I Am the Pterodactyl

By Richard S. Kosoff

It has been said by many that we walk this way but once. We get older, and we realize our days are numbered. If we are fortunate, we have stories, hopefully more good than bad. I met a rabbi once. He explained that the Torah was our story as a people from the very beginning. He said everyone should have a Torah. Everyone should write their story for generations to come.
I felt inspired by this man with the black beard. And I feel blessed. I have a very good memory (still) and like the idea of writing my Torah. The following short stories, although not necessarily in order, and not always pious, are the stories of my life. I hope you enjoy them. And when done, maybe you can write your Torah for generations to come.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504902687

Richard S. Kosoff

Richard Kosoff grew up in Philadelphia. My dad, as a builder, had a dream of relocating us to the area where he did his military training, Southern California. At nineteen, I relocated to Woodland Hills, California. I went to California State–Northridge and graduated in 1985 with a BS degree in MSA. I had about five jobs before settling on a career, met my beautiful wife through my sister, and have two great kids, who are now nineteen and seventeen. I think that covers it.

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© 2015 Richard S. Kosoff. All rights reserved.

Cover by Linda Kosoff

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 04/15/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-0267-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-0268-7 (e)

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CONTENTS

The Green Bridge

Playing Circus

The Splash Zone

Grandpop Sam and Grandmom Dora

Space Age

Fastest Drill in the East

Rockstar

Destined for Sales

A BOY’S DREAM

GET THE GUM

Rocket Man

My First Joke

My Bodyguard

In Honor of my Dad’s Birthday, June 29th

Ways Not To Defrost

Lenny

The Joy of Dad

The Comfy Seats

Stand Tall, Be Proud

Not Strong, Army Strong

A Close Shave

Uncle Harold

The Carrot Juice Solution

The Sid

Snippets From Florida

John Wayne

I am the Pterodactyl

Uncle Paul

Rabbi Tipping

The King of Siam

The Great Twinkie Incident

Glory Days

Basketball Sensation

Down by Two

My Last B-Ball Story, I promise

The Sugar Fix

Old Joke, New Joke

Bad Golf, Great Day

My Dad’s European Adventure

I-80 Westbound

The Exchange

St. John’s Knits

My First

Time to Go

Pop Fly

Worldwide Wrap

The Power of the Cheese Omelet

God Bless the Irish

Volvo for Sale

Salesman 101

Tennis, The Drunk, and the Train

Wrong X 3

THE SCREAM

Thirsty

Mortgages, the ADA, and a Little Humor

Dark Man

The Cube

Meet The Zigs

The Wife

Use The Force

The Pen Trick

48 States in 44 Hours

Preston

Funerals vs. Weddings

Loved Ones For Eternity

The Dove

Not A Dream

The Pajama Mama Club

Greying Rapidly

A Few Things I’ve learned

To my mom who always made me smile.

To my dad who taught me to stand tall.

It’s never the food, always the company.

1.psd

From left: dad and mom, Uncle Aaron, Uncle Morris and Doris Feldstein, Grandmom Mitzi and Grandpop Leonard Bunkin, Aunt Kaye and Uncle Paul Bunkin, my sister Barb, me, Jay Feldstein, and Bubbie Helen.

THE GREEN BRIDGE

I was very young, maybe 3. My mom, dad, sister and I were driving in the car. Everyone was talking about their memories, memories of people they visited, places they’ve been, funny stories they told, and quite frankly, I didn’t have any. After all, I was 3, so how many could I have? Nonetheless, I announced, I too, would have a memory to share in the future. At that moment, I remember that we drove over a green bridge. It was really just a small bridge that went over a street. It was olive green. The car vibrated as we drove over the welded rivets. I remember declaring this will be my first memory. All day, all I would say is, I remember the green bridge. How about that green bridge. Do you guys remember the green bridge? It so happens I remember a lot more about that day. We were going to a surgical center in downtown Philadelphia. My sister had a problem with one of her eyes, something about a weak muscle. It was just a checkup and luckily, all was fine. But thanks to the green bridge, I remember the drive, the appointment, and my family from the back seat of our station wagon. To this day, that moment represents the first of many memories to come.

