Wildflowers

By Corey Lee Wilson

Cody, the eldest brother aged ten, stings with jealousy because he and his younger brother Teddy, aged eight, are the only kids in class without a father whom they've never known. The year is 1967, and Cody loses hope he'll ever have one again-as his divorced mother and Playboy Bunny, Lisa, relishes her single lifestyle and the sexual freedom th

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fratire Publishing LLC
• Release date: Nov 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781953319272

Corey Lee Wilson

Corey Lee Wilson was raised an atheist by his liberal Playboy Bunny mother, has three Anglo-Latino siblings, a brother who died of AIDS, a biracial daughter, baptized a Protestant by his conservative grandparents, attended temple with his Jewish foster parents, baptized again as a Catholic for his first Filipina wife, attends Buddhist ceremonies with his second Thai wife, became an agnostic on his own free will for most of his life, and is a lifetime independent voter.Corey felt the sting of intellectual humility by repeating the 4th grade and attended 18 different schools (17 in California and one in the Bahamas) before putting himself through college at Mt. San Antonio College (without parents) and Cal Poly Pomona University (while on triple secret probation). Named Who's Who of American College Students in 1984, he received a BS in Economics (summa cum laude) and won his fraternity's most prestigious undergraduate honor, the Phi Kappa Tau Fraternity's Shideler Award, both in 1985.As a satirist and fraternity man, Corey started Fratire Publishing in 2012 and transformed the fiction "fratire" genre to a respectable and viewpoint diverse non-fiction genre promoting practical knowledge and wisdom to help everyday people navigate safely through the many hazards of life. In 2019, he founded the SAPIENT Being to help promote freedom of speech, viewpoint diversity, intellectual humility and most importantly advance sapience in America's students and campuses.

Book preview

Foreword

People ask me all the time what it was like growing up as wild hippy gypsy child of the Sixties with a Playboy Bunny for a mom. It almost seems surreal—like it was somebody else’s life—and not my own, I often tell them.

It’s hard to compare to an average life, as ours was more like a modern-day version of a Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer story. When I think back about it and our greatest adventure hitch-hiking on the interstate highways and byways of the USA, I can only imagine how it must have felt for Huck and Tom in their day as their greatest adventures were carried aloft on the swift and powerful Mississippi River.

Just try to imagine for one minute being a precocious ten-year old, and along with your younger brother of nine, your fugitive mother, and a dog named Robespierre—you’re dropped off by Hell’s Angels at the last off-ramp on Interstate 8, many miles east of San Diego. All by yourselves, it’s up to you and your mom’s good looks to hitch-hike due east to Miami, Florida, and then make it to the Bahamas by boat.

Now do the same if you’re a single mother! A desperate one whose love for her two boys overwhelms her sense of right from wrong—and allows herself to kidnap her sons after she loses custody of them to her parents—for being deemed by the Dept. of Social Services as an unfit mother because of her carefree lifestyle.

Well, I didn’t have to imagine it! It happened during the summer of ‘68; a year without parallel in American history. A crazy year with the ongoing war in Vietnam, the sexual revolution, space race, peace and hippy movements, assassinations of Dr. Martin Luther King and Senator Bobby Kennedy, race riots, the Democratic National Convention, rock and roll, and drugs. It was a year that will no doubt go down as one of the most dangerous and provocative ever. Our epic journey seemed to fit in with everything else that was happening around us.

Without further ado, strap on your reading helmet, rev up the chapters, hit the page by page throttle button—and take a trip on one of the wildest rides of the Sixties you’ll ever have. Enjoy!

Corey Lee Wilson

Author

Table of Contents

Foreword

1    My Centerfold

2    A Peeping Tommy

3    Houston! We Have Lift Off!

4    The Social Worker

5    Court Martialed

6    Oh Holy Jesus!

7    A Dark Christmas Night

8    Mr. Pritchard’s Lawn

9    The Lemo Gang

10    Kidnapped!

11    Together Again

12    Wally’s Bottle

13    Patchouli Girls

14    The Robin’s Nest

15    Group Therapy

16    How To Lose A Body

17    The Big Fish Eye

18    True Detective

19    Sweet Hitch-Hiker

20    Truck Stop Cafe

21    The Big Rig

22    Sweetwater Revival

23    What A Downer

24    Roger That!

25    Yes Sir! No Sir!

26    The Grand Bahamas Ball

27    Hurricane A Comin’

28    Smuggler’s Cove

29    Paradise Lost

30    Going Home

Afterword

Closing

How to Understand and Speak Pig Latin

Oh Susie Q!

