Those that remember the Amityville Horror movie about a possessed home in New York, that was built over a graveyard, will appreciate this next story.
When we were young, our parents decided it was time to visit the ultimate Spiritual Mecca for most Americans. A place where you could commune with the supernatural. A place where they practiced the ancient arts of levitation, divination and alchemy (changing lead into gold). Yes, we had decided that it was time. Time to make the long pilgrimage to Disneyworld in Florida.
So, in typical spiritual pilgrim style we acquired enough provisions to last us a few weeks and rented "It". Now, you may ask, what was "It", or what is "It" or why I even want to discuss "It". "It" no longer matters, so we will just leave "It" in the past where "It" belongs. Oh well, I guess I can't avoid "It". But I will not give "It" a name.
"It" was a good size, luxury home complete with all the amenities. "It" had a working bathroom with hot and cold water and a flushable "you know what" (this was considered "state of the art" at the time). "It" could sleep eight comfortably and had a kitchen table that folded down into a bed.
As we made our way down the Pennsylvania Turnpike with the other Ohioans in search of the divine, I remember thinking, "I can't wait for this thing to warm up, its freezing in here!" No sane, intelligent, family from Parma, Ohio would go to Disneyworld in the summer, or even over the holidays.
You see, the whole purpose for going to Disneyworld in the first place, was to walk into school and hand your teacher the "illusive golden ticket". You felt like Charlie Bucket when she waved it in front of the entire class and exclaimed, "Well class, it looks like Mr. Drockton is heading to Disneyworld for the next two weeks!" What she said and what the class heard, however, were two different things altogether:
All your classmates, with head in hands, looked up from their Basic Readers; which discussed such mundane topics as "Spot" and "Jane" and "Dick" all running, walking, or in some other way, forever glued to a one syllable verb. With pointed jealosy in their eyes, it was like you could actually read their thoughts:
"Lucky $%^^^#@, my dad's been with the Pierogi investigation division of the Parma Health Department for over three years now, and he won't even let me talk about Disneyworld! The poor guy can't even watch the commercials or "The Wonderful World of Disney" without changing the channels."
Another (this one, a cute girl that never could remember your last name): "I knew you would make it one day! This hard world could never keep a man like you pinned down in the mud, the sweat and the soot! Remember me! Remember me! When you return from your glorious journeys!" (smooches soon to follow, with a candy valentine heart that read, "Your my apple Fritter" or some other romantic nonsense.
"I hope I fed my hamster. Oh well, its too late now! There's no way the teacher's going to let me out of school for THAT! Not with ol Charlie Bucket waiving about his golden ticket like it was a trip to the moon."
Then came the magical command, "Well, I guess we will see you in two weeks, Mr. Drockton." (sigh)
What you heard, on the other hand was, "Run, Charlie! Run like the wind! And don't stop to talk with anybody until you get home! Got it?"
(to be continued...)
When we were young, our parents decided it was time to visit the ultimate Spiritual Mecca for most Americans. A place where you could commune with the supernatural. A place where they practiced the ancient arts of levitation, divination and alchemy (changing lead into gold). Yes, we had decided that it was time. Time to make the long pilgrimage to Disneyworld in Florida.
So, in typical spiritual pilgrim style we acquired enough provisions to last us a few weeks and rented "It". Now, you may ask, what was "It", or what is "It" or why I even want to discuss "It". "It" no longer matters, so we will just leave "It" in the past where "It" belongs. Oh well, I guess I can't avoid "It". But I will not give "It" a name.
"It" was a good size, luxury home complete with all the amenities. "It" had a working bathroom with hot and cold water and a flushable "you know what" (this was considered "state of the art" at the time). "It" could sleep eight comfortably and had a kitchen table that folded down into a bed.
As we made our way down the Pennsylvania Turnpike with the other Ohioans in search of the divine, I remember thinking, "I can't wait for this thing to warm up, its freezing in here!" No sane, intelligent, family from Parma, Ohio would go to Disneyworld in the summer, or even over the holidays.
You see, the whole purpose for going to Disneyworld in the first place, was to walk into school and hand your teacher the "illusive golden ticket". You felt like Charlie Bucket when she waved it in front of the entire class and exclaimed, "Well class, it looks like Mr. Drockton is heading to Disneyworld for the next two weeks!" What she said and what the class heard, however, were two different things altogether:
All your classmates, with head in hands, looked up from their Basic Readers; which discussed such mundane topics as "Spot" and "Jane" and "Dick" all running, walking, or in some other way, forever glued to a one syllable verb. With pointed jealosy in their eyes, it was like you could actually read their thoughts:
"Lucky $%^^^#@, my dad's been with the Pierogi investigation division of the Parma Health Department for over three years now, and he won't even let me talk about Disneyworld! The poor guy can't even watch the commercials or "The Wonderful World of Disney" without changing the channels."
Another (this one, a cute girl that never could remember your last name): "I knew you would make it one day! This hard world could never keep a man like you pinned down in the mud, the sweat and the soot! Remember me! Remember me! When you return from your glorious journeys!" (smooches soon to follow, with a candy valentine heart that read, "Your my apple Fritter" or some other romantic nonsense.
"I hope I fed my hamster. Oh well, its too late now! There's no way the teacher's going to let me out of school for THAT! Not with ol Charlie Bucket waiving about his golden ticket like it was a trip to the moon."
Then came the magical command, "Well, I guess we will see you in two weeks, Mr. Drockton." (sigh)
What you heard, on the other hand was, "Run, Charlie! Run like the wind! And don't stop to talk with anybody until you get home! Got it?"
(to be continued...)
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