STEPHEN STORIES Stephen was adorable. The sweetest baby imaginable. But he fit right in with his brothers. When he was just three years old Michael took him out back of the house, walked off twenty paces, put a rock in the barrel of his air rifle and shot Stephen right in the chin. Hospital. Butterfly bandage. When he was twelve he found a dead hawk and liked the way the feathers looked. So he brought it home, put it in a box and hid it in his closet. Every time we walked upstairs we could smell this awful odor but we couldn’t imagine what it was or where it was coming from. Ten days later the smell finally led me to the bird. Stephen was saving it for Show and Tell at school. DON’T RUN BY THE POOL If I told Stephen once I told him a hundred times, don’t run by the pool. I’m talking about the Woodcrest Pool where the boys played volleyball and swam in the summer. Of course he did run, tripped and tore off his second toe nail and half his pinky. His foot is still not right. But his mother was, and he should have listened to her. LET SLEEPING FATHERS LIE Once our neighbor threw away a motor scooter . Stephen and his friends retrieved it and tried to fix it up. They put oil in it and fuel and even put in a new spark plug. They tried to kick start it again and again with no luck. But on Saturday Stephen got up early and went into the garage to try again. We could hear Stephen trying over and over again to get the scooter started. Herman and my bedroom was above the garage. Sudden- ly it actually did start. Stephen was hooting and hollering and jumping up and down. Unfortunately, by this time his father had had enough and he charged downstairs to put a stop to it. He turned off the bike and it never started again.
Stephen at Woodcrest Pool
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