Helicopter wings chopping overhead, police cars lining the streets, and K-9 unit dogs following the erratic trail they are lead on by their damp, black noses; what is going on here? A murder? Robbery? Escaped convict? None of the above. The hardened criminal in this scenario is the cutest five-year-old boy with big blue eyes, brown hair, and chubby cheeks.
This story begins as any other might, on a beautiful, cloudless summer day in lovely Ormond Beach. It was like any other day that summer, I sat home enjoying my carefree lifestyle, running around the back yard until I could hardly catch my breath, playing with my overabundance of toys, and meandering around my house in search of other ways to compensate for my boredom. Like clockwork, my mom left the house with my sister at precisely 3 o’clock to assure a prompt arrival to her dance lesson. The only family member remaining with me at the house was my superhero of a dad. Usually, Dad headed up the stairs to station himself in his home-office behind a closed door to work, but today was different. “Buddy,” he beckoned in my direction, “two of my relatives from New York are coming to visit today, okay?” At that moment, my sunshiny summer day turned to bleak, gloomy one in my eyes. “Okay, daddy!” I replied in my squealing prepubescent voice. My façade gleamed with enthusiasm as was normal in my case; however, beneath the surface, I cringed. Something was out of the ordinary for me that day. Of all the qualities I may have had as the golden poster child I was, shy was not one of them. Yet today, the thought of meeting these two strangers made my stomach churn. I had no knowledge about the appearance of the nearing guests, but I could already feel leathery, wrinkled fingers pinching my cheeks, and envision a pair of old eyes examining me through fingerprinted spectacles. There was no way I was going to be a part of this. I needed to devise a plan.
I marched from my room to the pantry in my freshest pair of OP’s, a Tommy Hilfiger tee shirt, and my finest pair of jean shorts. Upon entering, an untouched box of thirty-six Oreo cookies met my gaze from the bottom shelf. A smirk of contentment slid across my face, and I turned back toward my room to continue on with my plan. As I crossed the threshold, I decided to peer out the window to check the status of my expected visitors. My tiny fingers separated the blinds as I realized my perfect timing; an old Cadillac had just parked in our driveway, as I watched my dad head out to greet them. I had seen enough. I ambled calmly toward my closet, satisfied with the fool proof structure of my plan: I would hide in the closet all day to avoid those strange old relatives, and just wait for my mommy to come home to rescue me. I reached my destination, and separated the wall made by my clothes hanging from the rack. Armed with my Gameboy and 36 Oreos, I made my way into my fortress of solitude.
After Mario was killed by one of those darn turtle shells for about the hundredth time, I took time to mentally assess my situation. How long had I been hiding back here? Hours? Days? Weeks? I had no idea. Then, a voice broke the silence, “Chase? Where are you? I have some people here I want you to meet! Chase?” What was I supposed to do? Reply like the obedient child I was? I couldn’t. That meant pinched cheeks and “My, you’ve gotten so tall! I remember when you were…” blah, blah, blah. After a prolonged silence, I watched those familiar loafers turn around and retreat back out toward the kitchen. I shrugged it off, and just decided I would explain to my dad later; there was no way he could stay mad at my big, innocent toothy grin, and imaginary halo floating over my head. I enjoyed the last of my Oreos and finished a few more levels of Mario Bros when I heard the voice of my mother that I had been waiting for all this time. But this time, something didn’t sound right. She sounded sad, distressed. Something terrible must have happened! The moment I saw her sandals enter my room I sprang to my feet to find out what was wrong, and to beg her rescue from the scary relatives outside. As soon as she saw my face, she burst into tears. Boy, was I confused.
After the tears and hugs and laughs from each of my family members passed, I had a feeling it was time for my scolding. With my tail between my legs and my head hung low, that night I shuffled to my mom to confront the situation. Tears welled up in my eyes as I incessantly apologized for my mistake. I prepared for the worst, cruel and unusual punishment my mind could fathom, but fortunately, that was all unnecessary. Instead of being confined to my room for twenty years as I expected, I only received a casual, “Chase you scared us all to death. Just promise me you’ll never do that again.” Relieved at the mercy I knew I had just been granted, I was well aware that if I did this again, my mother would not be so gracious in her punishment.