More Minutes
I was driving home the other night and a song came on the radio I had not heard before. It was called ”Five More Minutes” by Scott McCreery; it talked of times he had and people he had lost and how he wished he could just go back for five more minutes. As I listened, I also thought of all the times I would like to go and spend a few more minutes doing and people I wish I could visit just one more time.
After I got home, I sat and thought about the song for a good while. Gerri even asked me what was on my mind, I told her about the song and how it had touched me and made me think of how many things I wish I had a few more minutes to do things or people to be with.
That night as I drifted off to sleep the song played through my mind again and again “I wish I had five more minutes…..”
I heard a crackly voice “It’s the bottom of the 3rd and the Phils are ahead 1-0, here’s the pitch to Mike Schmidt, CRACK!!! it a long, high drive to deep centerfield and its OUTTA HERE!” I hear Harry Kalas’s voice through the radio, as my Grandparents house materialized around me. It was a hot, humid, summer night as usual, and Pop, MomMom, my little brother Matthew and I were sitting on the porch listening to the Phillies game on the transistor radio in the window. Pop sitting in his usual rocking chair, wiped his forehead for about the tenth time and said “WHEW ! Its awful hot and humid, why don’t you boys run down to the store and get us some sodas?” He dug around in his pockets and gave us each two quarters (no bill changers on soda machines back then). Matthew and I jumped up and took off toward the little store down the street. After carefully crossing the road, we ran across the big field across the street with the fireflies dancing in the evening air, all around us, and the scent of the honeysuckle hanging heavily in the air.
We got to the store and got the sodas, RC for me, Pepsi for Pop, & MomMom, and an Orange Crush for Matthew. I remember us laughing and racing each other back up the field to Pop’s.
Pop and MomMom have long since been gone, the house as well. I wish I could go back and race Matthew across the field on a hot, humid, summer night with the fireflies dancing and the scent of honeysuckle heavy in the air again. And, we could both go back and sit with Pop and MomMom on the porch and enjoy the ice-cold sodas and listen to the rest of the game, if I only had a few more minutes.
The porch faded from view, just as Matthew and I reached the steps, then I saw something else coming into focus.
It was my Uncle Dave (all six foot six and 300 pounds of him), Uncle Jack (tall, lanky and one eyed), my cousins Frank (HUGE and looking like Conan the Barbarian stunt double, with an ornery grin) and my cousin John (young and a bit pudgy) and family friend John D (who for lack of a better description looks like a Hobbit and was nicknamed Freddy Flintstone).
We were all dressed in hunting clothes and walking through a thick creek bottom with shotguns, hunting for pheasants and rabbits. I look left and see John, he is as excited as I am, since we both turned 12 just got our hunting licenses, and this is our first hunt. The uncles are on either side of us, cussing at the tangling, tripping, honeysuckle vines and gripping, clawing, multiflora rose, John and I wanted to cuss too, but back then, children were not allowed to cuss (at least around adults.)
Frank and John D were hunting toward us, and we were hunting toward them, and once we got within sight we knew there was no game to be found in this thicket. As we turned left to go back to the cars, we had to cross over a small creek. I was working my way across with John and could see Uncle Dave walking a half rotten, old log downstream from us. I looked over just as Uncle Dave jumps off the log onto the bank, at that instant his 300 pounds caves in the bank and he falls (This word is unacceptable on Trapperman) over tin cups into the stream on his back! He emerges sputtering like a hungover hippo and cursing like a long shoreman, I think he might have even made up a few new words. After it was established, that he was not hurt, we all had a good laugh.
We got back to the cars, and Uncle Dave is soaked to the bone, and the day is just starting. The only person who had any dry clothes in their car was John D. John D is as short and squat as Uncle Dave was Big and Tall, so when he put on John D’s clothes, the sweatpants looked like knickerbockers, and the shirt was so tight he looked like 10 pounds of potatoes in a five-pound sack, it was difficult to restrain our laughter, so we didn’t!
What I would give to be that twelve-year-old kid, on that dusty, dirt road on that warm, sunny morning, to see Uncle Dave, hungover, dripping wet, cussing, but still laughing with to the rest of us. To see all their faces laughing, and to smell the dust of the road, and hear the raucous cackle of the pheasant that eluded us. (This word is unacceptable on Trapperman), I wish I had just a few minutes.
As Uncle Dave’s dripping form slowly faded out, I could hear myself walking through dry leaves, and could see a dim path ahead of me. I looked over my shoulder and saw my cousin John again and just behind him Matthew, both carrying fishing poles and very large grins. I look ahead of me and see my cousin Frank (the man-sized mountain in front of me), he looks back at us three young kids (I was maybe 10 as was John and Matthew would have been 6) and grins like a mule eating green tomatoes. “We’re almost there” Frank says softly to us.
I realize it’s the opening day of trout season and Frank is taking us to his secret spot, where he had caught huge a brown trout years before. We got to his spot and unlike every other opening day I had seen, there was not another person on the creek. (Normal opening day crowds were literally people standing within arm’s length of each other.) The four of us spread out along the bank about 5 or six feet apart, and eagerly awaited the 8AM opening bell, trouble was no one had a watch, and this was long, long before cell phones. After a lengthy wait, Frank gave us the go ahead to start. We all cast out into the crick and waited on a bite. Over the next hour or so we all caught a few trout. If I recall correctly, Matthew got the first fish as well as the most by the time we left, and he was walking mighty tall.