Oh Susie Q!

Oh Susie Q, baby I love you, Susie Q

Susie Q, Credence Clearwater Revival

1 My Centerfold

Oh! My God! gasped Miss Brown, our substitute teacher.

Did you draw this? she asked, snatching the nude drawing of her from the boy’s trembling hands. Coughing up excuses like a Jiffy Pop popcorn popper, Tommy Barganza cried out, Not me! pointing to the boy next to him.

Don’t look at me, said the boy, passing the hot potato of guilt right back to Tommy. I swiped it from this little Pooh butt next to me, said Eddie Fisher, Westside’s fourth grade bully and Tommy’s number one antagonist.

Well, if you didn’t draw this, said Miss Brown to Tommy. And you didn’t either, she said to Eddie who fixed his glare on Tommy with a look that read, ‘you’re going to die come recess.’ Then who did?" she demanded.

With a nod of his head and a roll of his eyes, Eddie indicted the boy sitting behind him, Clifford Downs.

So…it was you, then? she quizzed the boy.

Squinting at the well-proportioned nude of our substitute teacher from behind coke bottle thick eyeglasses, Clifford asked, Can I please see it again Miss Brown? I didn’t get a good look at it the first time.

No, you may not! she scolded him, hiding the nude drawing. And like Tommy and Eddie before him, he implicated another boy sitting beside him.

Then it was you? she asked the next boy, more content with eating paste than the eyeful of forbidden fruit.

Not me, miss! he said, wiping his mouth while Miss Brown clenched the nude in her fist.

Very well, then! If it’s not you…and it’s not you…and it’s not you, she said, carefully retracing her steps by tapping each boy’s head like a roll call, then, it must be you?

It wasn’t me, Miss Brown! I swear it! said the next boy in line. Please don’t tell my Dad! He’s a Marine, and he’s going to flip out if he finds out! he pleaded as he withered away below his desk.

With mounting frustration, Miss Brown moved on to the next boy and the next; working her way deeper into the third and fourth rows of our classroom and closer to where I was seated in the back row.

After a dozen more, I don't know! and It wasn’t me! from the remaining boys in class, there were only two of us left for questioning; Kyle Swanson and myself, slouched in the back.

Well! she said, after surveying the meandering trail of innocent but broken boys behind her. It’s just the two of you!

Was it you? she asked, zeroing in on Kyle.

After swallowing his gum, Kyle looked up at Miss Brown and whispered, No, ma'am! But in all due respect, I wish it was, he said, touching off a roar of laughter from the boys followed by a chorus of hisses from the girls.

With me in her sights, Miss Brown slapped the end of her portrait, rolled-up into the palm of her hand, and then checked behind me just to make sure there wasn’t one more boy she hadn’t missed.

So then, she sighed, if it wasn't him, she said, looking back at Kyle, and it wasn’t him, him, him, him…and him, she counted fifteen times, then…it must be you?

While waiting for the first sign of guilt to cross my freckled face, our beautiful, but impatient substitute teacher placed her hands on her slender, but shapely hips, and tapped her foot to the tune of the second hand on the wall clock above. After a dozen or so seconds had passed, Miss Brown unrolled the nude drawing of her, so only I could see it, and asked me again as if it was just the two of us in a confessional.

Did you draw this? And don’t try to blame the boy sitting next to you or in front of you, she added, because there aren’t any left.

While I looked into Miss Brown’s emerald green eyes with my baby blue ones, she glared down, waiting for an answer.

As she did, all I could think about was how pretty she was, and how sweet she smelled, and the way she walked and talked.

Everything about Miss Brown was unlike our regular fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Hastings; who seemed by comparison, sixty years or older. Mrs. Hastings reeked of Ben-Gay in the morning and Geritol in the afternoon. And unlike Mrs. Hastings—who held her chalk like a switch, scratching her words across the chalkboard with short and spastic strokes—Miss Brown held her chalk like a magic wand and wrote her name evocatively across our chalkboard with perfect penmanship and barely a squeak.

