Fun with a Crickett...

The summer I learned to mow marked the end of my freedom. I found myself working every spare moment to make a couple of extra dollars. I have no idea where all that money went but I sure remember all the hours behind that mower.


The summer before I learned to mow was my last toss at the simplicity of childhood. That was the summer my Aunt Cricket and Uncle Wayne moved to Hurst from Tyler. Their baby boy, Bruce, was Glenn’s age and we rode our bikes over to visit every time we could sneak off. It wasn’t so much the fact that Bruce was lot’s of fun to play with. He was in fact a bit boring. The real fun person was Aunt Cricket.

Cricket liked to get out and explore the countryside in her shiny black Cadillac. We felt it prudent to accompany her on her meanderings because they nearly always included a stop at the Dairy Queen for a nickel ice cream cone. One day she decided it would be a good idea for each of us boys to build a soapbox derby racecar. They lived on a steep hill which would be perfect for racing as long as there wasn’t a real car going through the intersection at the bottom of the hill at the same time the race was nearing completion.

We drove to the city dump that morning because Cricket figured we could find everything we needed to build those cars for free….as long as we didn’t mind digging through the city’s trash. Of course we didn’t mind…good grief. We found so many old wheels off of broken down toys we wondered who could these people be who threw away perfectly good stuff. We also found pieces of 2 x 4 boards, plywood, and enough old nails to straighten that we were in business in no time.

Later in the day, after minutes and minutes of meticulous production, the three cars were ready for the race. Unfortunately, it was about five in the afternoon so Cricket decided it would be best to let all those crazy working people get home without having to dodge us. The race was rescheduled for 9 o’clock the following morning.

It was a beautiful race day at the corner of Irwin and Cheryl Lane in Hurst that morning. The sun was shining bright, Cricket had fed us donuts and chocolate milk until we shook, and Momma, Cindy, Julie, and little Debbie were sitting on the curb in eager anticipation of the race.

The three of us towed our racers to the top of the hill. The air was filled with the electric thrill of competition. We lined up on Cheryl Lane. We glared at each other as we waited for Cricket to drop the checkered table napkin she held in her hand. The napkin dropped, we released our brakes (took our feet off the ground), and plummeted to the bottom of the hill with a speed that would have made smaller boys cry. We were moving so fast it scared us. It scared Cricket too because she was at the bottom of the hill and she was the first to see the flimsy rope we were using for steerage snap off of Glenn’s car. She ran for the house a bit faster than we were moving so she wasn’t a part of the pile up. Glenn plowed into the side of my car, which immediately lost the whole front 2 x 4…I mean axle. I hit Bruce and sent him into a spin. With the nose of my car grinding into the asphalt and Glenn’s broken machine coming apart next to me, we both became airborne. Glenn didn’t go far. He landed on the back of my car, which was slowly coming to a stop. I completely cleared the front of my car and finished the race on my chin. It doesn’t hurt now unless the weather changes real fast. Boring Bruce sailed across the finish line like a blur with three wheels still attached. It was amazing how close the insurance salesman’s car came to hitting him. That salesman had reflexes to write home about let me tell you! Bruce continued down Cheryl Lane and the salesman came to a clean stop in Cricket’s front yard. Both Bruce and the salesman had to go home and change their underwear but it was worth it to see the jubilation in Bruce’s freaky winner’s dance.

Tomorrow I’ll tell you about the golf ball caper that happened later in the summer. Cricket figured she better sell the Caddy after that little disaster.