You would think such a place as Sleepy Time would only cross my path once in my life, two times is pretty unlikely and three times – you have to think there is someone out there who really didn’t like me as a kid.
Some years later the Sleepy Time house had been abandoned. Maybe it was shut down for child abuse violations, maybe the poltergeist that inhabited the space ran everyone off, I’m not sure of the exact reason for the closer of Sleepy Time.
I grew up in the 70’s and part of the charm of the 70’s was churches started to take over your ever waking moment. Why not have ever event in your life structured around the church – who needs anything else? For parts of my childhood I was Methodist, at least in the non-summer months. Methodist as a rule are quiet people, they don’t get excited, they make sure you are out of service at noon every Sunday and generally try to handle most disputes with a casserole and some prayer already pre-written. Creativity isn’t something instilled by the Methodist experience – repetition is. It is good and safe and would rarely offend anyone, so keep that in mind if you are our shopping for a new religion.
In my early teenage years I was involved with our church’s youth group. I can remember going to camp, and a few outings but what sticks out most was the final revenge of Sleepy Time.
One thing I looked forward to when I joined the youth group was working on the haunted house. The goal was to raise money and to scare the crap out of everyone. This was back when churches allowed you to dress up as the devil for Halloween and didn’t see it as anymore crazy as great floods and giants walking the earth. I remembered some great haunted houses at church and each year they tried to top the year before.
One day while meeting our youth director informed us that had great news – we had secured a prime location on one of the major roads in town for our haunted house. The house was old and abandoned and scheduled for demolition – so we could do anything we wanted to it. Great plans began on torture chambers, coffins, and zombies.
Our youth director arranged for us to go see the location. I was asked to come even though I was new to the youth group because they needed someone who could think creatively. My only partial submersion into the Methodist life was paying off. So, off we went. As soon as we pulled in the driveway I knew where we were. It was the old Sleepy Time house. Everyone was so excited; I just wanted to throw-up. I’ve never had much of a poker face and apparently my face betrayed my emotions the minute we walked into the empty house. I started getting ribbing about being scared and being to young. I just shook my head. I made up my mind then and there this project was going on without me; I wouldn’t come back to the youth group until after Halloween. They could have the Sleepy Time house all to themselves – and so they did. They scared the crap out of countless people for one last time as the Sleepy Time house did what just came naturally.
In the spring I rode my bike up to the Sleepy Time house to watch them tear it down. This was way beyond where I was allowed to go on my bike, but I wanted to make sure the place was gone. It is now home to the boy scout’s office – how fitting.
Showing posts with label Childhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Childhood. Show all posts
Monday, February 16, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
The Return of Sleepytime Daycare
My brother and I never had to return to the “Sleepytime” daycare, but that didn’t stop “Sleepytime” from tormenting me again as a child. It so happens the daycare that I would spend my early formative years in was “The Gingerbread House” which was located directly behind “Sleepytime”. What are the chances? Maybe Mom didn’t really look that hard for a replacement – well look – there is another one of these places – let’s try that one! I’m not sure how the selection process was done.
“The Gingerbread House” (TGH) was also a converted house, but it was only a single floor – which I considered a major safely improvement over the sleepytime deathtrap where they put children into the fireplace.
The fenced in backyard of TGH shared a common fence with Sleepytime at the very back. The play area at TGH was divided up with mostly the boys playing as far away from the TGH as possible. I believe it was hoped that we would be beyond the careful glaze of our teachers and from this great distance we could get away with just about anything.
One day a not so bright schoolmate got the idea that he should jump the back fence of TGH into the next yard. I knew what fait awaked this kid – the sleepytime - but I felt no desire to warn this kid. I would call this kid by name, but to be honest it escapes me and really he isn’t the point of this story. If this kid wad dumb enough to break into “Sleepytime” he deserved the fireplace torture that awaited him. His first attempt was a spectacular attempt to jump the fence with a big-wheel. It was a monumental failure, but still a vision I can conjure up for a laugh. The big-wheel, while large in wheel never was much of a jumping vehicle as it would be proved time and again for many years to come. Somehow just like Evil Knievel he survived the big-wheel feat. Even with this failure still fresh on him he was able to convince other stupid children that their next attempt should be to dig a hole under the fence. I’m sure this kid grew up to a salesman at Circuit City or something like that. At this point, I began to retreat. My hasty retreat was noted and someone was sent to find me hiding in the playhouse to see what was up and was I going to tell. I assured them I wasn’t going to tell, but I wasn’t going to help them dig a hole back into the sleepytime daycare jail yard. They just didn’t understand. How could they?
