Nothing reminds you of your own childhood like watching a 7-year-old boy topple headfirst into a bed of ferns and filth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And the sound of his father screaming across the backyard, \u201cStriker! What did I tell you about being in the dirt?!?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The child popped up like a groundhog, ferns and filth dripping from him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ah, to be a kid again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This child is my nephew, Striker. His father is my younger brother, Scott.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This was at least the 75th<\/sup> time my brother had barked: \u201cStriker! What did I tell you about being in the dirt?!?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Now the boy had been summoned for a talk. The 75th<\/sup> time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My daughter and I tried to contain laughter as we watched the kid\u2019s walk-of-shame.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat did I tell you about being in the dirt?\u201d he was asked again. The boy stood there and thought about what he would say. Really seemed to be mulling it over. I mean, how do you answer a question like that? There\u2019s the obvious answer: \u201cUh \u2026 you said, \u2018don\u2019t do it,\u2019 if I\u2019m recalling correctly the previous 75 instances.\u201d There\u2019s the out-and-out lie: \u201cI know, but I got hit by a meteorite as I was running. I tried to fling myself onto the concrete, but I missed and landed in the ferns.\u201d There\u2019s the apology: \u201cI know it was wrong, and I\u2019m sorry. It will never happen again, and I love you, dad. Also, don\u2019t look at the left side of the car anytime soon.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n And then there\u2019s my nephew. He goes with honesty: \u201cUm \u2026 I don\u2019t remember.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Oh, boy, you are in total timeout on that one!<\/p>\n\n\n\n We had been over at my mother\u2019s. It\u2019s a Sunday afternoon tradition. My daughter and I go over there with a rapid-fire NERF gun and shoot foam bullets at the kid while he runs about screaming like a wild maniac. Then he topples headfirst into a bed of ferns and filth. (In a slight variation, he sometimes crashes into a bush first, causing my mother to yell, \u201cStriker! What did I tell you about tackling my bushes?\u201d)<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stared at the boy. His hands were the color of charcoal. There were green grass stains \u2013 no, STREAKS! \u2013 running down the fronts of his khaki pants.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy don\u2019t you just put him in shorts year-round?\u201d I asked my brother. \u201cHe will scrape all the skin off his knees, but it will go a lot easier on your budget for new pants.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGRUMBLE! GRUMBLE! GRUMBLE!\u201d my brother replied. \u201cHe goes go through pants by the crate. I literally order a pallet of new ones every 3 weeks.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then: \u201cStri-KER! What did I JUST tell you about being in the dirt, man?!?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Oh, boy. Here we go again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPop says Striker is just like Uncle Scott at that age,\u201d my daughter told me as we were driving home. \u201cIs that true?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ahhhh! That\u2019s why it all sounded so familiar. Took me back to our childhood all those years ago. Because yes, that is true. Like father like son.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And now the father has to go around yelling, \u201cStriker! What did I tell you about digging a 10-foot-deep hole, filling it with water and jumping in? I said, \u2018ONLY with adult supervision.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n As children, I don\u2019t ever remember my brother being clean. You know how you have those images of siblings or family members etched into your memory as a kid? Mine is of my brother with a sweaty dirt-smear across his forehead and someone yelling in the background, \u201cSCOTT! What did I tell you \u2026 !\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I hated being dirty as a kid. Still do. Hate grime and feeling dusty. Hate grass stains and anything on my clothes. Don\u2019t like holes in my pants. If I have a mission in life \u2013 a reason for being \u2013 it is quite simply to stay upright and never spend time cuddling ferns.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not my brother, though, and these jaunts in the backyard always take me back. A reminder of our own golden years. Playing in the backyard. Shooting each other with some kind of pellet guns, or rotten oranges, or something a whole lot worse. Dirt-stained hands. The green streaks of grass skid-marked across pants. The threads just holding on for dear life, but always exceeding their tensile strength. There was no hope. They were always frayed. All from slides across the yard or launching oneself into bushes. More my brother then me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then the cry would go out across the neighborhood: \u201cScott! What did I say about those pants?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n And here it is, a new generation. Well, my daughter\u2019s knees are still there. She took after me. And the boy clearly is his father\u2019s son.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I take a moment to look down at my brother\u2019s pants and swear I can see a little streak of green, and maybe a little fading at the knee cap. Part of me wants to point this out to my nephew. Only, before I can, he\u2019s toppled over into the ferns again.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Nothing reminds you of your own childhood like watching a 7-year-old boy topple headfirst into a bed of ferns and filth. <\/p>\n And the sound of his father screaming across the backyard, \u201cStriker! What did I tell you about being in the dirt?!?\u201d<\/p>\n The child popped up like a groundhog, ferns and filth dripping from him. <\/p>\n Ah, to be a kid again. <\/p>\n This child is my nephew, Striker. His father is my younger brother, Scott. <\/p>\n This was at least the 75th time my brother had barked: \u201cStriker! What did I tell you about being in the dirt?!?\u201d<\/p>\n Now the boy had been summoned for a talk. The 75th time. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[578,562,561,557,8],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2211","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-2021-nutshells","category-childhood","category-family","category-getting-old-er-older","category-parenthoodandchildren"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2211","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2211"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2211\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2212,"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2211\/revisions\/2212"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2211"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2211"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2211"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}