Webster's defines a prank as "a mildly mischievous act". The opposite of a "sudden act of kindness." Sort of the Devil and the Angel on my shoulders. Goodness was my forte as a youngster in Portland, Oregon in the 20's so I never mildly mischieved anyone! Well... let me clarify. A little mischief became my calling card.
I was the goodest kid on Russet Street (according to my dear mom). My brother wasn't. I lost my bike seat. Russ "found" a bright red one and gave it to me to put on my bike. He even helped me tighten it down. Delighted, I rode off to Peninsula Park pool. We didn't have bike locks in those days. If they had 'em they were for rich kids. I parked my bike next to the rack as all the spaces were filled with other bikes.
After swimming in a cold pool on a hot summer day, I discovered a dad and his kid hovering over my bike later that afternoon was a shock. "That's my seat," the kid exclaimed. How could I argue? I knew it wasn't MY seat. I figured Russ had simply come by it honestly.
In my own naive and petrified manner, I calmly agreed to let the kid's dad take the seat from the bike. The ride home could have been painful except for the fact that I rode like a jockey all the way. My legs were sore for three days.
That was wrong, of course. Russ never owned up to the seat theft but I paid my dues at the Mallory Avenue Christian Church. We always rode to church with the Corder family. Mom would escort us kids into the Corder home to show off our Sunday clothes while we waited for the family to take us to pray. They had a car you see, so it made the ride in nice clothes an opportunity to stay dry and clean for a few hours.
On the kitchen table in the Corder family dining room was beautiful basket full of fruit. They had a car, as I said. We considered them to be rich. We didn't even have a fruit basket. When everyone was preoccupied with other things, I snuck a tasty peach off the top of the pile. One scrumptious bite and it was obvious. I carefully replaced the waxed peach (bite-side down) on the other fruit. Gawdawful, what a taste! God was watching and handing down my punishment.
I remained the goodest kid well into my adult years. But the Devil tempted me again.
My brother-on-law packed his own lunch. I was visiting one morning and discovered his sandwich made but not wrapped. I cleverly wrote "Hi There!" on a half a match book cover and stuffed it between the slices. He didn't lose any teeth but got a mouthful of paper unwrapping it to read my scrawl.
God punished me again. The neighbor across the street backed out of his driveway and crunched my fender.
I asked for forgiveness then too.
I can't help it, Lord. Something in my years of being so good had gotten away from me. I was out golfing with my brother-in-law not too long after the sandwich caper. While sitting on a bench at the first tee, he needed to adjust his socks in his shoes. The open shoe was too much temptation. I secretly dropped a rather spiky Horse Chestnut down to the toe. He screamed like a Banshee when he put his foot into the shoe. I apologized like crazy as you might expect.
From then on I promised not to be mildly mischievous anymore. At least not to the couple in that canoe. The canoe I saw drifting down a lazy river with my wife. The canoe was empty, I swear... when I saw it adrift. I only wanted to snag it with my fishing rod and pull it in close to our boat.
My treble hook landed perfectly in the middle on my first cast. Was I supposed to know a man's leather belt would come up with pants of the man in the bottom of that boat? When the fella and the girl emerged from the lower reaches of the canoe, I made a hasty apology and retreated to shore. I tried to explain to my wife that the Devil gets the best of us sometimes.
