The neighborhood girls and my sisters always wanted to have tea, play with dolls or play Black Hand. I hated Black Hand. The neighbor’s dad had built a small playhouse in his back yard. The little house was about ten feet square. You entered the via a screen porch. Two indoor windows let you see into the other room; empty room except for a toybox full of dress up clothes.
Sometimes we’d do our version of a theater play. The girls would dress up and try to act like they were staring in Gone With the Wind. My part was always the same. I played Black Hand.
The play box included a pair of black, elbow-length velvet gloves, and a plastic pearl necklace. I had to put on the gloves. One of the girls would wear the necklace. We would begin with me in the back room and the girls crowded on the porch. They’d use their fakie southern accents talk and giggle about their fear of that infamous jewelry thief. Finally, one of them would yell, “He’s here!”
They’d all scream and run out of the playhouse. That was my queue to chase after them. They’d hand off the necklace from girl to girl. They had to scream. I had to chase. The mayhem lasted until I caught the girl who had the pearls. Fun for them, an extreme boredom activity for me. So, yes, scouting was my savior. No more Black Hand and screaming. When I didn’t want to play Black Hand or some other form of boy chases screaming girl, I’d hide from my sisters, befuddling them a bit.
Our house was a basic two-story rectangle with a peaked roof and a dormer in the middle of the peak. I’d say I didn’t want to play and go upstairs to my room, so my sisters thought. The dormer had a double hung window. I’d open the top windowpane, climb out and grab the roof. A kick and a swing and I be lying on the roof. I’d lean down and shut the window. I’d slide down the other side of the roof to the end of the shingles. It wasn’t too bad a drop. I’d hang for a second, then drop and roll.
My other escape route was in a closet across the hall from the main floor bathroom. There was no floor in that closet. The laundry room was directly below, and we used the closet and hole as a laundry chute. I could lay on my stomach and slide, legs first, into the laundry. From there I could use the steps or a basement window to escape. I do like a challenge.
