Memories of Omaha: Lighter Fluid and the Patented Kung-Fu Grip (posted by Tomcat)

I was able to fly out to Kansas City and meet up with the fam for the weekend. I was particularly thrilled because this meant I was able to check off my personal state number 47, Missouri. We spent the afternoon exploring the town and driving through some of the old neighborhoods. Street after street of beautiful old houses. And, a highly walkable city center with lots of restored buildings, lots of feet on the street. Vibrant city. Wish we had more time.

After a couple of hours, we hit the road and headed north to Nebraska. I lived in Omaha when I was kid. Kindergarten and first grade. Some of my first memories were made here. Learning to tie my shoes. Riding my bigwheel down the street. Taking shelter in our basement from a tornado one year that nearly destroyed the whole town. Snowball fights. Snow. Lots and lots of snow. One year it snowed so much and so high that my three older brothers and I literally tunneled our way from the front door to the sidewalk. I was so mad when the sun started to melt the snow several weeks later. I hadn’t been back here to Nebraska since, so it was fun to come back.

We found my old house. Still there!

As a kid, I remember my elementary school being behind my house and down what was in my memory an enormous hill. It was really fun to see the hill as an adult and compare it now to the mighty size status it held in my head all these years. In my memory, that thing was the size of the Rocky Mountains. In reality, it’s about 12 feet high. Kid perspective. Funny.

Seeing the hill reminded me too of how younger brothers can get mixed up in dangerous fun when there are more experienced and knowledgeable big brothers around. One afternoon, two of my older brothers and I got up to no-good with a favorite toy. We quietly sneaked out back to the top of enormous hill. We took our Real American Hero GI Joe and some other poor soul, another toy from the Adventure Team. We stuck Joe in the driver’s seat of his toy jeep. We secured him into place with his patented Kung-Fu Grip holding the steering wheel. Joe’s buddy got to ride shotgun. We doused them both in some mysterious intoxicating liquid (older brothers knew all about things like lighter fluid), set Joe and his buddy on fire with a pack of matches (something else big brothers know about and where to procure) and sent the jeep right down enormous hill, blazing, flaming, smoking. Joe’s patented Kung-Fu Grip couldn’t hold him place. When the jeep crashed at the bottom of enormous hill, it’s a wonder the hill and our house didn’t catch fire.

My eyes and nose and throat burned with the devious taste of melted Joe. All kinds of questions were asked by my mom when she saw Joe’s curly crew cut hair melted off his head, along with most of his face. These were questions I proudly answered in my 5 year old stupidity. Not knowing the wrath I was innocently creating for me and the older, supposedly more responsible siblings.

To be sure, “You wait till your father gets home!” were words we never wanted to hear from our mom. But we heard them…and a lot more. I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I’m sure it wasn’t good…and probably involved “the red paddle” which lived in the kitchen drawer. Whatever my punishment, it probably paled in comparison to what my older- lighter-fluid-equipped-and-matches-wielding-brothers got.

That was the best day of my life to-date. I wouldn’t trade the memory of that flaming jeep for anything.