Tell Me A Story...

WILD CHILD – PART 4 of 4

“Dialing Back”

Rich poured the charcoal from the bag into the barbeque and then used the long metal tongs to stack the coals in a neat pyramid. When he was finished, he nodded to Nick who proceeded to douse the stack of coals with lighter fluid. When Nick was finished, they both stepped back a little as Rich struck a match and tossed it into the stack. The lighter fluid caught with a resounding whoosh and the flames leapt into the air.

“You know, that muffler repair – the whole exhaust system actually – was not cheap. I’m expecting you to pay me back out of your GVRD checks. Okay?” Rich was speaking calmly, deliberately, making his point clear. He was referring to Nick’s part-time job with the local recreation district.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll pay you back.” Nick was contrite, and in full agreement with his brother.

Rich took a long drink from his can of Hamm’s. Nick did the same. It was a cool evening in early November, yet the ice-cold beer still hit the spot. They watched as the charcoal pyramid began to turn gray around the edges. Rich would wait until the coals were entirely covered with gray ash before he spread them around the base of the barbeque.

“I mean… driving out across that field – what the hell were you thinking?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just panicked.”

“And what about the chicken farmer with a shotgun? Geez, Nick!”

Nick had nothing to say to that. He stared at the pile of charcoal.

The coals were ready now and Rich spread them evenly around the bed of the barbeque. He held his palm over them to make sure they were good and hot. He nodded to his brother and Nick put the gleaming chrome grill in place over the coals.

“Tell me about the rowboat heist. Rowing out to that damn barge. What was that all about?”

“I don’t know…” Nick was starting to sound like a broken record. “Just the challenge, I guess.”

“You guys are out there on the bay in the middle of the night, no life jackets. Do you realize all the things that could have gone wrong? You know how the current rips through the Strait when the tide changes.”

“Yeah, but we planned it for high tide.”

“And what if you planned wrong? What then? You could have ended up out in San Pablo Bay, or over at the mothball fleet.”

Nick didn’t say anything. He knew Rich was right.

Rich nodded his head again, indicating the grill was ready and Nick went through the garage and into the kitchen to retrieve the steaks. They had been marinating all day in the special sauce that he and Rich had concocted. They called it their “kitchen sink” marinade, a little bit of everything: catsup, mustard, some red wine vinegar, brown sugar, Worcestershire, Tabasco, minced garlic, chopped onions, maybe half a can of beer. They would let the steaks rest in this mixture all day, and save a little to brush on just before they came off the grill. It was all good.

Nick was back with the steaks now – three nice-looking sirloins. The meat sizzled as it hit the grill. The sauce that clung to the meat began to caramelize and the aroma made their mouths water.

“What did you guys do with the Budweiser sign?” It seemed that Rich had a checklist he was determined to cover.

“It’s in the clubhouse – the shed – over at Hank’s place.”

“And Hank’s old man is okay with that?”

“Uh… not really.”

Rich just shook his head. He flipped the steaks, wanting to get a good sear on each side to seal in the juices. He glanced up at Nick. “You know none of this would be happening if Dad was alive.”

Nick had nothing to say. Rich was right. Their father had been a stern man, not someone you wanted to cross, and he didn’t tolerate bullshit from his kids. You behaved like a Good Sailor or you shipped out. Nick remembered that night in October of 1958, a little more than a year ago, when Rich came to pull him out of a dance at the high school. As they walked to the car, his brother turned to him, put his hands on his shoulders, and said, “Brace yourself, Nick. Dad had a heart attack. He’s dead.” Rich was only 25 at the time, just nine years older than Nick, yet so much responsibility had fallen on his shoulders since that night. Nick knew he was just making it worse.

Rich was watching the steaks carefully. He and Nick preferred medium-rare, while their mom liked hers well done. “Look,” he said, taking his time, choosing the right words, “you guys are good students. You get good grades. You’re not in trouble at school. You’re good athletes. Hell, you’re good kids! So why act like juvenile delinquents?”

Nick was quiet. Rich took two of the steaks off the grill. He would give the remaining steak a few more minutes. Mom would have the baked potatoes and salad ready when they came in and, of course, there would be chocolate cake for dessert.

“Why don’t you just dial it back a little? You know?”

“Yeah…”

“I mean, I know you guys like to have your fun. Just dial it back some. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Rich took the last steak off the grill and they headed into the house. Their mother was hurrying around the kitchen, putting the heaping salad bowl on the table, pulling the potatoes and garlic bread out of the oven. Nick thought about his brother’s words as they sat down at the dining room table. Dial it back? Make it easier for Rich? Make it easier for the whole family, really. Yeah, he could do that.

And so he did.
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There are some stories from your childhood that you love to share with your family, tall tales and adventures, most of them having lots of good laugh lines. But Nick never shared the stories from 1959, that wild and chaotic year. He didn’t want to be the dad who had to say, “Do as I say, not as I do.” He didn’t want to be disciplining his kids over some infraction and have them say, “Oh yeah, well what about what you did when you were a kid? What about that? Huh?” So he never told them about the Budweiser sign, or the rowboat trip to the fight barge, or that crazy Halloween night when he tore up the car. He never told those stories.

That is, not until now.
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