Cheesie Carnage

As I youngster, I was a poster child for the Aryan nation - white, blond and cute as a button. But we all know things are not as they appear and I was not without my flaws. Well flaw anyway. I had an addiction to junk food that I would do just about anything to satisfy. The reigns on Pop Shoppe pop, chips, chocolate, cookies etc. were held fairly tight. Unlike our Italian neighbors who had Coke on the table for dinner (I know, can you believe that? Lucky bastards) we had water. In retrospect I appreciate it (yes, parents really do know best) but it was tough when all you had was a dime for an allowance and penny candies started to cost a nickel. (Well in my day…..)

Company coming was a good indicator that the sugar floodgates would open. At least temporarily. One fine summer day, my cousins came for a visit and we were playing out back – no video games for us. I went in for a drink – water of course (they didn’t make us use the hose when we had company) – when to my delight my mother handed me a bag of cheesies to ‘share’. Yeah right.

With a flutter of my eyelashes and a small courtesy to mother, I obediently returned to the backyard. With a stopover at the backdoor. I tore open the bag and proceeded to have my fill. Having gained satisfaction of one sort, I went after another. Rather than just give the cheesies to the others, I thought ‘what fun a little game will be.’

Now keep in mind, even though junk food consumption was restricted at my house, we at least got dessert every night with dinner. My cousins didn’t even get that. So when I popped open the door and yelled “cheesies” the result was instantaneous. Like a herd of pigs to the trough, the kids came a runnin’.

My cousin John was clearly going win this little race. Just before they reached the door I, being the little shit that I was, pulled it shut. I had hoped for a few cracked skulls and squeals as my siblings and cousins tripped over one another. What I didn’t expect was John’s arm to come through the glass door resulting in a scar that he has to this day.

As the blood poured forth both John and I thought we were going to get in trouble. Me for, well, you just read it, and him for breaking the window. Thinking he could cover up the crime, he ran for the sandbox and buried his arm to hide the blood. Not a good idea. Aside from the fact that it was used as a litter box by neighborhood cats, filling an open wound with sand is, well, unadvisable.

He of course did not get in trouble nor, miraculously, did I. John was whipped off to the hospital for stitches and then taken out for ice cream. The rest of sat home and ate cheesies and steered clear of the sandbox.