Danger, Child at Play – 2 and 3

I thought about creating a separate post for each of these incidents, but I soon thought better of it and rolled them both into one catastrophic epic for your edge-of-your-seat enjoyment.

Part 2

Whenever I would play ball (baseball, soccer, etc.) on my cul-de-sac street in California, I always managed to catch one particular person in the crosshairs as I threw, kicked, batted, or otherwise launched the ball into the air… Becky Klein, the wife of Jelly Belly mogul, David Klein.  It didn’t seem to matter where she was on the street, if I was outside, and had a ball in my possession, she was virtually guaranteed a smack in the face.  

On various occasions, when my mother would be outside, watering our front lawn, gardening, or simply visiting neighbors, Becky would make her way across the street, approach my mother with a look of consternation on her face, point to the large red mark she just received, courtesy of yours truly and say, “I don’t think your son likes me.”   

Part 3 

This next incident primarily involves my mother, her date, a rock, and me.  Are you starting to see the pattern here?  One fine spring day, my mother, her date, and I were strolling up a mountainous ridge lined with rows of spectacular evergreen trees.  

During the walk, I would occasionally pick up a rock and sling it in the direction of who-knows-where.  My mom, being the smart lady that she is, told me to stop it.  However, her date, trying to be the ever cool dude, said, “Hey, what’s the big deal?  Let him be a kid.  There’s no one around for miles.”  Little did he know, I had the uncanny ability to hit someone from that distance.  

Sure enough, the very next rock I chucked hit a man on the trail below us, on the hand, no less. 

“Owww!” came the scream of pain from the now really angry man who was already embroiled in a heated argument with his wife. 

And for the coup de grace, the man looked up to where we were walking and locked eyes with… no, not me, but my mom’s date, figuring he had thrown the offending stone.  As the man climbed the hill heading for us with a less than friendly look on his face, we all decided that would be good time to head back to the car and find something else to do. 

Maybe I missed my calling as a pitcher in major league baseball.