Images, childhood...that masked bandit

Blog assignment: What memories did the images remind me of in my childhood?

The photo of the two kids that have paint on their faces reminded me of an afternoon that I had with my younger sister. It was in the fall and we were around 9 and 10 years old.

In the afternoons we would sneak to the store and buy a piece of penny bubble gum. On this particular afternoon we had completed our convert operation and as always we were taking a short cut back home. As we cut through Mr. Aycock’s side yard, I noticed a wonderful bush that was loaded with the most colorful flowers. Against my better judgment and my sister’s wishes, I picked the biggest one. We took off in a hurry, I knew that it would be only moments before I was caught and my dad notified. The thought of my dad being called sent terror through my little bones. None the less we made it almost home and an odd looking fellow with a camera around his neck stopped us and asked us what we were doing. We were just little kids and felt compelled to stand and answer his questions. I told him that we were just walking home from Mr. Aycock’s where he gave us this nice flower. The man with the camera asked if he could take our picture and in those days it seemed the cool thing to do. But, there was a voice deep inside of me that argued with my easy going nature and that voice told me that trouble might be looming.

It just so happens that my class had made face masks that day in art class. Perhaps it was a Halloween project, I don’t remember. It was basically a piece of paper with two eye holes and a string attached that served as my face mask strap. It was brightly colored with the best that Crayola offered in the early 1970s.

As the camera man began to focus his camera I reached in my pocket and put my mask on, surely this would protect me from identification. A few minutes later we were home and I soon forgot the entire incident.

A few days later, my grandmother called my mom and to our surprise she told my mother that I had somehow gotten myself and my sister in the weekly paper. My mother went out and bought the paper and sure enough there was a big picture of me and my sister with that stolen flower in the paper. Of course the malicious crime spree was recorded for the entire county; however, I wasn’t thinking of such a large audience, I was only thinking of the one person that was sure to read the paper when he got home from work and that thought petrified me. Funny thing, I can’t remember what actually happened when my dad found out what I had done; I guess my moment of fame surpassed the memory of dad’s reaction.

A few years ago my grandmother died. My sister and I were going through her stuff, helping my mother sort through a lifetime collection of trinkets, do-dads and such. “Ma-Ma” had an old bible that was read many times, I was casually shifting through it and that old yellowed newspaper clipping of the flower bandit was found in her bible. My grandmother’s death naturally saddened us, but this discovery and the memory of that day as kids made my sister and I laugh so hard. Of course we still blame the other for the misgiven deed, but it was a refreshing break in an otherwise stressful day. It was almost like the seed of that flower had been planted by our grandmother for such an occasion.

Kevin