It was a very unusual day “down at the house,” as everyone called my grandparents’ place in Cleveland. If it were Sunday, there would be about 20 people there. But this was Saturday.
Grandpa must have been taking a nap because he and his vicious poodle were nowhere to be found. Grandma was where she always was, the kitchen. My parents set me up with my Batman and Robin coloring book in the living room and said they’d be back. If I needed anything, let Grandma know.
I kissed them goodbye, opened my book, and colored. I got lost in what I was doing and never heard the strangers come inside. When I heard my name, I turned to look. I had been on my knees using the couch as a table to hold my coloring book.
“They’re going to take you out for some candy,” Grandma said calmly.
I panicked. Scared stiff, fear consumed my entire body. Who were these people? I don’t ever recall seeing them.
“Don’t worry, this is your uncle,” Grandma said, noticing my hesitation.
My dad came from a family of eleven. This was his youngest brother. Maybe this sibling had been away, or maybe he was busy doing other things, or maybe I just never noticed him before. The big ole house could get pretty crowded, and I’d be out playing with my cousins most of the time.
I wanted to cry for help, but instead went quietly with my captors.
My dad and his brothers and sisters grew up in two eras – the greasers listening to Motown and the long-haired freaky people who didn’t listen to Motown. This was the early 1970’s, and this uncle character looked an awful lot like a guy they had statues and pictures of all over my church. He and his lady friend were all smiles, trying to make me feel comfortable.
I wasn’t.
They put me in the enormous backseat of their car. My feet only came to the edge of the seat I was sitting on. I didn’t have to wear a seatbelt, so I positioned myself in the middle to see the windshield between the front seats. I never said a word. Try as they might to get me to say something – anything, I wasn’t talking. I just stared at them. I think it made them uncomfortable.
Better than candy, they thought, was ice cream. That was sure to win me over. But I just ate mine and never even said thank you. They looked unhappy. This was not how they had planned for it to go; I could tell.
They took me back to Grandma.
I walked in, past Grandma, and went straight to my coloring book and resumed a position as if I had never budged from the couch. I did not turn around again until my parents got me.
On the drive home, I broke a silent spell by saying, “I took candy from strangers today.”
By Frank Rocco Satullo, The OhioTraveler, Your Tour Guide to Fun!
