Having been exposed to my veterinarian father’s patients at a young age, I, more than most children, had developed some theories on what creatures made up the genus that liked to prey on children (pediavore). As was the case with most of my early theories, it was based on age-appropriate methods of research: deep thought, wild imagination, and inquiries to my older cousins. My theory of pediavores hypothesized that there were three primary classes:
GENUS PEDIAVORE
1) Larger than me, foams at mouth, growls and or stalks - Han’s VanderTease’s Dog
2) Smaller than me but sucks blood or sets trap - Mosquitos and Spiders
3) Hides in water and chases me with an open mouth full of teeth - Snapping Turtles
When it came to domesticated animals, I assigned the pediavore classification on a per-animal basis according to my proprietary assessment based on size, speed, and growl decibels. As it pertained to my grandmother’s farm, there was a pediavore around every corner. Bom Bom’s basement was no exception, but it was also a wonderful place, full of amazing things that dated back to the late 1800s. There were old Red Cross stretchers, wooden picnic plates, Victrolas, vaults, and giant trunks. My cousins and I suspected that the giant trunks and vaults, that were too heavy to budge, were filled with gold that other generations had forgotten about. Either gold or lost copies of the Declaration of Independence, or King George’s marriage certificate….important collectables. On a regrettable day in 1960, however, the magical nature of the basement changed forever. That was the day when New Papa procured hundreds of two-watt light bulbs from a Port William Boy Scout named “Little Billy May.”
Little Billy’s gift in door-to-door sales has never been the subject of debate. After his visit with New Papa, Billy enjoyed a sales award trip to Disneyland, and went on to successfully sell lightning rods and encyclopedias door to door.
Little Billy’s gain was our loss, for from that unfortunate day in 1960 when Billy “asked for the order” from New Papa, the basement became a dungeon. A two-watt bulb radiates no more light then a birthday candle, but it doesn’t use much electricity either, and that was all that mattered to New Papa.
Along with the kitchen, the basement and swimming pool came under New Papa’s jurisdiction. A quick visit to the basement and pool was all it took to realize that New Papa had no interest in either. The pool was built in 1939 with the use of horses, who would drag a large industrial shovel across the ground to dig the hole. The pool had straight sides, so telephone-pole-sized logs were floated in the pool in the winter to prevent ice from cracking the sides. The water was always zero-visibility because New Papa did not enjoy swimming and felt that chlorine was an unnecessary amenity. Without the burden of a scheduled chlorine regimen, New Papa’s pool maintenance schedule consisted of having Uncle Owl remove the logs from the pool in May and replace them in October.
Preparing to swim in the zero-visibility pool under New Papa’s rules presented its own challenges. All children and adults were required to change into their swimwear in “dressing” cubicles in the dungeon. There were three entrances. One was from the porch, another from the pool, and the third from the kitchen. It was an unpleasant trip for all ages, but a journey fraught with danger for a small child. Entering the basement from the porch required us to go down three steps and pass a huge vault on the left. I am not sure what was stored in that vault, but it could have been 60-watt light bulbs.
Fully lit with the two-watt bulbs, the dungeon was still frightfully dark, with a strong hint of mildew in the air. If it had rained recently, the changing cubes became registered wetlands. One didn’t dare remove their flip flops. It was impossible to get to a changing room without walking through a thick network of cobwebs. The cobwebs against the two-watt light produced very eerie, spooky effects. The dungeon was also an ideal natural environment for the super race of spiders that were a testament to Darwin’s theory of “survival of the fittest.” I would never go into the dungeon alone, because I knew there was safety in numbers. Jen and Liz warned us that these spiders were more fit than us and had very real expectations of trapping and eating a grandchild.
One of New Papa’s many rules was that all swimmers had to take a shower before entering the pool. His premise that we were dirtier than the pool water was simply not true, most of the time.
Swimming in the pool was equal parts fun and fear. The fear element sprang from warnings from our older cousins that snapping turtles frequented the pool. While these pediavores had little interest in the “adult” swim, we were tipped off that they had great enthusiasm for the “kid” swim. The water was so murky I had no way of knowing if they were there stalking me, but it weighed
heavily on my swimming experience. It was no help that Toad and Penn liked to yell out in pain and disappear below the surface as though pulled by an attacking snapper. I had seen a few snapping turtles on our farm and they were a pediavore to be reckoned with. While we were preoccupied in the pool, the spiders were busy repairing and fortifying their entire network of webs...making them bigger and more sophisticated than before, ever hopeful of capturing the big prize, an Upham grandchild. These super spiders were results driven and thrived under tight deadlines. When we returned to the basement to change, our one and only goal was to get out of there as quickly as possible. In the darkness and haste, our clothing often took an unexpected turn.
Clean-up Editor: Toni Gardner, Author of "My Fathers" and "Walking Where the Dog Walks"