While Mrs. Hastings hid behind her desk, barking out commands like a drill sergeant; Miss Brown sat in front of the desk, with one leg crossed over the other, and spoke to us like she was our big sister. She was relaxed yet poised, unlike other substitute teachers at Westside Elementary School in Venice, California, and made me eager to learn.

As she stood in front of us, passing out crisp sheets of Manila paper and fresh boxes of crayons, the normally dim lights of our attention spans burned bright with excitement. After instructing us to draw something that inspired us the most, she said, It will be a great way to learn a little about each other. Then, after lunch we can all share our pictures. Draw anything you want!

Anything? I asked.

Anything, she replied. Just let your imaginations run wild!

Doing just that, my idea came to me, so just to be sure, I asked, Can it be about you?

I don’t see why not, she mused, quickly answering my questions and a host of others that followed.

With my questions answered and my topic chosen, I imagined myself as one of the great Dutch masters and drew my best centerfold ever—modeling it after Miss Brown, of course. When I was done, I passed it around to every boy in class to showcase my work—which led to the predicament I was in right now.

Well…I’m still waiting for your answer? she reminded me, unveiling the centerfold one last time.

"Are these your initials, C L B? she pointed. And is that your writing, My Centerfold at the top, and I Love You Miss Brown at the bottom?" she asked me.

When I didn’t answer and only smiled back, Miss Brown stormed back to her desk and redirected my attention, and the class’ to her roll call.

So that’s how you want to play it? she groveled as she ran her finger down the attendance list. Let’s just see who sits back there in your seat, she said until her finger stopped at my name. "Hmmm! It says the boy sitting here is Cody Lee Breedlove, the same initials as C L B. And the same initials as these other pictures of Woody Woodpecker, Batman, and Betty Boop posted on the walls," she said as pointed at my collection of previous masterpieces.

Isn’t that right C-o-d-y L-e-e B-r-e-e-d-l-o-v-e?

With my identity confirmed and no place to hide, I asked Miss Brown if I could be excused to go to the bathroom. Not waiting for her answer, I shot out of my chair and streaked down my aisle. As I made my turn past Miss Brown and her desk, she snatched me by the arm and reeled me back; just three steps shy of the door.

Let me go! I protested. I really have to go to the bathroom, I said, crossing my legs.

Not believing me, Miss Brown spun me around, making sure I stood at attention in front of the class. If you don’t tell me the truth! This instant! I’m going to march you off to the principal's office!

Not the principal’s office, I whispered.

Yes! The principal’s office, she said, softening her tone. Just tell me the truth, she asked, as I considered every possible answer but the real one. And be honest with me. You’re too sweet and innocent a boy to have drawn this by yourself. I can see that, she reassured me after taking me under her arm that smelled of sweet perfume.

While I searched my head for any excuses without finding one, Miss Brown sensed it was time for an honest answer and smiled back now that my resistance was waning.

Have you ever played truth or dare? she asked me.

No! I said, ready to try.

It’s easy, she reassured me. I ask the question—daring you to tell me the truth. But it has to be an honest answer. Can you do that for me?

Nodding yes, I’d do anything for Miss Brown.

So, you must have had…say, an older brother from one of my high school classes draw this for you?

No, I said, truthfully.

Okay then…was it one of the junior high kids?

No, I said again.

Please tell me it was one of our sixth graders here that drew it during recess?

Sorry! I said, folding my arms and shaking my head.

A fifth grader?

Nope, but you’re getting warmer.

With a change of pace and a long-drawn face, Miss Brown checked the roll call one last time and before exhaling deeply. Then maybe…you really did draw this?

Titillating my class, I exhaled like she did, and then looked up at her and replied, Yes, Miss Brown. It was me!

You mean to tell me; you drew this? In my class? This morning? For me? she sighed with apprehension as every boy and girl leaned forward in anticipation. "And you used this construction paper and these crayons to draw…me?''

Guilty as charged, she withdrew for a moment—then dared to ask another question. Then tell me this, she said, while kneeling next to me so that I could whisper in her ear—and her ear only—the answer she was looking for. How in the world can a ten-year-old boy possibly draw something like that? How can that be?

The truth? I asked her.

The truth, she said with an uneasy smile.