“The Gingerbread House” (TGH) was also a converted house, but it was only a single floor – which I considered a major safely improvement over the sleepytime deathtrap where they put children into the fireplace.
The fenced in backyard of TGH shared a common fence with Sleepytime at the very back. The play area at TGH was divided up with mostly the boys playing as far away from the TGH as possible. I believe it was hoped that we would be beyond the careful glaze of our teachers and from this great distance we could get away with just about anything.
One day a not so bright schoolmate got the idea that he should jump the back fence of TGH into the next yard. I knew what fait awaked this kid – the sleepytime - but I felt no desire to warn this kid. I would call this kid by name, but to be honest it escapes me and really he isn’t the point of this story. If this kid wad dumb enough to break into “Sleepytime” he deserved the fireplace torture that awaited him. His first attempt was a spectacular attempt to jump the fence with a big-wheel. It was a monumental failure, but still a vision I can conjure up for a laugh. The big-wheel, while large in wheel never was much of a jumping vehicle as it would be proved time and again for many years to come. Somehow just like Evil Knievel he survived the big-wheel feat. Even with this failure still fresh on him he was able to convince other stupid children that their next attempt should be to dig a hole under the fence. I’m sure this kid grew up to a salesman at Circuit City or something like that. At this point, I began to retreat. My hasty retreat was noted and someone was sent to find me hiding in the playhouse to see what was up and was I going to tell. I assured them I wasn’t going to tell, but I wasn’t going to help them dig a hole back into the sleepytime daycare jail yard. They just didn’t understand. How could they?
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Sleepy Time Daycare
“You don’t like that.” As a small child these were the guiding words I often heard from my brother, and for me no other judgment was needed. Maybe I was a lazy child and I didn’t want to take time to form options myself. He was older, he had already figured these things out why shouldn’t I benefit from his knowledge. There was no need for me to try anything. Whatever likes and disliked he had - I now had the same. My brother felt it was his duty to protect me from olives, most vegetables and anything that didn’t involve sports. He was older and wiser and was determined to pass this knowledge on to me. I didn’t really have a choice. Later in life I would fail him as I went on to discover that I liked most vegetables and detested most sports, but he was right about olives. However, at this time I was still his disciple in all things.
Our parents both taught school in the next county. This meant their day started early. During the school year my brother and I were both entrusted into the care of Odessa. While I wouldn’t always believe the sun rose and set on my older brother, my faith for Odessa never wavered. However, on this faithful morning Odessa was unable to come in. Mom hurriedly made arrangements to take us to a daycare with the quant name of Sleepy Time. Sleepy Time was an old converted house off a major thoroughfare. Out front was a black backed neon sign half faded with a child sleeping and little “z”s coming from his head. It suggested that your child would sleep in some kind of eternal darkness. Why a parent would trust a place that looked like it was conceived by Norman Bates I will never know. Mom was desperate, but the other children there – their parents owe them an explanation.
As Mom left us half asleep we watched her drive away not knowing what to do next or if she would ever return. As we took in our surroundings Steven whispered in my ear that we didn’t like this place. I think without his help I would have formed the same conclusion. We stood in the entrance hall where Mom had left us with our coats still on holding hands. We dumbly followed the orders of a stranger woman as she told us to hang up our jackets. Then, however she started taking Steven upstairs and another woman appeared and was taking me in the direction of another room. Steven escaped from the stranger woman and grabbed my hand and told me not to move. The teacher reached down and started to pick me up. I did the only thing a 3 year old can do. I cried. I cried as if the world was ending. She was so taken back that she just froze. I would think she would be used to crying children, but I did have a good set of lungs on me. My brother then started running pulling me in tow. We ran straight into the fireplace of what used to be the den in the house and wedged ourselves inside. I continued to cry. Anytime someone got near us, I would cry. So, there we stood in the fireplace all day. Neither of us would come out, not to eat, play. No amount of coaxing or threats would get us to move. They decided ignoring us would work, as we would get bored and come out to play. Steven and I didn’t move an inch.
I feel so sorry now for the sight my Mom must have seen when she came to pick us up that afternoon. Here her two sons stood in the fireplace, me still balling my eyes out until I heard her voice. Then we ran to her covered in soot. My memories of what happened next aren’t really clear, but I know we never returned to Sleepy Time. I’m sure there was mutual agreement on that. When my brother and I both started kindergarten the next year, they put us in separate facilities, but that is another story.
