Childhood Dreams (Dreamin' thru 1976) Rev. 2006



Posted: Saturday, October 07, 2006

by
George Cole


"Hand me a nail, Steve," I commanded. "This wall is about to collapse." The U.S.S. Ramshackle starship had been through a lot worse. The ship had survived countless slime attacks from the Globb...those insect-like, mucus-secreting aliens. The clubhouse...er..I mean the starship, was still standing after the onslaught of the Rain creatures. The Rain creature attack caused the ship to leak, but the pounding of the creature's Wet Gun impaired the ship's engines. Point being, the U.S.S. Ramshackle was damaged and its engine repairs were crucial. If the repairs were not made, then the crew of four-thousand would face their demise.


The star system "hung on a thread" many times as the youngest pilot in the galaxy, Lt. Chris Cole and his Captain Steve Hargrove performed aeronautical miracles in desperate attempts to save the galaxy. Steve was always the leader because he was the oldest and could argue with the aliens and rival ship captains better than I was able to, at the ripe old age of nine.


The squeak of the nail being driven into the warped two-by-four was common in the backyard of my parents. I believe that if my mother did not hear the frantic banging of a hammer or the rustic rasping of a saw, she would have worried that I was sneaking a peak at a Playboy or worse talking to girls. In all reality, all Steve and I cared about in the summer of 1976 was the upkeep of the clubhouse, and where we would find the next starboard engine(a piece of plywood).


Steve and I spent hours and hours everyday during the summer building, adding, or remodeling the clubhouse, or should I say the U.S.S. Ramshackle. With its multi-colored boards and metal pipes protruding through the ceiling, it looked like a shack...or Boxcar Willie's dream house.. The appearance did not concern us at all, it was the U.S.S. Crapazoid, the best starship around (except when it rained...or attacked by the Rain Creatures).


Away from the watchful eyes of our parents, the clubhouse was our refuge. What we did not realize, or pay attention to, was that the clubhouse was adjacent to my parents bedroom window. Later I found out that my parents could recite in detail every war with the Globb aliens, and even when we decided to become proactive and attack the Globb (a rival starship/clubhouse two blocks away) with our new egg/water balloon weapon system. I am sure my parents contemplated how the mysterious Globb aliens bypassed our starships' security system and secreted Playboy magazines within the hull of the ship.


Even with the racket, my parents were content that we were playing in the yard and not vandalizing the neighborhood by searching for a brick wall to spray paint or a dog to tease. We were complacent within our boundaries; the backyard with its' smell of freshly mowed grass and the smell of bi-weekly Bar-B-Que was heavenly. Even to this day, when the backyard grill is fired up, I can hear the theme to Star Trek, "Space, the final frontier..."


I recall one humid summer day in July 1976: I was taking out the kitchen trash out to the smelly, slime-encrusted dumpster located in our alley when I found the solution for our starships' engine dilemma. Ironically, the engines "quick-fix" was located in the most notorious part of the galaxy...er, the alley..where the Rain creatures and Globb aliens congregate. Needless to say, I was nervous after depositing my payload into the dumpster and finding my starship treasure. I was elated because I found a "Polarizing Neutron Reactor Laser Engine Module" and assorted pieces of rain-resistant wood. This would supply the power needed for the ships engines and weapons system, and seal the hatches...even if it was just old man Newcomb's discarded radio and junked wood.


After securing the damaged radio and ships' hull from the clutches of the absent minded alley-aliens, I was ecstatic when I called Captain Steve Hargove. I told him as quickly as a young boy could without taking a breath, "The galaxy would be saved from the Globb and rain creatures once and for all." Of course, our ship could not stay its course until we borrowed the much needed hammer and nails from our parents.


I remember Steve ringing my doorbell approximately two minutes after I called him. This was very good for chubby Steve, since he lived at the very end of the block. While hammering the nails into the last piece of splintering plywood, the galaxy was immediately put to rest from the Globb and rain creatures vicious attacks.


When Steve and I were together, we existed in a different universe (literally). We did not have to eat, sleep, or go to the restroom. We did not have to be in command of the clubhouse/starship, it could be in my parent's musty attic, or constructing a spook house in my parent's garage. We were friends and we loved spending our time together. This is what counted to two lonely boys ages nine and twelve. We might have been lonely, but we were piloting a Class T (for toilet) Starship...this is what counted.


Funny the way children carry on certain traditions. Now, Alisha, my six year old daughter, plays in a sand pile (sand imported from the far away country of Monahans, TX.), located in the exact spot of where the clubhouse used to stand. Alisha creates her own creatures and castles from the imported treasure.


Today, the only reminder of the old clubhouse is a rusted, bent roofing-nail with a copper disk hanging beneath, the disk from old man Newcomb's radio. Ever so often, gravity and the weather dictate the disks' position along the fence line. When I visit my parent's backyard and observe the copper disk, my memory is flooded with the countless wars with the Globb and Rain creatures. I can still hear the humming of the "Polarizing Neutron Reactor Laser" re-energizing for a counter attack while William Shatner's voice speaks in the background of my mind, "These are the voyages of the Starship Enterprise..."


**Postscript: This is the story that started it all. My writing career (hobby). Of course, the setting is my parent's backyard in 1976 with my best friend, Steve. I do realize that parts (if not all) of the story are elementary at best. Though, this story is non-fiction and was written in 1992/1993 for my English Professor, Mrs. Trapp. She encouraged me to submit it to U.T.P.B.'s literary publication, The Sandstorm. I submitted the piece and expected a rejection. A few months later, I was presented with a check, an award (certificate) for "Best Short Story," and several copies of The Sandstorm. Thirteen to fourteen years later, I am still writing whether it attracts readers or not (ha!).


George "Chris" Cole experienced life as a law enforcement officer with a tour of duty lasting over ten years in law enforcement. He is the survivor of two marriages, and continues to meet new people that provide inspiration for many of his articles and short stories. Many of his articles have appeared in national and local publications.

In 2008, Chris abandoned West Texas and its' "Wal-Mart Trees" (Mesquite bushes that grow plastic bags) to move to the green pastures and real trees of Fredericksburg, Texas. Chris continues to work and hone his writing skills while breathing the fresh air of the hill country.

Mr. Cole can be contacted at kriskohl333@gmail.com.

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Top-level comments on this article: (1 total)
» left by Lisa McGruder
from Midland, Texas 5 years 40 days ago.
Wonderful! Very Entertaining! I read your blog at the end, and I believe your college teacher was correct in his/her assessment. You are very good!
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