(Photo Credit: http://www.nostalgiawarehouse.com/store/images/FireTruck_Delux.jpg)
When I was about four or five years old, my cousins had a fire truck like this that you could pedal like a bike. Whenever I went over to their house, I would beg to ride in it. I was an annoying little cousin to them, so they never let me get my way. One day, though, they talked it over covertly, and they decided that I could ride it.
As I was small for my age, by legs were not long enough to reach the pedals, so my cousins volunteered to push me down the block. As we were making our way down the street -- them pushing, and me pretending to be on the way to a four-alarm fire to save babies and kittens -- my cousins began to tell me the story of the man who lived in the house on the corner we were approaching.
Apparently, this old man was the meanest man alive. Since his wife had died, creepy things happened at his house. The most recent news was that a neighborhood friend of theirs, who was retrieving a kickball from the old man's yard, was shot by a rifle from the window of the old man's kitchen. The old man came out to get their friend's body and dragged it into the house. According to my cousins, the police couldn't arrest him because they found no evidence of foul play. Also, according to my cousins, it was believed that the old man had eaten their friend.
As I listened (at first with interest, and then with rapidly-growing fear), we were nearing that very house. My cousins began pushing faster and faster, and before I knew it, the fire truck that I was driving was in the lawn of the child eater!!! I screamed and cried, "Don't shoot me!!! Don't eat me!!" The fire truck tipped over and my legs became tangled in the pedals. I worked to free myself, but the more I struggled the worse it became. My cousins had long since abandoned me.
It seemed like hours, but soon an adult hand reached into the fire truck and freed my flailing legs. I was quickly lifted out of the truck, a sobbing, shaking mess. As I tried to compose myself, the adult who had saved me (the sharpshooting child eater)had placed the truck on the sidewalk. He patted me on the shoulder and went back to his house.
As I pushed the truck back to my cousin's house, my chest heaving with sobs and angry tears, I plotted my revenge on them.
When I read about this pirate-like man in Chapter 1, this story always pops into my head for some reason. Just thought I'd share.
3 comments:
Thats interesting. That memory ties into the story later on too. At first the pirate or the "child eater" is portrayed as a threatening dangerous character, and an assumption is made based on the label of "convict" or a scary fictional story that sends the victim to react in a certain way. Even though the convict does behave to the expectations of his label, later on it is discovered he is a thoughtful man with a certain regret in the fact that he probably behaved in the furry of the situation rather than his actual rationalization; most likely because he was a hungry, hurt convict being hounded by the police. Where in the end the convict appears again as a sweet man who compensates Pip for his troubles before with a small fortune. Just like the story of the "Child eater," he was made up to be something horrible but ended up being something aware, caring, and real.Instead of eating the young boy, who trespassed on his lawn, he thoughtfully sets him back upon his life's path.
Haha I agree it was an interesting story. Did you ever get your revenge? (Btw, the fire truck is proving good profile pic)
Sadly, I never got my revenge...and both of those boys grew up to be extremely successful contractors, responsible for all the acoustic tile work done at the University of Michigan...a multi-million dollar job. And, by the way, they turned out to be decent guys...they were just evil when they were young.
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