The Fire Hydrant

We moved into our home in Royal Oak in 1950. This was just before, or just after, my sister Sharron being born.  My memory is not totally clear on the time frame. (I was still a child myself)  I suspect that the move was planned because of her arrival.  Our family was outgrowing our home in Centerline and we had to be ready for the new kid.

Two houses down from our house, there was a fire hydrant.  Once I was old enough to venture out of the yard a bit on my own, the fire hydrant become one of my boundaries.   I would estimate the fire hydrant to be about twenty-five yards from our front door – as the crow flies.   The hydrant was pretty cool because if I stood on it, straddling the top while perched on the two connection valves, I could see several more feet in every direction.

The hydrant was in front of the home of the most terrifying girl I had ever known, Sally.   My mom was big on not hitting girls.  I expect that she adopted that mantra for me because I had a younger sister, Sharron, and she was setting me up for life with the “no hitting girls rule”.  She probably assumed that one day I would want to hit Sharron, and so if the rule was established before she became “hittable”  (I knew you shouldn’t babies), it would be deeply ingrained in my psyche.  The problem was Sally came into my life before Sharron became “hittable” and my psyche was easily influenced by my mom’s rules.

Sally had a sixth sense.   She determined early on that I was an easy target for we might now call “bullying”.   She tormented me every time that I ventured down to the fire hydrant to take in the view from my perch.   I could handle the name calling, but it was often joined by rock throwing and hitting.  She threw the rocks and hit.  Not me.  I had that “no hitting girls” rule hanging over my head.  The result, and I’m not proud to say this, is that often times I would return home crying.  Four year old Sally was beating the crap out of six year old Robbie.

One day after another Sally attack  my mom heard me blubbering before I had traveled the entire twenty-five yards.   She came out on our front porch, shook her finger at me, and said, “You go back and hit that girl so she knows that she can’t pick on you.”  (Years later this action would become the inspiration for the song, “Coward of the County”, by Kenny Rogers.)

I had a choice.  Deal with my enraged mother or turn and take a stand against Sally.  Several questions shot through my brain.  Was this a test?  Was my mother setting me up?  Had she colluded with Sally and encouraged her to attach me in an effort to put me to the ultimate “no hitting” test? 

In the heat of the moment,  I reached an internal compromise, turned and pushed Sally to the ground.  There was not a “no pushing girls” rule.  I accomplished two great things.  I stood my ground and established a new code of conduct for dealing with abusive girls.  While I take no pride in my action, a six year old boy has got to do what a six year boy has got to do.

Sally never bothered me again.

The fire hydrant was also the place where I first met a guy that would become my lifelong friend, Mitch.   We met each other while I was hanging around my hydrant.  Mitch lived around the block from me and had an older brother and sisters.  Mitch’s older siblings had endured the boundary limitations that parents often place upon their children.  After you have a few children, those limitations are frequently expanded as younger siblings come along.  I think parents believe that since the older kids survived their early years, it’s OK to expand the boundaries of the younger kids.

I was the oldest child so everything was imposed upon me – thus the twenty-five yard, fire hydrant boundary.   Mitch was only a couple of days older than me, however, he was down the line on the birth order so his fire hydrant boundary was around the block on a different street.  That’s the only logical explanation for a fellow his age being that far away from home.

In any case, I’m glad Mitch was able to travel that far.   His arrival grew into a deep friendship that remains today.  While we don’t see each other as often as we should, we’ve got each others backs.

You’ll learn more about Mitch as this blog grows but this is the last that you’ll hear of Sally.