That’s easy, I said, facing the class for all to hear and see. My mom’s a beautiful Playboy Bunny and she walks around the house naked!

I'm a girl watcher, I'm a girl watcher

Watchin' girls go by, hey, my my my!

I'm a girl watcher, I'm a girl watcher...

Here comes one now

Girl Watcher, The O'Kaysions

2  A Peeping Tommy

Before I could show and tell, and brag how I, the oldest man in my house, got to zip up Mom’s Bunny costume as she got dressed to go to work at to the Playboy Club, Miss Brown slipped one hand over my mouth and the other around my arm, and hurried me off to the principal’s office before I could mumble another word.

After explaining to our principal, Mr. Thompson, what had just happened, Miss Brown unveiled the nude drawing of her that he examined very closely—nodding with disapproval. When he studied it again, comparing the likeness to Miss Brown, Mr. Thompson slid the nude drawing inside my expanding student file and informed me that I was being suspended from school for the rest of the day.

Is there anything you want to tell me about this? asked the principal.

Well…yes, I said, as I slid into the chair that sat across from his desk to make myself more comfortable. What do you think of it?

While he studied the content of my file, he matter-of-factly responded to my question, It’s quite…disgusting!

Fidgeting where she stood, Miss Brown then asked, So what are you going to do about it?

Well? he said, reading out loud my prior offenses before he answered.

Brought his mom’s Playboy Bunny outfit to class for a ‘show-and-tell’ demonstration; smuggled a Playboy magazine to class and rented it out for to every boy in class for profit; and my favorite, he chuckled, came to school in a bathrobe dressed like Hugh Hefner and nominated the prettiest girls in school as Playmates of the Month.

I don’t see anything amusing about that! Miss Brown protested.

And neither do I! he replied. That will be all Miss Brown.

When she hesitated for a moment—he motioned to the door—and off she went, back to our class without me.

When we were alone he asked, So! When will that pretty mom of yours quit her job as a Playboy Bunny, settle down, and find her a new husband? A father—for you and your brother! A man in your lives that can give you the discipline and direction you deserve?

I don’t know! I said with a sigh. She’s very picky.

While I remained seated and waited for my suspension slip to be prepared, Mr. Thompson left me alone, while he dictated the facts surrounding my latest incident directly to his secretary Veronica, whose desk was down the hall and to the right from his office. While he dictated, and she typed, I pried open my pocket knife and worked the blade into the far side of Mr. Thompson’s desk, where I was almost finished carving CLB WAS HERE. I’d been working on it one suspension at a time ever since my first visit to this place going back to the third grade. One more trip ought to do it, I whispered to myself.

Before Mr. Thompson returned to his office, I returned to my chair and slid my pocketknife back into my pocket while I waited for his latest decree.

Because of the seriousness of this latest infraction and the unique circumstances behind it, he said, "and your unusual living conditions with a single mom, employed at the Playboy Club in Hollywood, I have no other choice but to report your suspension to the State of California Department of Social Services.

Pausing to make sure I was listening, he continued. A social worker will be assigned to handle your case. Her name is Mrs. Lipinski, and she will interview your mom on this date and time and make an assessment of your living conditions to determine whether you are better off being a ward of the state." Reluctantly, I accepted the envelope with both the appointment note and suspension slip in it to give to my mom when I got home.

A ward of the state?

A foster home! he said with a grin. So please make sure your mom confirms the date and time of the meeting with the social worker. Her phone number is on the note. Well! That is all for now, he said, showing me the door in the usual manner as he escorted me through it.

Since Mom worked late into the night until 2:00 a.m. in the morning when the Playboy Club closed, she slept late as well through the morning and past noon while my younger brother Teddy and I were in school. Because of her busy schedule, she had little or no time for these matters and needed her rest—so I thought it best not to bother her with them—because what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt me. Therefore, it was my duty not to report these incidences to her to begin with.

Just for curiosity’s sake, I opened the envelope as soon as I was safely outside school grounds to read what Mr. Thompson had written:

Dear Miss Breedlove,

I’m unhappy to inform you, again, that Cody was suspended from school today; this time for drawing a nude picture of his substitute teacher, Miss Susie Brown, while in class. Because of the seriousness of this matter, I’ve arranged for a visit by a social worker at your home, November 1, 1967, at 9:00 a.m. to discuss your current family situation, and your son’s latest suspension.