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Me and sis around 1963

PLAYING CIRCUS

I was little, maybe 3 years old. We were living on Shelly Road in Northeast Philly. It was evening and my parents had their friends over. Jay Brockman’s mom and dad, Sylvia and Jerry, were there as were the Rosenthals. They were all in the kitchen. I was alone in our living room and decided to play circus. As I hummed the theme to Barnum & Bailey, I was doing somersaults back and forth along our long, black and white sofa. I rolled forward and backward, backward and forward. Then I had an idea. What if I start the roll back tight against the cushions, only to have my feet land on the floor. It’ll be a whole new trick! I can tell you, it didn’t go so well. The execution was perfect. I pushed my butt into the fluffy cushion as I had considerable less space to work. I tucked tight and, as expected, I made my roll and my feet hit the floor. The Olympic Committee would have ruled it a 10! Unfortunately, momentum is a bitch. My feet landed as planned, but my face kept moving forward. WHAM! My eye slammed into our glass table. Blood went everywhere. I let out a blood curtailing scream, to which all parties came running. I remember my parents laying me out on the kitchen table so they could see the gash. That was the end of their dinner party. They topped it with the promise of seeing Dr. Weiderman the next morning. To the best of my memory, Dr. Wiederman was always 100 years old. I have no idea how they found this Russian immigrant. Nonetheless, if you think I screamed loudly during the circus, you should have heard me when Dr. Weiderman proceeded to stitch the cut below my right eye. My dad had to hold me down and keep my face from moving. I remember seeing the needle and thread. I remember him threading my face. Man did I scream. I can only assume that if Dr. Weiderman had other patients waiting, they quickly got better and went home. No need to visit the man behind the curtain today.

If there was an upside to all this, my dad found it. He said I was a cute little boy and the scar would make me look tougher.

When I was a little older, apparently I forgot that playing circus was stupid, because I had one more trick to perfect. I could ride my 2-wheel banana seat cruiser all day without hands. But so what. Most 7 year olds could ride with no hands. That wasn’t special. I thought, what if I stand on my seat and let go of the handle bars? That would be really cool. I got up to cruising speed, stood on the banana and waited for the perfect moment. It’s amazing that, at 53, I actually remember the conversation I had with myself at that exact moment. I thought, Ok, if this is going to happen, I need to let go of the steering wheel, and let go I did. Within a nanosecond, the bike jolted left and I crashed right. I hit the asphalt and tumbled. Everything bled: my knees, my elbows, my chin… everything was scraped. I remember walking my battered self and my rearranged bike frame away from the dead end. There, washing his car, was Mr. Rosenthal. What happened? I told him I was doing a trick and he said, Ah huh, a trick. Go home and get washed up. No more tricks! he yelled.

My last trick I’d like to disclose really wasn’t supposed to be a trick at all. I was in a dire situation and only the skill of an acrobat would have saved me. I was at Mitchell Glider’s house. I knocked on the door and was waiting for him to come out. Mitchell’s house was much like mine: garage in the front, entrance on the side. The front door was about six steps of concrete up, much like the stoops you see in New York. At the top of the steps was a pad of concrete about 4x4 and a railing where I perched myself. I was patiently waiting for Mitchell to answer the door. I can’t tell you what happened, but I fell backwards from the railing and was hanging precariously upside down, probably about 4 feet from the concrete below. When Mitchell came to the door, he saw me, feet to the sky. He tried to grab me but wasn’t strong enough to pull me up. I remember saying to him from my inverted position, No, no. If I flip my legs all the way over, I should be able to land on my feet, 4 feet below. I can do this. My logic was flawless except, it wasn’t a trick I rehearsed. And, I let go too soon. I remember walking home crying as Marsha Glider, Mitchell’s mom, was yelling, Come here Richard, come here. I just kept crying and went walking home with one shoulder higher than the other. Off to Dr. Weiderman’s we went. I broke my collar bone and had a concussion. I slept a lot.

As I write this, two thoughts come to mind. I’m so happy to be 53 and able to write my stories, and No. 2, some people are more suited to being loan officers rather than a high-wire circus performer. In conclusion, there will be no skydiving in my future.

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Here’s a nice picture of my good friend Jeff, and the steps I fell backwards over.

THE SPLASH ZONE

Today, as in most every aquatic park–San Diego’s Sea World comes to mind–there is the ubiquitous splash zone. Typically, this is the first four rows of bleachers of Shamu, one of the biggest whale shows on Earth. Or, the flipper show, starring none other than those adorable dolphins. The kids love the splash zone. People–those that are young or not that bright–flock to these rows with the promise of getting drenched in salt water. Oh the joy of walking around in sticky jeans on a cool day. It has yuck written all over it.

Well, I can tell you as fact that the splash zone was not advertised or promoted as something fun, but rather something to beware. I must have been 5 years of age, so that makes it 1966. My family took me and my sister to a sea park in New Jersey. The entrance to the big events were not as well-corralled as they are today. I remember my family standing around and talking about what to see next while I was lured to the big glass wall about 20 yards in front of me.