Frank decided to get us all breakfast, so we stopped at the local McDonald’s to get pancakes and sausages. When he asked us what we wanted to drink we all said “MILKSHAKES!!!”, so he asked for them and was told they do not serve them till lunch. So, we got our orders, then drove down the street and stopped at Wendy’s and guess what? They were happy to serve us milkshakes!
I can’t tell you what we ended up catching or where else we went to go fishing, however I can tell you we had one heck of a great time! I would love to go back for a few minutes to have that breakfast with Frank, John, and Matthew again, and see us all laughing and smiling. (This word is unacceptable on Trapperman) what I would give for a few more minutes.
As Frank and John fade from view I hear a familiar sound. It starts with a wheezy hhheeeeeheeeeeehheee then deepens into true belly laughs BWAHAHAHHAAHAHHA, and I see the face of one of my best friends Charlie Bowers. He’s sitting on his stoop with his big Stetson on and laughing at something Matthew has just said. I look and Matthew is right there too, pony tailed, grinning, and cracking up as well. It a beautiful November day in 2012 and Matthew and I are visiting Charlie at his home. I am back East for a business trip and Matthew, and I decided to pay our friend a visit and relive some old times. Anna (Charlie’s youngest daughter) was there listening to us relive the old days, really enjoyed hearing some of the stories we were telling on each other. Charlie asks Matthew “Remember that goose you killed that one time with my lacrosse stick, and we told your Grandparents we had hit it with the car?” “I sure do, MomMom cook it up for us and man was it good” Matthew replied. “Yeah, I remember your Pop running his hands all over that goose” Charlie said. He looked at me and Anna “I asked Matt what Pop was doing and he whispered to me “Checking it for bullet holes”, he laughed, and we all joined him. Then I had to tell my favorite story of those two idiots (my loving nickname for the pair of them).
I said, “Well my favorite story is the time you two idiots shot a deer down in Darlington.” They both looked and me and grinned. “Have you ever heard this story?” I asked Anna. “No, I haven’t” she replied with a kind of wide-eyed wonder. I began to tell the story, “Well it was back when those two (I pointed at Matthew and Charlie) were still in high school. One morning the came up to my room and woke me up saying they had “found” a road killed deer in Darlington Valley and asked if I could come out and skin and butcher it for the meat. I said “Sure I can do that” got dressed grabbed my skinning knife and boning knives form the kitchen and followed them into the yard. There was a nice fat doe lying in the back yard, but as I approached the deer I knew something was up. It was bloated but it was a very cool morning and had been frosty the night before so that didn’t make sense. Matthew and Charlie standing around staring as the ground and kind of shuffling the dirt with their toes made me a might suspicious. As I walked around behind the deer I noticed something, and turned to face Matthew and Charlie. “OK, which one of you two idiots shot his deer in the (This word is unacceptable on Trapperman)?” I asked. “Well I did it” Matthew said. “We were just our crusing through Darlington and Bowers had his 303 Enfield in the car. We swung the car to shine the lights on that one field and saw eyes, so I decided to take a shot. WE shot then got the (This word is unacceptable on Trapperman) out of there for a few hours. When we went back we could see a deer laying dead in the field and hauled it to the car.” Matthew said with a bit of shame and embarrassment.
“How did you know it was shot?’ Charlie asked me. I pointed at the back right leg and said “I saw that big hole there leaking stomach contents and knew no car would inflict that wound. I knew it was a bullet hole and one of you two idiots shot the deer.” “Oh, ok “ he said with a bit of shame as well. I handed my knife to Matthew and said “You shot it you gut it, and then I’ll skin it and butcher it.” “Me?” he said looking a bit doubtful and greenish. I simply nodded. As Matthew approach the deer and was trying to figure out how to gut it Charlie was right over his shoulder and trying to watch. I quickly grabbed him and walked him around the back of the deer. “What are we doing?” he asked me with a look of surprise. “Moving upwind” I said simply. “Why?” he asked me. “Oh, you’ll see, just watch” I told him. As Matthew began to gut the deer we heard a ppffffffffffftttttttt of escaping gas. He started to gag and retch and curse me for not gutting the deer. “To bad you shot it, you gut it” I told him. He did soldier through with much gagging and retching and a bit of vomiting, It did really smell terribly I have to admit. After it was all said and done, the back right leg was a complete loss, and we found the bullet well mushroomed up behind the left front leg. It had transversed the deer from rear to front. Charlie had that bullet for many, many years afterwards, and the meat was a very welcome addiction tour meager freezer at the time.” Anna looked at her dad and Matthew both of whom looking sheepish but were also grinning like the Cheshire cat.” We all looked at each other and started laughing till our sides hurt. As that memory faded from view, I could see the three of us arm in arm posing for Anna’s camera.
I really wish I could go back to that November day and spend just a little more time with my two favorite idiots.