Please make sure that you attend this meeting and call Mrs. Lipinski at the California Dept. of Social Services ahead of time at the phone number below to confirm the date and time.

Sincerely,

Peter Thompson

Principal, Westside Elementary School

After considering my options, I figured if there was no confirmation from mom—there was no meeting either. So, with the rest of the school day to kill and with Mom still at home asleep, I filed the letter away in the first garbage can I came to, and from there, I skipped along the sidewalk, making my way down to Venice Beach, a few short blocks from school.

Regrettably, I was only suspended for half a day and not a full one, so I had to make the most of my free afternoon. My route was a predictable one.

First, I made my way to the beach and Boardwalk; then past Muscle Beach; off to The Pike; and finally, over to Venice Pier. After collecting enough soda bottles along the way, I redeemed them for refund at a local liquor store for a cold Dr. Pepper, a pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, and a Three Musketeers bar for my third-grade brother Teddy—to hush him up from telling on me just in case he found out that I got suspended again.

For the next three hours, I traversed one end of Venice Beach to the other, in a world unto myself. There was so much to see and do on a sunny afternoon and if you didn’t linger at any one place, you could take in most of it. Without fail there was a one-man band, a palm reader, a psychic, an aspiring magician, an out of work lounge singer, belly and hula hoop dancers, acrobats, jugglers, a monkey, and always a mime. Skaters in bikinis and skateboarders in Hang Ten shorts weaved in and around everyone else along the Boardwalk. On the sand there were hundreds of lazy sunbathers and beyond in the waves were cautious swimmers and wanna-be surfers.

At Muscle Beach, well-oiled bodybuilders groaned and grimaced with their weights, straining with each rep to make their muscles bigger or to just flex them enough to impress young women and curious onlookers who strolled on by, admiring their physiques from a safe distance. Next on my tour was The Pike, a miniature amusement park—like Coney Island—complete with a half dozen rides or so. And beyond that was Venice Pier where idle fisherman spent their time dangling their lines into the water while young couples made out on grimy benches next to them.

When I had my fill of this place, I asked someone what time it was—and it was already 2:30 p.m. Time to go! With haste, I made my way back to school, following Venice’s most famous of attractions, its canals to pick-up my brother Teddy.

The longest of the canals, Grand Canal, took me straight back to school before the 3:00 p.m. school bell rang. When school had emptied, I waited for Teddy outside the fence, below the billboard, where we met each day to walk home together. However, today we had unwelcomed company.

Hey, Co…co…rey! stuttered Tommy Barganza, the first boy in my class that Miss Brown snatched the nude drawing from. Please wait…and let me…walk with you!

‘Damn, it’s Tommy!’ I said to myself, and with my brother in tow, we headed straight for home, with Tommy on our heels.

No matter how fast my brother and I walked, we couldn’t shake him.

Can I…walk home…with you? he asked after hurrying up to catch up to us.

Annoyed by his presence, Teddy cut me off before I could answer his question and asked me in Pig Latin, Ho’sway hetay orkday? (Who’s the dork?)

Evermindnay! Tissay a onglay torysay, (Never mind! It’s a long story.) I replied.

Okay! Teddy continued, without the Pig Latin. It’s just that I heard from Jimmy who heard it from Rudy who heard it from Kyle that you got suspended from school today for drawing a nude picture of your substitute teacher!

Otnay ownay! (Not now!) I explained, nodding my head in Tommy’s direction. Tommy, oblivious to our jabber, was waiting for my answer. I guess so, I answered him. When he heard my reply, his face lit up with a smile as wide as the next billboard we passed under.

I bet… you…you…didn’t know…that I…live…just…three houses…from you, he stuttered in fits and starts like a jalopy.

Nope! I said, pretending not to notice as the three of us walked along the path besides the canal together.

Well…I do! he said, kicking up dust as he skipped beside us along the footpath. We're…just...three houses…away! My…father…my mother…my sister, Jenny…and our dog, Leo!

That’s wonderful! I mused, while Teddy and I picked up some skipping stones, taking aim at the flock of ducks that had just coasted to a stop on the canal’s waters, a hundred feet or so in front of us. Skipping our stones—one, two, three, four, sometimes five times across the still green waters—we kept at it until we frightened every duck and they flew away.

