What’s that noise?
As this mild-mannered eighth- grader settled in for another thrilling episode of “Guiding Light,” a soap opera treasured by four generations in his family, the familiar hum of Monday afternoon was suddenly interrupted.
Faint, yet distinct, an unusual tapping sounded against the double windows by my big brother John’s bed.
Though it was hard to tear my eyes from Nola Reardon and Morgan Richards’ battle for Kelly Nelson’s affections on the 13-inch, black-and-white television, I couldn’t ignore the insistent taps on the windows to my right.
Was this the start of an unexpected hailstorm?
My heart leaped as the sound pierced the silence again.
Jumping Jehoshaphat!
Wait a minute… those aren’t ice pellets, they’re tiny pebbles ricocheting off the sidewalk below!
As the haze of mystery cleared, I leaned over the top half of our decoupled captain bunk beds to peer out the glass. There, with his goofy grin, stood a familiar redhead waving up at me.
“Robert ‘Robbie’ G. Brough Jr.,” I called out, lifting the window sash with equal parts curiosity and amusement. “What on earth are you doing down there, you knucklehead?”
Little pig, little pig, let me come in!
Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin!
Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in!
“Hardy har-har!” I exclaimed, flashing the okay symbol with a wide grin. “Get your skinny butt up here before I toss you into a pot for some wolf stew!”
“Before I forget,” I continued, pressing my face to the screen with a sly grin. “You’ll have to face our ferocious Pomeranian if you’re sneaking in through the back door.”
“With all your talk about wolf stew,” Robbie teased. “I’m craving some Pomeranian meatloaf. But since George is just a skinny toothpick, maybe I’ll toss you in the oven instead!”
“Now you’re mixing up fairy tales,” I snickered, lifting the screen and poking my head out. “You sidestepped The Three Little Pigs and shimmied right into Hansel and Gretel!”
“Remember what happened to the Big Bad Wolf and the Witch in those fairy tales,” I said, flashing a Cheshire cat grin.
How about I come up there and dance across your face?
Bring it on, cupcake!
On Leap Year Day — February 29, 1980 — I lay on an operating table at Children’s Hospital in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, preparing for corrective surgery on my left leg.
Now I sported a white plaster cast stretching from my hip to my itty-bitty ankle — a silver lining that conveniently meant I didn’t have to wear pants.
While I was dead set on lounging in my bikini briefs, my mother insisted I wear shorts or pajama bottoms.
Where’s the fun in that?
However, I was no stranger to a semi-permanent turtle-like shell; because back in third grade, both legs were cast in plaster just days before Halloween — the biggest night of the year.
Naturally, I dressed as a mummy from King Tut’s Tomb, haunting our front stoop to scare the neighborhood ghosts and goblins.
Let’s just say I also did pretty well in the candy department that year — especially after raiding my lifelong roommate’s secret stash.
Shh… don’t tell him I did that, because it’s a secret.
Now, where was I?
Of course, my orthopedic surgery.
The operation involved pulling tendons behind my knee to straighten my left foot, preventing it from toeing in against my right, thereby causing me to face-plant in my ongoing battle with gravity.
In other words, it was like a front-end wheel alignment, without all the polish and chrome and listening to the sound of a torque wrench tightening lug nuts.
After three weeks in the cast, it would take another week to regain full use of my leg before returning to my routine schedule.
That meant one thing — I would be making my triumphant return to school after a month of living in the lap of luxury, with my siblings waiting on me hand and foot.
Since I couldn’t attend classes at Lincoln Junior-Senior High School, I was home-schooled by a licensed tutor making her first house call that day.
Soon after my brother from another mother slipped past our timid guard dog on the back porch, he wound through the first-floor rooms before bounding up the enclosed L-shaped staircase to my sleeping quarters.
Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?
Don’t tell me you miss me already, because it’s only been two days?
“Neither of my best buddies was at school today,” Robbie mentioned, giving me puppy dog eyes as he nudged me to make room on the bed. “Magsy’s out with the sniffles, and you’re, shall we say, otherwise occupied; so, it was either brave the germs or pay my recovering pal an unexpected visit.”
“Aww… now you’re getting sentimental on me,” I chuckled, playfully fluttering my eyelashes before giving him a sideways shoulder hug. “But if you desire my companionship this badly now, what kind of state will you be in by the end of the month when I finally come back to school?”
You’re going to be out of school for the entire month?
“It’s not like I’m going anywhere,” I crowed, gesturing toward the plaster cast. “I’ll be right here, so come by anytime to keep me company. I might even convince Mom to let me host a Friday night sleepover with my two best friends.”
You mean it?
“I thought I heard voices,” Mom noted, poking her head into the bedroom. “Unfortunately, you’ll need to cut your visit with Robbie short — your math teacher, Miss Kovac, just arrived after we got back from an afternoon appointment.”
When Mom stepped aside, my favorite teacher entered, carrying a textbook and a folder stuffed with papers.
“Guess that’s my cue,” the gridiron baller quipped, flashing his trademark grin and hugging my neck before standing from the bed.
“Don’t forget,” I stated as he headed toward the door. “I’ll call you after dinner to set up that sleepover with you and Magsy for this weekend.”
“You’d better,” Robbie shot back playfully, glancing over his shoulder before disappearing into the hallway.
“It looks like you’re in good spirits,” the first-year educator remarked with a raised eyebrow, chuckling as she settled into the chair by the bed.
As the sound of Robbie’s footsteps faded, I couldn’t help but grin, already planning how to rope him and Magsy into a weekend of mischief and camaraderie.