However, that wasn't my last encounter with the Sleepy Time daycare......
Our parents both taught school in the next county. This meant their day started early. During the school year my brother and I were both entrusted into the care of Odessa. While I wouldn’t always believe the sun rose and set on my older brother, my faith for Odessa never wavered. However, on this faithful morning Odessa was unable to come in. Mom hurriedly made arrangements to take us to a daycare with the quant name of Sleepy Time. Sleepy Time was an old converted house off a major thoroughfare. Out front was a black backed neon sign half faded with a child sleeping and little “z”s coming from his head. It suggested that your child would sleep in some kind of eternal darkness. Why a parent would trust a place that looked like it was conceived by Norman Bates I will never know. Mom was desperate, but the other children there – their parents owe them an explanation.
As Mom left us half asleep we watched her drive away not knowing what to do next or if she would ever return. As we took in our surroundings Steven whispered in my ear that we didn’t like this place. I think without his help I would have formed the same conclusion. We stood in the entrance hall where Mom had left us with our coats still on holding hands. We dumbly followed the orders of a stranger woman as she told us to hang up our jackets. Then, however she started taking Steven upstairs and another woman appeared and was taking me in the direction of another room. Steven escaped from the stranger woman and grabbed my hand and told me not to move. The teacher reached down and started to pick me up. I did the only thing a 3 year old can do. I cried. I cried as if the world was ending. She was so taken back that she just froze. I would think she would be used to crying children, but I did have a good set of lungs on me. My brother then started running pulling me in tow. We ran straight into the fireplace of what used to be the den in the house and wedged ourselves inside. I continued to cry. Anytime someone got near us, I would cry. So, there we stood in the fireplace all day. Neither of us would come out, not to eat, play. No amount of coaxing or threats would get us to move. They decided ignoring us would work, as we would get bored and come out to play. Steven and I didn’t move an inch.
I feel so sorry now for the sight my Mom must have seen when she came to pick us up that afternoon. Here her two sons stood in the fireplace, me still balling my eyes out until I heard her voice. Then we ran to her covered in soot. My memories of what happened next aren’t really clear, but I know we never returned to Sleepy Time. I’m sure there was mutual agreement on that. When my brother and I both started kindergarten the next year, they put us in separate facilities, but that is another story.
However, that wasn't my last encounter with the Sleepy Time daycare......
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
My 1st Pot
Most of my interest in my adult lift can be traced back to events from my childhood. What leaves an impression that last and what passes away simply forgotten is as much serendipity as it is planning.
As a child I presented somewhat of a conundrum to my parents. My Mom, Dad and Brother were all athletic and interested in sports. I was not. My parents both coached sports – I considered attendance to a game something akin to punishment. I have checked I wasn’t adopted.
I think presents for me were hard for my family. I didn’t want balls or sports equipment or just about anything they would find interest in. However, I did like to make things. I didn’t really care what. Give me some scissors, tape, glue and an old newspaper and I would busy myself for hours. I became a pro with tape and glue which in my childhood I used to put back together much of the house that my brother and I destroyed– but that is another story.
The Christmas I was in the 2nd grade my parents gave me a pottery wheel. It was a child’s pottery wheel that was battery powered and to be honest it wasn’t worth crap. It looked functional but it was woefully underpowered. It must have been some company’s idea of a joke as the box was adored with pottery that no one could have ever produced on the crap wheel. However, I didn’t know that at the time.
As a child I presented somewhat of a conundrum to my parents. My Mom, Dad and Brother were all athletic and interested in sports. I was not. My parents both coached sports – I considered attendance to a game something akin to punishment. I have checked I wasn’t adopted.
I think presents for me were hard for my family. I didn’t want balls or sports equipment or just about anything they would find interest in. However, I did like to make things. I didn’t really care what. Give me some scissors, tape, glue and an old newspaper and I would busy myself for hours. I became a pro with tape and glue which in my childhood I used to put back together much of the house that my brother and I destroyed– but that is another story.
The Christmas I was in the 2nd grade my parents gave me a pottery wheel. It was a child’s pottery wheel that was battery powered and to be honest it wasn’t worth crap. It looked functional but it was woefully underpowered. It must have been some company’s idea of a joke as the box was adored with pottery that no one could have ever produced on the crap wheel. However, I didn’t know that at the time.
