This little finger did it!
Directly after this birthday boy had a half-dozen party guests using their index fingers to draw imaginary circles on his back, those were the words everyone kept repeating as he turned around and attempted to guess which one of the mischievous scalawags standing in a semi-circle had given him a little poke at the end of a quaint rhyming tune.
“Let me see,” I speculated, tapping a pointer finger on my pursed lips while eyeballing each of the suspects, who were grinning from ear to ear. “More than likely, it was either Donald or Jason Streckeisen who poked me on the back; but in all honesty, I think it was Jimmy Allen’s finger that tickled my ribcage.”
“You’re it,” announced David “Huck” Allen, revealing that he was indeed the culprit, who lightly dug his second digit into my side, thereby making me squirm with excitement.
My jaw dropped at the unexpected revelation. “Huckleberry Finn, you sneaky little devil!” I exclaimed.
“Better luck next time,” expressed my big brother John with a wave of his hand, which was my cue to turn around and start counting to a hundred while all the other players participating in our slightly modified version of hide-and-seek scurried off to find the ideal hiding place.
Following a righteous cookout — with all the usual fixings — in honor of this newly minted teenager, which took place next-door to the colossal red-brick building adorned with stained glass windows, he and his close-knit companions were burning off a few carbs to make room for a delicious slice of chocolate cake and a generous scoop of Neapolitan ice cream on the first Saturday in August to mark another trip around the sun and a very memorable milestone.
My siblings and I first played the popular party game with an interesting twist the first time Cheryl Dean babysat us at our former abode on the banks of Pigeon Creek in Bentleyville, Pennsylvania, long before we ever moved to the mid-size industrial city north of Pittsburgh.
Before each round of the cat-and-mouse-like tournament begins, the seeker has a unique opportunity to become a hider if they can accurately guess which one of their playmates lightly poked them on the back after drawing make-believe rings while singing a little ditty.
All around the mountain goes a big black bear, Drill hole, drill hole, ride and clear.
If the guilty party is correctly identified, that individual then becomes the seeker, while the original person who was “It” runs off with the others to find the perfect concealment space.
Unfortunately for me, I clearly made the wrong choice, as evidenced by the fact that I was now counting to the century mark while leaning against the rear of the church parsonage, with these baby blues closed against my forearm.
“Ready or not, here I come!” I yelled upon completing my assigned task at home base.
Shortly after crossing between the swingset — where Cheryl was pushing my younger sisters on the glider — and the four-foot above-ground swimming pool that we had been in earlier, I could swear I heard low whispers coming from the shrubbery that lined the right side of the little church on North Street at the top of the graded slope.
“Shh, he’s going to hear us if you don’t shut your trap this instant,” proclaimed Dirk Arkwright with a wide-eyed look as he covered the mouth of his partner-in-crime.
“Too late,” I snickered with an air of certainty before brushing past a couple of overgrown branches to spy my unsuspecting targets. “Although you may have thought you were as quiet as a couple of church mice, I could hear you above all the laughter taking place on the swing set below.”
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Tom Sawyer and his favorite playmate, Huck Finn,” I remarked, stepping closer with a triumphant grin, brushing a few thorny prickles from my tie-dyed t-shirt. “Fancy meeting the two of you here.”
“This is going to go one of two ways,” I continued, rubbing my hands together at the mere thought of nabbing the oldest of the bunch. “Since your backs are up against the wall, I have you both cornered with no way out; so, you can either let me tag one of you now or take a chance of getting sliced and diced trying to escape through the unforgiving bushes.”
“It’s totally up to you; but either way, one of you will be ‘It’ for the next round of play,” I added with a Cheshire cat grin splashed across my face just hankering to crack one of the high schoolers on their hindquarters.
Did I have to spank their melons?
Probably not.
But it was payback for all the free smacks they took every time James “Jimmy” Bubb Jr. hoisted me upon one of his broad shoulders during any number of our weekly Royal Rangers meetings.
“Ouch!” hollered the Huckmeister rubbing his tender backside with both hands once he expeditiously exited the mediocre hiding place. “I’m the one that’s supposed to take a whack at your pasty little derrière — birthday boy; so, just you wait, because you’re going to get more than you bargained for when you least expect it.”
“I’m shaking in my boots,” I responded with a smirk while jiggling my entire body to mock his veiled threat.
As the evening drew to a close, and the laughter began to fade, I found myself being hoisted into the air by the three oldest in attendance — the would-be Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin as well as my lifelong roommate — with the rest of my boisterous chums cheering them on; but before I could squeal out in protest, they tossed me into the man-made swimming hole with my clothes on.
Spluttering and laughing, I surfaced, shouting, “This is quickly becoming a birthday tradition for me, because youns did the very same thing last year at the Ewing Park swimming pool!”
Just as I caught my breath, the other three teenagers quickly kicked off their sneakers and jumped in too, along with the rest of the partygoers, joining in on the splash-filled celebration.
Floating there with soaked T-shirts and trunks clinging to our lean bodies on the warm August evening, it felt like I had just been baptized into a one-of-a-kind teenage brotherhood as the sun slowly dipped over the horizon, which brought a happy ending to this newly minted teenager’s birthday bash.