That was the boy ok, stood on your fingers when you went to retrieve
your marble. Everyone laughed at once
when he slipped on the hamburger, red sauce covered his backside and
shirt. No girl was safe from a hair
pull, some days he couldn’t talk through a mouth stuffed with all sorts of
tooth rotting fodder. He was fond of
this diet so usually he was left waving his podgy hands showing whatever he had
to say. One sock remained lowered
permanently revealing a cut scabby shin.
Sure he had some friends, of the same skulking ilk. If a window was broke or cat injured you
could bet your life savings this crew would have a grubby hand in it. Etchings and dried snot adorned his desk.
Yeah he was the school girls’ prayer!
Believe it or not Stanley
survived to puberty and wowed the females with his elite skills at popping face
spots. Of course he had every new
fangled gadget and game that existed. And still He couldn’t put a tie on
properly. The rotund corker wasted the
bank reserves equivalent of New
Guinea with useless mobile phone calls. The only class he could find was the
detention room. His parents loved the
little blighter to the extent of believing their little love could never do
wrong. So naturally the teacher and
governors relationship was stretched to its outer limits.
Time waits for no one and Stan was no exception, His poor stricken
father was the victim of wasted ventures for the lad, borrowings, let downs,
the dad tried it all to get the young man started on anything, or at least
getting out of his silk lined sheets before Midday. Stan’s mother passed away at rather an early
age and this hit our bugger lugs pretty badly.
The referee between the men was there no more, so naturally the house
became an arena of masculine pursuit.
Pop had no back up so one booze fuelled evening a row started over would
you believe a CD and the right to play the damn thing. Stanley ’s
inexperience with the drink and emerging manhood got the better of him and He
pushed his aging father over.
The young man never meant to do
any wrong. It was just that He wanted to be a man in his drink fuelled
frenzy. Poor dad cracked his head on the
solid oak table and whizzed pole axed onto the carpet. Stan had seen the look in his father’s eyes
month’s before on Mother. Stan hugged his one and only friend, ‘please! Dad no!
What have I done?’ Stan looked around
stunned and horrified with fear and anger.
He screamed and cried, ‘my lovely dad, my lovely dad.’ He kicked the CD player to pieces, ‘You, You,
You,’ He screamed. Through the alcoholic
nightmare sense began to emerge and he tapped in his mobile 999. ‘I’ve killed dad He sobbed ‘An ambulance
arrived, say what you will for some reason Stan prayed for His pop. ‘Stan’ said the paramedic ‘he’ll be ok, take
it easy son. He’s come round now.’ Stan
kissed his dad and hugged him so hard he made him cough. Dad spluttered, ‘Stan
best friends forever eh?’ Dad recovered and soon came home, if only to escape
Stan’s visits. From this day the two
were the best of chums. Stan got a good business started and met a girl. She
gifted Him a lovely son and daughter.
Stan doted on his girl friend and children. They soon grew up and were sent to
school. One hot summers’ day Stan picked
up the phone and the teacher said ‘hey Stan, it’s about Stan junior’ Stan
Senior tensed and waited. ‘Just to say your boy is doing well and passed his
exams.’
Kevin John Humphreys
08 12 2004
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