Ding! Dang! Dong!
Ever wonder what it felt like to be one of those little silver balls inside a pinball machine?
In case you haven’t noticed, that’s me raising my hand from the back of the classroom just like Arnold Horshack — one of the infamous “Sweathogs” at James Buchanan High School.
Ooh, Ooh, Ooh, Mr. Kotter!
While this mild-mannered eighth grader may not have actually had an opportunity to ricochet off the pins, bumpers and ramps under the glass surface of the Evel Knievel electronic game board at Ellport Roller Rink, he has experienced getting his brain bounced around like one of those itsy-bitsy metal ball bearings racking up hundreds of points on the scoreboard.
Ping! Ping! Ping!
Talk about a mild traumatic brain injury.
Upon waking up on the asphalt behind Northside Elementary School, I had a splitting headache as the front tire of my modified purple “girly” bike was still spinning round and round after giving gravity a high-five.
Before getting into all the spine-chilling details about that unfortunate bicycle mishap, now might be as good a time as any to back-pedal to the beginning of this interesting tale to find out just how it all began.
When I stepped off the minibus following another exciting day of book learning, my parents were getting ready to walk out the front door of the church parsonage with my little sisters for a quick trip to G.C. Murphy’s in downtown Ellwood City.
“We won’t be gone long,” promised Mom as she zipped up her youngest daughter’s insulated jacket in the foyer. “Since Kathleen has a history project due in the morning, she needs a few items from the store; so, Cheryl (Dean) will be in charge until we return.”
Rolling my eyes at the thought of being under the thumb of my “so-called” surrogate big sister, I came up with a plausible escape plan by asking, “Would it be alright if I go bike riding until youns get back?”
“As long as you get started on your homework immediately after supper,” she agreed.
“You’ve got yourself a deal,” I responded flashing my pearly whites on my way through the kitchen to grab an after-school snack before heading out the back door and making a beeline for the two-car detached garage.
Shortly after depositing a banana peel in the nearby burn barrel, I paused just long enough to wave goodbye to two-thirds of my family before heading over to the playground behind the educational facility directly across the street.
The outdoor kid friendly play area looked like a deserted wasteland.
Definitely digging the wide-open space, I extended my arms like a bird spreading its wings while soaring toward the monkey bars at the other end of the sloped parking lot.
Just when I thought life couldn’t get any better, my world came crashing to the ground—literally.
On the next turn at the base of the slanted angle, this would-be ragdoll went flying over the handlebars and ate an asphalt sandwich when the inside pedal hit the hard surface and stopped on a dime.
Knocking myself unconsciousness, I laid there spread-eagle on the ground for what seemed like an eternity.
Opening my baby blues to a blurry sky overhead, I propped my limber frame up on a pair of wobbly elbows until the front tire on my two-wheeled transport stopped spinning in circles.
With a headache the size of a California redwood, it felt like a lumberjack had cracked my head wide open with a splitting wedge and a sledgehammer.
Not long after picking up my modern-day velocipede for the short trek home, I inadvertently tossed my cookies in the school yard while walking along Orchard Avenue.
Once this nauseated teenager made it back to the Cape Cod-style dwelling, he ditched his wheels in the front yard before climbing the cement treads and entering through the main entrance.
Sidestepping the appointed babysitter with her Gestapo-like interrogation tactics, I thankfully made it up the enclosed L-shaped staircase without incident.
Boy, that was a close call.
Hanging a left at the top of the stairs, I stepped into the bathroom to drain the dragon and glance at an apparent goose egg on my forehead through the looking glass over the sink.
That’s definitely going to leave a mark.
After making it to my sleeping quarters at the other end of the wide corridor, I crawled under the covers without changing into my pajamas and fell fast asleep.
I slept for nearly fifteen hours without so much as a peep.
In the back of my mind, I could faintly hear the dark-haired brunette calling my big brother and me to breakfast the following morning.
Stumbling into the kitchen table with disheveled hair and still clad in yesterday’s clothes, I let out a big yawn and rubbed the sleep from my eyes before taking my seat.
“Look who finally decided to join the land of the living,” chuckled the freckle-faced athlete, pouring a glass of orange juice.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were attempting to give Rip Van Winkle a run for his money,” stated the stay-at-home mother, putting scrambled eggs and bacon on both her high schoolers plates.
“I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse,” I muttered.
“John tried to wake you up for dinner last night,” Mom said, pouring me a glass of orange juice, “but you just mumbled something and rolled over.”
“Where’d you get that goose egg on your forehead?” questioned my lifelong roommate with bugeyes.
“I crashed and burned while riding my bike yesterday on the playground and knocked myself out,” I explained, nibbling on a piece of buttered toast.
“That sounds like something I’d do,” confirmed the resident daredevil devouring another strip of bacon as if he was competing in a pie eating contest at the county fair.
Upon giving a few more details to our concerned mother, she realized I had a concussion.
“You’re lucky you didn’t wake up dead,” John confirmed.
“There will be no school for you today,” noted the minister’s wife with a sympathetic tone, cupping my face in her hand.
“If I wipe out on one of my Evel Knievel ramps, we both get a free pass from school,” the amiable freshman proposed with a mischievous grin. “Then we can sharpen our pool skills and crush the Farrell cousins on Christmas Day.”
“You’d better get ready for school before I swat you with the egg turner,” stated the housewife, wagging her finger at my brother.
That goose egg hurt a little less at the thought of Mom chasing John through the house with a cooking utensil.
She always said laughter was the best medicine — and in our house, it was the tilt that kept the pinball game going.