Thank Goliath

It was now 1980, the middle of a hot summer, and my cousin Pete and I were under house arrest, again. Pete was a couple years older than me. He hadn’t achieved the designation of “trouble,” but he certainly was on the “junior trouble” team. He lived a block away, and on “arrest days,” that one block was the entire distance we were each allowed to travel. I stood in front of the screen door and stared at the backyard as my mom washed dishes. I was so bored. I had listened to Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall” so many times, I felt like a brick. I couldn’t get the song out of my head. I was humming and singing it all morning: “doo to doo...we don’t need no education...doo to doo, HEY TEACHER, leave them kids ALONE.” I was alone and so bored.

“Mom, can I go to the park?”

“No.”

“Can I go to the pool?”

“No.”

“Can I go for a bike ride?”

“No.”

“Can I go bowling?”

“No.”

“Can I go play tennis?”

“No.”

“Can I go to the movies?”

“No.”

“Can I go to Dave’s?”

“No.”

“Can I go to John’s?”

“No.”

“Can I go to Mark’s?”

“No.”

“Can I go to Joe’s?”

“No.”

“What can I do?”

“Go pull weeds.”

“I already did that.”

“Go water the garden.”

“I already did that.”

“Go sweep the garage.”

“I already did that.”

Long silence.

“Mom?”

“What is it?”

“What can I do?”

“Go read the encyclopedia.”

“Mom, it’s summertime.”

“I spent a lot of money on those.”

“Can I call Pete?”

“Call Pete.”

Before I dialed, I knew Pete had already had the same conversation with his mother. Although I’m sure it was a shorter list, my aunt had even less patience than my mom.

Everything in our parents’ yards was cut, trimmed, watered, and cleaned. We were tired of board games. Playing cards wasn’t interesting. And, pretty much everything that was visible we had already set on fire or blown up at least once.

When we absolutely didn’t know what to do with our time, we opened the newspaper, and with a pencil in hand, we would change the words in articles to make them rude and funny. We’d redraw faces on people, and we’d make up our own answers for the crossword puzzle. On this particular morning, this is what we were doing—playing with the newspaper.

It was close to noon when we heard a common phrase that most mothers say to their children. “I’m just going to the store. I’ll be back in a little bit. Behave.”

My mom grabbed her car keys, went out the door, and started the car. By the time she got to the end of the driveway, Pete and I looked at each other. We didn’t say a word but in the silence both of us thought, We should do something.

In a matter of a few minutes, we were standing at the kitchen counter with a clean piece of paper and a pen.

With pen in hand, I began writing.

Dear Mrs. Aversa,

Your nephew, Peter, and your son, Domenic, have been kidnapped.

We are very dangerous people. We mean business.

If you want to see them again, you will leave one thousand dollars in a lunch bag under the rose bush in the front yard.

You have ONE hour.

I put the pen away and placed the letter on the counter near the rack for keys. At that moment, Pete and I start laughing hysterically. Uncontrollably. Laughing and laughing. Over and over, we said to each other, “This is the best. This is going to be sooooo funny. It’s the best.”

We then climbed the side of the house, onto a windowsill, and then pulled ourselves up to the roof of the house, overlooking the kitchen window. We were in prime listening area to hear my mom’s reaction. We were convinced this was the absolute best thing we’d ever done. We took a seat on scorching hot roof shingles and waited for what was certain to be an afternoon of laughter.

Sure enough, right around 12.30 p.m. my mom pulled up in the driveway. Pete and I couldn’t control our laughter. “This is going to be GREAT!” We then started to “shush” each other. “Quiet. Be quiet. Don’t ruin it.”

She walked in the door. We heard keys land on the counter and then a long silence. We were waiting. Waiting. Waiting. And there it was. “OHHHH GOD, OH GOD, OH NOOOOO!”

We burst out laughing. Punching each other. Laughing and laughing. “This is the best! The BEST.”

And, as we laughed and tussled with each other we heard a very distinct sound: shititititda, shititititda. I turned to Pete and said, “That’s the phone. She’s on the phone.”

There were only two possible numbers she was dialing—and one wasn’t 911. She was either calling my father or Pete’s mom. And, if she was calling Pete’s mom, we would have wished to be kidnapped.

Somehow, in our adolescent minds, we really hadn’t thought this prank through. We hadn’t thought about the consequences, but now there was no mistaking what was going to happen to us—especially when Pete’s mom got the news. My mom could be driving force, but she was no match for my aunt. My aunt Vittoria had the ability to cut through people like a buzz saw. When she made rules, you didn’t dare break them.

Pete looked at me and said, “What are we going to do?” I looked at him and said, “Let’s run.” And Pete said, “Where?” I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just run.” Pete was frozen. I pushed him trying to get him moving but he wouldn’t get up. He just pushed me back. Then we heard my mom say, “Vittoria...” And she paused. She heard us rummaging around on the roof. She continued, “Never mind. I’ll call you back later.” She slammed the phone down and ran outside, looked up at us, and said, “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU.”