My grandparents were blessed with the amazing ability to align their five children evenly…boy, girl, boy, girl, boy. I don’t know how they did it, and my grandfather was never willing to give up his secret.

Uncle Zeke was the oldest and boldest of the five siblings. He was always the first to try anything, eager to push the envelope, constantly challenging the existing norms. He charged headlong into life and its adventures, often armed with nothing more than the question, “What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

Uncle Jake was the “middlest” child in the brood. He was the opposing voice of reason. He would think and then re-think the possibilities, eager to anticipate just what that worst thing might be. He dwelled on the thought that it only took one thing to bring down the “best-laid plans of mice and men.”

My uncles carried these philosophies into their adult lives, stirring up lively conversations at family gatherings. Uncle Zeke would regale all the young cousins with stories of how he once built a scooter out of an old lawn mower engine and a cut down bicycle frame. Uncle Jake would lament that it was only one of the many stupid things Zeke attempted.

My Dad, the youngest and most reserved, would quietly marvel that it was “a really cool scooter,” and then trail off with the recollection, “until Zeke crashed through the fence and hit a tree.”

Uncle Jake offered his “I told ya so” smirk.

Zeke, ignoring the smirk, would quickly retort, “But, I built a scooter and it worked!”

Followed by, “Until you broke your arm.”

“But, everybody got to sign my cast.”

And so the conversations went.

“Pass the potatoes … I told you not to pee on the electric fence around Old Man Colton’s cow pasture.”

“Who cares? It didn’t hurt that much …Want some gravy?”

“Thanks. How ‘bout the corn on the cob? Didn’t hurt? You curled up on the ground for an hour.”

“It wasn’t an hour … maybe 20 minutes. Biscuits?”

One would charge off, trying anything. One would hold back, analyze everything. One would hurry off and limp back. The other refused to go, choosing to wait and offer a gloating, “I told you so.”

All the while, my father would sit back and watch, taking the best from my two uncles and avoiding the worst.

Perhaps the best advice my father ever gave me was, “Learn from other people’s mistakes. You’ll have plenty of opportunity to make new ones of your own.”

I never peed on Old Man Colton’s electric fence, but I still have a fascination with the scooter idea.

 

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His optimistic “glass full to overflowing” view of life shapes his writing. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. Wilson touts himself as “a dubiously licensed teller of tall tales, sworn to uphold the precept of ‘It’s my story; that’s the way I’m telling it.’” He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com.