There must have been 30 West Pratt kids who rode the bus to school each day.
Everyone gathered in front of one of our houses long before the big yellow beast ambled to the stop to collect us. We were always there 30 or 40 minutes before the bus came- rain, snow, sleet or sunshine.
Normally there was a game of keep-away that involved grabbing somebody’s hat or book and running him or her ragged. The group would torment the kid unmercifully. Often, when one of the “mean kids” got the hat, things turned ugly. The life span of a hat in those days was painfully short. When the weather warmed up we played softball right there in the road.
Morning traffic in West Pratt was pretty much non-existent, and if a car or truck did come by you could see it for a mile in either direction. There was no real danger of being run over.
One morning we were playing softball, I was the catcher. My oldest sister, tall and gangly in those days, was one of the most feared hitters in the bunch. She could knock the cover off a softball, sending an outfielder scurrying to the high weeds for the ball.
The count on her that morning was three balls and two strikes and oh, she hated to strike out. The pitcher lobbed one over the plate, a little high. She stepped back to get a better angle on the ball, and when she swung she clipped me in the back of the head.
I remember thinking I might be a little too close…then, WHAM! The next thing I knew I was lying face first on the gravel pavement. My sister freaked and snatched me up quickly, dusting off my clothes. I was conscious, but acting quite loopy, so she pronounced me fit as a fiddle.
She really didn’t want me going back in the house, because she knew our Mom would have a fit. Things usually went south when mama had a fit. As the bus rolled up, I wanted to go home and let Mom have a look, but my sister hissed, “SHUT UP YOU LITTLE SISSY AND GET ON THE BUS.”
She could have called me many things without effect, but SISSY was harsh. All
my friends looked at me for confirmation- well are you a SISSY???
Since I didn’t want that label to follow me the rest of my life I got on the bus, listing slightly starboard. I acted a little goofy all day: since I usually acted goof no one noticed.
My sister thought about the situation all day and knew she was in a jam. I could tell mother about the bludgeoning and she would be in world of hurt, so sweet sugar would not have melted in her mouth. How are you feeling???
I was conniving too. I said I’m ok, but I’d feel a lot better if you’d let me listen to your radio this evening. That Sylvania transistor radio was her most prized possession. She knew I had her over a barrel, so she agreed.
When we got home, mom asked about our day.
My sister held her breath as I gave my report: “ Mary Lois…( I paused for the effect) hit a home run this morning.”
I smiled a devilish smile at my sister who sighed with relief, and Mom went about making cornbread for supper. That night I still had a lump on my head but I fell asleep smiling, listening to Elvis on my sister’s little radio.