So, on Christmas morning I began my work at the wheel. I carefully read the instructions and tried to mimic the hand positions that they gave. I setup shop in the garage, covered the work area in newspaper (see how multipurpose this stuff is) got a small bucket of water and I began to make blobs. Shapeless squashed blobs that couldn’t really take shape as the small motor would grind to a halt once I put any pressure on the clay. So, I had to mostly shape the poor blobs with my hands. There was no way to fire the clay – so I put my pitiful creations out in the sun. I then hand painted my creations with the small containers of paint that came with the wheel. They were hideous. In the end I had three “bowls”. One I gave to my parents – heck it could be an ashtray if it was pushed into service. I never saw it again after the giving. I like to believe they had a quiet funeral service for it. One I kept – I guess as a reminder to never use that stupid pottery wheel again – and the best one I gave to my first girlfriend – Laura Bradley. Laura smashed my gift into the sidewalk and laughed at it. I remember where Laura used to live, I guess I could always go ask her parents if she still regrets her rejection of my early art.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Bandit Wanted
Our wants as children are often hard to explain. I always wanted a raccoon. I can’t say exactly why the idea appealed to me so. Maybe it was a Disney movie that had a raccoon in it. Whatever it was that married me to this idea I stuck to it for years. Even my brother, Steven, helped push this raccoon idea – one of our rarely united fronts. However my parents weren’t buying the idea. That isn’t true mostly Mom wasn’t buying the idea. Mom feared the raccoon would destroy the house, or give me rabies or something mothers would worry about. I believe Dad secretly wanted me to win this battle. However, Mom was pretty firm that raccoons weren’t pets. This is from a woman who had a pet alligator in Cherryville NC. As a child I wasn’t aware of this fact.
As an eight year old I did my best to convince Mom this would work. I bought a book on how to raise a raccoon trying to convince my parents that I was an expert on the subject. I could point to my book with pride and show them the whole idea had been carefully researched. However some book by a hippie on how to raise raccoons to be like a member of the family wasn't enough to win Mom over. I’m not sure where I got the book. This was pre-amazon.com days and it wasn’t like Gastonia was abound with bookstores.
As an eight year old I did my best to convince Mom this would work. I bought a book on how to raise a raccoon trying to convince my parents that I was an expert on the subject. I could point to my book with pride and show them the whole idea had been carefully researched. However some book by a hippie on how to raise raccoons to be like a member of the family wasn't enough to win Mom over. I’m not sure where I got the book. This was pre-amazon.com days and it wasn’t like Gastonia was abound with bookstores.
To try to appease me my parents got me a rabbit and the rabbit was great. I would bring whole classes from school home to see my rabbit. We lived right across the street from the school so it was an easy spur of the moment field trip. I don’t think any permission slips were signed – school was less formal in those days. I would point to pride at my rabbit. I would take her out of her run and let people hold her.
She gave me good bragging rights, but she wasn’t the same as a raccoon. We couldn’t have any adventures, or climb trees together, or get into mischief. But she never destroyed the house or infected anyone with rabies. So, I guess that was an alright trade off.
The book is still at Mom’s house in case I take up the notion again.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Starting the New Year off with a Bang
Before you ask, this is a true story, even I couldn't think up this.
JACKSON, Ohio – Police say a 4-year-old boy in southern Ohio shot his babysitter because the sitter accidentally stepped on his foot. Police said 18-year-old Nathan Beavers and several other teenagers were babysitting several young children in a mobile home in Jackson on Sunday when the shooting occurred.
Witnesses told police the 4-year-old retrieved the shotgun from a bedroom closet and shot Beavers. Police said the child was angry because Beavers accidentally stepped on his foot.
Beavers was hospitalized with minor pellet wounds to his arm and side.
Police say another teen was also injured with shotgun pellets.
Jackson County Sheriff John Shashteen said authorities are investigating the shooting. The child has not been charged.
JACKSON, Ohio – Police say a 4-year-old boy in southern Ohio shot his babysitter because the sitter accidentally stepped on his foot. Police said 18-year-old Nathan Beavers and several other teenagers were babysitting several young children in a mobile home in Jackson on Sunday when the shooting occurred.
Witnesses told police the 4-year-old retrieved the shotgun from a bedroom closet and shot Beavers. Police said the child was angry because Beavers accidentally stepped on his foot.
Beavers was hospitalized with minor pellet wounds to his arm and side.
Police say another teen was also injured with shotgun pellets.
