Living in Michigan didn’t afford us year round outdoor activity so we learned to have fun indoors as well.
One funny memory I have wasn’t as humorous for my mom. She had decided to take a bath, leaving my toddler brother under my watchful care. Mistake number one. She also left a candle burning. Mistake number two. He and I had this little orange truck that would go on its own if you revved it up. Instead of playing with it on the kitchen floor as designed, Cory had a question. What would happen if I set this truck on top of this burning candle? Only one way to find out. The candle was about four inches in diameter and provided a nice base to sit the truck on. Since it had been burning a while, the flame was in a nice hole ensuring the truck wouldn’t put it out. I have no idea where I was or what I was doing at the time, but I sure wasn’t keeping an eye on him. The truck began to melt and caused the candle to topple over onto the carpet which then began to burn. At this point, my brother started to knock on the bathroom door and say, “Smoke.” My mother exited the bathroom to find this half melted truck covered in wax burning her carpet. She then asked me two questions I would hear many times through the years, “Where were you and why weren’t you keeping an eye on your brother?” I think I actually did her a favor. She was one step closer to getting rid of that nasty red, orange and black carpet.
For being six years apart, my brother and I enjoyed each other’s company and still do. We came up with a few games to pass the time. One was developed by playing hot lava. If you’re not fortunate enough to have ever played hot lava, allow me to explain. You have to navigate a room by jumping from one piece of furniture to the next without your feet coming into contact with the floor because……..it’s hot lava! Here we were jumping from couch to loveseat to chair when I made a misstep and fell to the floor. My brother then attempted the same leap and I reached up and grabbed his feet pulling him into the lava with me. If I am going to be scalded to death in hot lava, then someone is going with me. So this gave me an idea. I would become a monster that lived in the lava. Anytime Cory would try to navigate the lava, I would reach up and grab him. There were some rules. He had to abide by all of the hot lava rules. I had to remain seated on the floor. All I could do to catch him was reach into the air with my arms. The first few rounds of this taught him to be careful of his timing. He had to catch me off guard in order to make a successful leap. Eventually, it came down to me having to pretend to fall asleep, to the point of my eyes being closed, before he would make his move. I had to rely on the sound of his movement to snatch him from the air. Many times, he was victorious in his jumps, but when I got him, it was painful. Imagine jumping from the arm of a couch only to be snatched midair and drug to the floor and trampled upon. Oh man, it was a good time. For some strange reason we called that game Hamburger Monster. For the life of me, I do not know why.
Another we played was called rest. I do know the origin of this name. After a round or two, Cory would say to me, “Let’s rest.” Mind you, these games were played when we were left home alone. The moment the adult supervision would leave, we would jump up and play Rest or Hamburger Monster. Our house was long and narrow. All of the main rooms were connected by a walkway going through the center of each room. About three fourths of the way, there was a slight jog to the left. The field of play started at the end of the living room where the couch was. It ran east through the living room, through the stereo room, through the dining room where the jog was placed and ended at a bathroom. The game was basically a race for my brother’s life. I would place my foot against the couch and he would be one or two steps ahead of me. Without an official, “three, two, one, go!”, he would just take off running through the length of the house. The one step head start and spontaneous commencement was his advantage. Once he took off running, my job was to catch him and tackle him before he got to the bathroom. Sometimes he made it, other times, he didn’t. If I managed to catch him, it was usually ugly. There were generally three ways he would be caught. Often, I would anticipate his start and be on him like a linebacker, wrapping him up and throwing him to the floor. Other times, he would get the jump on me, but I would make a diving grab for his ankle, catch it and he would fall face first to the floor. Probably the worst outcome came if he failed to navigate the jog in the dining room. If he couldn’t maintain speed or he lost traction because of his socks, he would either be slammed into the wall on the right or bang his ribs on the dining room table on the left. It was a painful game for the both of us, but we loved it. Many times, he made it to the bathroom and would gloat about his victory raising his fists in the air like Mohammed Ali. And right after, he’d ask if we could rest.
Joel Stiff's Adventure 