My…father owns a Ford truck…with a camper shell on it and…and…we go duck hunting in it! he continued, stuttering less now, as we walked farther and farther along.

He also takes…me and my…sister and my mom…and our dog Leo everywhere with it, he continued, raising his head higher and barely stuttering now. We’ve gone…to see Yosemite and the Grand Canyon…or to the nearest Betsey Ross Ice Cream Parlor…for ice cream sundaes. I even got a double fudge sundae for getting…straight A's on my report card last year. And my Dad and I are both…in the Boys Scouts, he boasted. He's a Scout Leader. Every spring, we all go camping in the mountains…in Idyllwild and sit around the campfire, tell stories, eat marshmallows, and make s’mores until it’s way past our bedtime, he said, unstoppable now.

My Dad and I do father and son things…when Jenny and Mom aren’t around, he added. Did you know he taught me how to ride my bike and use his tools and mow the lawn? He even helps me with my science projects and my homework whenever I need it, and even showed me how to play catch and throw a baseball. Why just last weekend we went to our first Dodger game together and ate as many Dodger dogs as we wanted to. And best of all, when the game was over, he took me down to the field and we got to meet Sandy Koufax and he autographed my baseball!

Sandy Koufax! I heard myself saying as I stopped in my tracks. Teddy did too.

You bet! And Maury Wills and Duke Snyder. Would you like to see them?

Resisting temptation, I declined the offer and the three of us picked up our pace again. As Tommy told us more and more about how great his dad was, I could picture him at ‘Show-and-Tell’ at school; standing tall and proud before the class, telling us what a wonderful dad he had, and what they did together, and where they went together, and so on and so forth, and how great he was.

And worse yet, I could picture him during our Fourth Grade Open House; his stutter completely gone, his head swelled beyond belief as he pulled his father by the hand through the crowds of students and parents, showing him off and rubbing shoulders with everyone that made fun of him before, making sure that everyone knew that this was his father, and that his father was the best father in the world! 

So, what does your dad do? Tommy asked us.

Oh! I mumbled for a second or two, thinking back to my mom’s and dad’s divorce. He’s a…Navy Seal, I said, almost forgetting.

Wow! That…sounds…important! said Tommy, stuttering like before.

But they’re divorced, Teddy blurted.

Oh! So that’s why…I…never…see him? Tommy asked.

Tupidtay! Hytay idtayoutay elltay imtay hattay? (Stupid! Why did you tell him that?) After Teddy heard me this time, he lowered his head in humility as I continued.

Yes! It was pretty bad divorce from what our mom told us, and it happened when I was four and Teddy was three. I can barely remember him…if at all I explained. My mom was so mad at him she burned all of his pictures, changed the locks, and forbade him from ever seeing us, I went on after picking up where I left off and grabbing more smooth rocks to skim across the canal.

We don’t even know what he looks, Teddy added.

That’s…so…sad! said Tommy, stuttering like before. At least…you have…a…mom that’s…a…Playboy…Bunny. I wish…I had a…a…a…mom…like…yours!

You do? I replied, raising my head higher than his now.

Oh ya! I…I…would do...do…anything…to have a Playboy Bunny…as a mom! Do…you think…that your mom…is going…to be…a centerfold…one day?

As much as I admired Tommy’s dad, he admired my mom even more, so playing to Mom’s strengths and not his dad's, I reassured him, As sure as there’s a rabbit on every cover!

Wow! said Tommy, not sure what I meant by that.

So, what…does a…Playboy Bunny…wear? he asked.

Well, for starters, they wear this skimpy little costume cut up to here. Using my brother as a model, I continued. Plus, the costume has a fluffy bunny tail and rabbit ears that I zip her up in back each night because I’m now the man of the house since our mom and dad got divorced, I explained, no longer ashamed now.

Wow! he said again. So…what’s the difference…between a Playboy Bunny…and a centerfold?

A centerfold is the Bunny of the month that’s featured in the middle of the magazine.

Ya! It folds out in three parts, Teddy added, and she’s naked from the top of the foldout to the bottom. And when you unfold her—and stand her up—she’s almost three feet tall!

Holy Toledo! whispered Tommy, forgetting all about his father now. You two…must be…the luckiest…boys in school!