Jackson County Sheriff John Shashteen said authorities are investigating the shooting. The child has not been charged.
I remember as a child we went through baby-sitters on a somewhat regular bases. To be honest I don’t remember most of their names, however Mom still does. She likes to recount people who babysat us and ask me about them. I remember outstanding details like – that was the one who made me a good sandwich - after that it gets fuzzy.
I’m not sure why they couldn’t hang with multiple outings with the Day children. It could have been our parents were both teachers so pay would be on the low side. That seems kind of fair as they were trained professionals who weren’t paid much to baby-sit. It would seem ludicrous for them to pay a teenager more per hour than they made themselves! Maybe they didn’t know how to handle Steven and me trying to kill each other. We were never successful in our efforts, but it wasn’t from lack of trying. I know we looked like angels, but it really was the lighting in those old pictures.
I will admit when I was a younger child I was rather clingy. I have an excuse - I was very small for my age and I think I had a fear of being stomped on. The constant beatings from my brother did little to elevate this fear. I do take credit for this driving one babysitter away, you can still see the notch I made in my nightstand, away, but I don’t remember that being an issue with anyone else.
Now I realize those babysitters were damn lucky to have us, as we never popped a cap in any of them!
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Old Letters from Santa
While getting my tax stuff together for this year I ran across something that brought back such wonderful memories I wanted to share with you. I found actual copies of letters I sent to Santa and his replies that I had saved since childhood. I think this is the perfect end to this holiday season. I have reproduced the letters exactly as they appeared. I hope you enjoy. For me, it still brings a tear to my eye walking down memory lane.
Deer Santa,
I wud like a kool toy space ranjur fer Xmas. I'v ben a gud boy all
yeer.
Yer Friend,
Charlie
Dear Charlie,
Nice spelling. You're on your way to a career in education. Don’t you want something better with your life? How about I send you a book so you can learn to read and spell? I'm giving your older brother the space ranger set he asked for. At least HE can spell.
Santa
Dear Santa,
Thank you for the spelling book last year. I believe I’ve learned the lessons you were trying to teach me last year. I do want a better life, but not just for me. This year the only thing I ask for is peace and joy in the world for everybody!
Hugs,
Charlie
Dear Charlie,
Your parents smoked pot when they had you, didn't they? Your older brother is getting an air hockey table this year, because he asked for it. You are getting the peace of mind to know I’m sending you another book.
Santa
Dear Santa
Last year’s book about speaking up was really great. I think I understand how this system works now. I want a new bike, an Atari 7200 game system, a train, some G.I. Joes, a dog, a drum kit, a pony and a tuba.
Love
Charlie
Dear Charlie,
You want a Pony and you send me love? I bet you're gay. I'll set you up with a Barbie and another book. Who did you think you were kidding asking for a G.I. Joe? By the way I’m giving your brother a horse because he asked for one and horses are what boys want – not Ponys!
Santa
Dear Santa,
Happy 4th of July! I bet you don’t get many letters from kids in July. I’ve been reading in one of those self help books you gave me that many people respond negatively when under stress, so I think I’ve just been hitting you at the wrong time. I hope you are taking a break from making toys and enjoying some time off for the 4th. If you could arrange it for this year I really want a puppy. Please, please, please, PLEASE, PLEASE could I have one?
Sincerely,
Charlie
Dear Charlie,
Stress really isn’t as big of an issue as you might think. I have 364 days off. All the toys are made in China. I have a condo in Vegas where I spend most of my time making low-budget porno films. I unwind by drinking myself silly and squeezing the asses of cocktail waitresses while losing money at the craps table.
As for your “puppy request” - that whiney begging shit may work with your folks, but that crap doesn't work with me. I stopped by a bookstore that was going out of business and stocked up on their self help books. You’ll be getting a book. I’ve picked out a DOG for your brother.
Santa
Dear Santa,
Ok, I know I’m not getting a puppy and you are leaving me some books but I wanted to let you know that there are no bad feelings. I left milk and cookies for you under the tree, and I left carrots for your reindeer outside the back door.
Charlie
Dear Charlie,
Diary products give me the shits and carrots make the deer fart in my face when riding in the sleigh. You want to do me a favor? Leave me a bottle of Scotch
Santa
Dearest Santa,
I’ve signed you up for the Milk product of the month – enjoy you lactose intolerant bastard!
Charlie
Dearest Charlie,
Good boy, I’m bringing you a pony this year.
Sweet dreams,
Santa
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