The cousin and the baseball......

There was this one special older cousin. His two younger sisters were around my age and we spent lots of time together, so I was around him a lot, too. He was also very close to my mom and dad. He and his dad had lots of problems. In fact, at my dad's funeral, this cousin told me that he'd always felt like another son of my dad's. So, even though we didn't hang out together, we hung out around each other enough that we were close.

This tale is about that cousin, the park a couple of blocks from the house on Ave. Z, and what happened there one warm summer day. It must have been summer because I, along with other cousins, was at MomP's. We were probably watching that cartoon show with the bunch of colorful balloons floating in the air. The host would ask -- in a voice filled with anticipation -- "Which cartoon will be next!?," as the camera panned the balloons. Then, as we held our breath, wondering which color he would choose, he would finally pop one and a cartoon would be shown. Thinking back, I don't know what I enjoyed the most -- the cartoon or the anticipation of which color balloon would be popped.

But, back to the story. I guess the cousin involved in the incident was too old for cartoons. He was old enough to walk to the park by himself. That's where he was on that particular morning. Playing baseball in the park. Until he showed up outside MomP's front door -- standing next to a policeman.

MomP must have uttered an unusual sound when she went to the door and saw what she saw -- her trembling grandson and the neighborhood cop. That exclaimation must have drawn our attention away from the balloons and the cartoons, because in my mind's eye, I can still recall the scene at the front door. Viewed through the screen door, my big (football-star-in-the-making) cousin looked scared sh*tless, and the policeman looked freakin' huge.

I can only imagine what the policman saw from his side of the screen door. My slight grandmother, probably wringing her hands in her ever-present apron -- because I'm sure she had been interrupted from one of her endless meal preparations. And behind her, big-eyed and trembling as much as the cousin-in-trouble, a gaggle of little faces gaping back at him.

As it turned out, my cousin had been caught (along with some other boys) throwing baseballs at the park's arc lights. They had managed to break a couple before someone living near the park noticed and called the authorities. I don't remember what happened next. I think there was some talk of money to replace the broken lights. But once we cousins on the safe side of the screen door realized the offending cousin wasn't going to the electric chair, we probably lost interest and went back to the balloons and cartoons.

It did provide for the afternoon's entertainment. As the older cousin sulked, we younger cousins excitedly talked about what we would have done if he'd been taken to jail. We came up with all sorts ideas of how we'd break him out. We even went outside and used the huge crepe myrtle tree as a practice jail. A cousin, the smallest, would be pushed into the branches so we could try out our schemes. That didn't last long because the crys from whoever was chosen to be locked up brought MomP outside.

We soon learned that planning jail breaks was no more acceptable behavior at the house on Ave. Z than breaking lights in the park.