandma.  “If this brave whippersnapper can best you, you old goat, they deserve the trip.”  The two mothers leaned against each other and howled at ‘old goat.’ 

Grandma eyed us.  “But you boys be aware we women’ll be the judges.”  She eyed Ray fondly.  “Agreed, son?”

Ray blushed.  “Yes’m”

She turned to Grandpa.  “What about you, goat?”

He waved at her in dismissal, but his eyes twinkled as he addressed Ray.  “Suh, as I understand it, I have the right to choose the topic?”

Ray bowed slightly.  “You do, suh.”

Ray’s mother went weak in the knees, laughing.

Stan, Joey and I exchanged bewildered shrugs, but couldn’t help smiling.

Grandpa rose from the glider and hooked his thumbs under his suspenders. “The topic I chose, suh, is … Animals!”

The ladies giggled themselves into a huddle.

Mrs. Kulak declared, “The judges approve the topic, Animals.”  She tried to stifle her giggles with her hand while Mrs. Abrams shushed, and nudged her with her elbow.

All eyes turned to Ray.

He thumbed imaginary suspenders and bounced up on down on the balls of his feet.  “The topic is acceptable.  I now challenge my learned opponent to identify the world’s most intelligent animal—and, in a single sentence, to provide compelling evidence to support his claim."

“The judges approve the question, and await the old goat’s answer,” said Grandma without conferring with the other ladies.

Eight pairs of eyes first darted from face to face, then all settled on Grandpa.

Grandpa pursed his lips. “Most intelligent animal, huh?”

Grandma said, “Well, it ain’t a goat, that’s for certain.”

The women howled, and we kids even snickered some.

Grandpa ignored us all.  “Well, only a man carries a handkerchief.”

Grandpa and his ever-lovin’ snot-rag.

“That don’t make him intelligent, Zeb, just persnickety,” noted Grandma.  “Man is overruled.”

Grandpa shook his head.  “Now hold on, I was just thinking out loud.  I choose the Chimpanzee to be the most intelligent creature—after a dapper, handkerchief-carry man, of course.”

“So, you choose the Chimpanzee, G.R.?” asked Ray, not giving away his thoughts.

“I do,” said Grandpa, looking from face to face for signs of agreement.

Adults and their stupid need to always be the smartest.

Ray’s mother piped up. “Rules say you got to tell us why, Zeb.  Why do you think Chimps are so smart?”

Stan and Joey’s mother added, “And you only goat, uh, got one sentence to say why.”

The women waited.

The old man put on like he was insulted, but we could all see it was a friendly game.  “Because, fair judges, Chimps share 94% of our DNA, they make and use tools, and they’ve been to outer space.”

Ouch.  He really nailed that one.  See you next year, Wet-Willy.

The ladies conferred quietly.  Too quietly.

Stan, Joey and I looked to Ray, our shoulders already slumped in defeat.

“Good choice, G.R.,” said Ray, an odd smile curling his lips, “if a bit too predictable.”

What’s this?  Could Ray actually have something smarter than a Chimpanzee up his sleeve?

Ray’s mom said, “Your turn, honey.”

Ray smirked like he was about to cough up canary feathers.  Instead, he said one word. “Sasquatch.”

Sasquatch? As in Bigfoot? As in Yeti?

Eight sets of eyes pinballed around the porch searching for a glimmer of elusive understanding. 

Grandpa was the first to recover.

“Well, Ray, you sure pulled a Sasquatch out of your but…uh, hat, but I don’t…”

“Go ahead.  Tell him why, Ray,” encouraged Mrs. Abrams.

Stan and I locked hopeful eyes. 

Yeah, Ray, tell us why!

Ray shuffled his feet.  “Because he’s never been put in a zoo, managed to convince most people he doesn’t even exist, and, G.R., because he’s never allowed himself to be strapped onto a firecracker and shot into outer space like a stupid monkey.”

Grandpa’s mouth flapped, but no sound came out.  Finally, he lowered himself onto the glider.  “Well, I’ll be buttered and baked.”

Grandma beamed.  “Well, judges, looks like our boys are going to Wet Willy’s.”


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
 

Grandpa drove, of course, and we kept fartin' down to a minimum.  He told us funny stories the whole way, and paid so we got free rides all day--then he gave us each a ten-dollar-bill for anything we wanted.

Adults and all they do for us.

It was the best day of our whole summer.  No holds barred, heck-bent for leather, and darn the torpedoes.