My family lived in Morocco when I was in 4th grade. Two summers, one school year. Terry B was my best friend, and his mom was, by necessity imposed by our isolated existence on the American compound, very resourceful. As a result, she had just enough influence over the kids in the neighborhood that we'd show up on her doorstep on summer mornings ready for her to kick start us on our next project that would occupy us for the day (probably so she could have her own free time). I remember running out of the house after breakfast screen door slamming behind me as I said "goin' out. . ." and vaguely hearing, "be back for lunch."
Terry's family lived right next door and our yards were separated a shoulder high (to an 8 year old) white picket fence lined by tall gladiolas and other tall blooming plants. There was a huge mimosa tree with low hanging branches right on the property line. The tree was great for climbing, but we were absolutely forbidden from building a tree house. "You can climb the tree all you want, but no nails in the branches." So we did. Climb the tree that is. We often sat in the branches eatting lunch and looking out over the lush green yards mowed almost every other day by Hozeen.
Terry's Mom was pretty creative and its hard to say whether it was for our benefit or her peace of mind, but she kept us all busy all day during the summers with keep-us-out-of-trouble projects. Soap carving. Exercising. Painting. Bike rides. Discovery hikes around the base. Mornings at the "sub teen club" where we'd play basket ball and glue popcycle sticks together. One time she even gave Terry a kit and we built and fired off a rocket.
Anyway, right now, I'm remembering the day she decided we should all play croquet but discovered mid-project that she didn't have enough hoops. She immediately put Terry on the project of cutting and then bending coat hangers into hoops.
"Don't poke your eye out."
Well of course, 10 year old Terry did, literally.
We rushed him to Port Lyodie, a US Navy base maybe 50 miles away from Casablanca (we often drove there to shop at the big BX, sort of the mall to military folk). He had eye surgery to sew up the damage, and after some time with a black eye patch, he recovered just fine. We often sat in the mimosa branches and discussed the benefits of the patch and how it opened doors for a possible future as a pirate, but ultimately, he opted instead to go to medical school (hmmm, could have been another Mom-project) and now, he is an eye surgeon in Seattle.
Terry's family lived right next door and our yards were separated a shoulder high (to an 8 year old) white picket fence lined by tall gladiolas and other tall blooming plants. There was a huge mimosa tree with low hanging branches right on the property line. The tree was great for climbing, but we were absolutely forbidden from building a tree house. "You can climb the tree all you want, but no nails in the branches." So we did. Climb the tree that is. We often sat in the branches eatting lunch and looking out over the lush green yards mowed almost every other day by Hozeen.
Terry's Mom was pretty creative and its hard to say whether it was for our benefit or her peace of mind, but she kept us all busy all day during the summers with keep-us-out-of-trouble projects. Soap carving. Exercising. Painting. Bike rides. Discovery hikes around the base. Mornings at the "sub teen club" where we'd play basket ball and glue popcycle sticks together. One time she even gave Terry a kit and we built and fired off a rocket.
Anyway, right now, I'm remembering the day she decided we should all play croquet but discovered mid-project that she didn't have enough hoops. She immediately put Terry on the project of cutting and then bending coat hangers into hoops.
"Don't poke your eye out."
Well of course, 10 year old Terry did, literally.
We rushed him to Port Lyodie, a US Navy base maybe 50 miles away from Casablanca (we often drove there to shop at the big BX, sort of the mall to military folk). He had eye surgery to sew up the damage, and after some time with a black eye patch, he recovered just fine. We often sat in the mimosa branches and discussed the benefits of the patch and how it opened doors for a possible future as a pirate, but ultimately, he opted instead to go to medical school (hmmm, could have been another Mom-project) and now, he is an eye surgeon in Seattle.
1 comment:
thanks for letting me know "the rest of the story." I never could imagine how he got a coat hanger in his eye! I always had visions of him hanging up a shirt or something when a coat hanger got agressive and poked his eye!
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