As I've said before, our house was a circus. Three-rings baby and all the crazy you could carry...
Every summer we had bats - not whiffle bats or half-ball bats, real freaky flying bats! A couple of these bat stories stand out vividly.
My parents separated briefly when I was in middle school. They gave some mashed up bs about why but to me the why was a grown-up problem and not of very much interest. It's only important to this story because of the guys next door. Their names (at least to my memory) are lost to history. I just know that a group of guys (some with motorcycles) rented out the house next door. They were young and tattooed and pretty funny. They kept a bathtub in the backyard for reasons that shall forever remain a mystery.
Anyway, it was early summer and we got a bat, AGAIN. Well our neighbors decided that they would help the house-full of young ladies out and kill that bat for them. Yeah, can you see where this is going?
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| Debbie, Patty, Tracey and me (in blue) Laura (not pictured) was just a wee baby |
First let's set the scene. I grew up in a townhouse in the Jamaica Plain section of Boston. Our house was the end unit and in order to enter the front door you had to climb a full flight of stairs. Once in the door you were in what we generously called the front hall (TMI alert: had my first kiss in that front hall). Basically an area that offered 3 choices: upstairs to the bedrooms, straight down the hall, or to the right into the living room. In our front hall, right next to the door, was a green metal trash container not dissimilar to the ones that the City of Boston would mount on light poles to help cut down on littering (Dad worked for the DPW -- what, don't judge). In this repurposed trash container we kept whiffle ball bats, half-ball sticks, umbrellas - you get the picture.
The other item was a large antique hall tree with a bench for storage, hooks and a mirror. This being the late 70s it was covered in crocheted ponchos of various colors and sizes (let's see 5 girls x 870 ponchos each = a gazillion ponchos). Anyway, I'm veering away from the point of this story - the bat!
Three or four of our burly, biker neighbors enter the house with swagga -- they had this. Well the first pass through the house, the bat must have swooped, cause one of those men screamed like a little girl. It wasn't long before they were back on the front porch strategizing. Four big bikers 0; tiny flying bat 1.
They then decide they need protection and weapons. Utilizing the available tools at hand, four big bikers cover their heads with ponchos and arm themselves with whiffle bats, tennis rackets, and half-ball sticks. They also made the decision to split up since two went into the living room and two went down the hall to cut off it's retreat. Second verse, same as the first: four big bikers 0; tiny flying bat 2.
Hahaha, now they're getting mad! They are barrelling through the house yelling and swinging at anything that moves! And cussing up a storm (one of them in spanish). It was at this point that Mom stepped in (before the house was completely destroyed) and thanked them. For those of you keeping score, the tiny flying bat won!
The sisters probably remember it differently and if so, chime in ladies.
Remind me to tell you about the time that Mom called the police to help with bat removal. The rookie cop's solution was to try to shoot it! Thankfully, calmer heads prevailed that evening...
Your story paints a vivid picture, I can hear the biker dudes screaming! :-)
ReplyDeleteI remember a bat scene similar I think your Dad was not at home and Laura and I hid under the table in the kitchen and someone...??? had a hamper on their head lots of screaming and a broom that's what i remembered, but a bat none the less and do you remember the frequent black outs Sheridan and Cranston Streets had? those were aleays lots of fun!
ReplyDeletePatrice there were so many of them. I think in this instance we were all outside but every once in a while we'd be caught inside.
ReplyDeleteI think Wally had the hamper on his head and one of the sisters locked herself in the bathroom.
yes Barbara, I am remembering it as you said. But you are leavinging out the fact that the room next to the living room was our parents/moms bedroom. Most of the girls were under the blankets and these biker men, screaming and cusing were jumping on that bed while fragile children lay huddled. Boy those were the days... such fun!
ReplyDeleteI must have blocked that out!
ReplyDeletewe used to get bats all the time too Barbara... we would all be called outside and my father would let the cat handle it lol... then he would flush is down the toilet.... for years to come I always thought my ass was going to get bit by a bat LMAO.
ReplyDeleteHahaha, that's awesome! We'd kill them and throw them down the sewer... the beauty of city living.
ReplyDelete