We are? I asked, considering we came from a broken home. Ya! I guess we are… I said proudly.

Before we knew it, we came to our house, leaving Tommy by himself standing at the edge of the sidewalk. See you tomorrow! I said as Teddy and I made our way inside the front door.

Okay, he said. But is it true…what you said…about your mom…walking around…the house…naked? he asked, as we closed our front door behind us and spied on him through our living room window.

As if he was still expecting an answer, Tommy stood in the same spot for close to five minutes. When he seemed certain we weren’t coming back outside to answer his question, he dropped his head to his chest and dragged his feet toward his own place, three doorways away.

Glad to be rid of him, Teddy and I checked inside Mom’s bedroom to see if she was home, and she was, busy making a new dress for herself that was sure to be the cutting edge of tomorrow’s fashion.

Making the most of her tips from the Playboy Club, Mom purchased various patterns and multicolored rolls of fabric and spools of thread, and with them she stitched and sewed her own creations in her spare time. When she finished creating something new, she’d try it on for us to see how it looked on her. We liked all of them!

By late afternoon, it was time for Mom to get ready for work. After pulling two piping hot Swanson TV dinners from the oven, she slid them across the kitchen table—one in each of our directions—before she hopped in the shower.

Depending on how late she was for work, she ran back and forth between her bedroom and the bathroom and through the kitchen, in various stages of dress or undress, or at times—as now widely known in my fourth-grade class—with nothing on at all!

While she ran naked between her bedroom and the bathroom for a new bottle of shampoo, and back to the bathroom again, Teddy and I competed to see which of us could spit more peas into our dog Robespierre's gaping mouth. A German Shepherd and Husky mix; Robes for short, was always hungry, but before we could agree on the winner, Mom screamed, You little bastard! I see you out there!

Startled, we swallowed our peas and stared at each other, trying to figure out which one of us was the little bastard in question. When three seconds had passed, and neither one of us was named, Mom burst through the bathroom door and into the kitchen, angry and wet.

There's a boy outside the bathroom window looking at me! she shouted. I think he ran that way through the backyard fence! she pointed.

Leaping from our chairs and to our feet, Teddy and I burst through our back door, along with Robes who raced on ahead of us. Once outside, we heard our backyard gate slam shut, and someone’s footsteps racing down the alley. Only a few seconds behind the intruder, we charged through the open that led to the back alley with Robes in hot pursuit and called out to him as he streaked down the alley, Sic ‘em boy!

Once in the alley, we saw a pear-shaped boy running away from us. We could make out his silhouette from a distant street light, as he screeched to a stop at the third backyard gate from ours just as Robes closed the distance between himself and the peeper.

With a quick snip and a growl, Robes latched onto to about five pounds of the boy's ass as he desperately tried to slip through a backyard gate.

Ouch! He’s biting me! Get him off of me! begged Tommy Barganza, straining to reach the latch to his gate. While Robes hung on to his backside, Tommy squealed, I’ll never do it again! I promise!

While he tried to pry open our dog’s mouth with one hand while holding onto the gate latch with the other, Robes let go of one half of Tommy’s Pooh sized butt cheek to latch onto the other and as he did, Tommy got the break he needed and slingshot himself through the open gate, locking it behind him before the three of us could pursue him any farther.

With Tommy’s fence too high for us to climb over it; too low for us to crawl under it; and too sturdy to break through it, Teddy and I could only hurl insults over it while Tommy quietly slipped through the back door of his house, clutching his dog bitten behind as he disappeared inside.

When we returned home, empty handed; Mom was waiting for us in the kitchen in her bathrobe with her long blond hair wrapped in a towel like a turban.

Well? she asked, with raised eyebrows and arms crossed.

Do either of you two have any idea who that boy was? And what he was doing here? And why was he looking at me through the bathroom window? While I was taking a shower? Can you tell me that? she asked with a tone that meant; this boy didn’t accidentally find his way to our bathroom window on his own while I was taking a shower—did he?

Waiting for an answer, she scanned our faces for the slightest hint of guilt. When she found none on Teddy's face, she zeroed in on mine which must have flashed the guilty sign.

Cody Lee! Why was that boy looking at me through our bathroom window? The extra emphasis on my middle name always meant I was in deep trouble.

"You do know what I’m