The list of dumb things I did during my childhood years is vast. The list of smart things is quite short. Actually, it's just a title that says, "Smart things I done". It's blank underneath the title.
While many of the records have been sealed, there are a few that come to mind.
I was born. I don't know what I was thinking. I was inexperienced at the time and didn't know any better. I've regretted it ever since, of course.
I started learning to read at age 2. I don't know. There was nothing good on TV, I guess. It was an accomplishment since my vision was so bad I didn't know the wallpaper had a pattern on it until I got glasses in the 6th grade. Anyway, reading ahead of my age level resulted in spending my grade school years (1 - 5) being beaten senseless by my classmates on a daily basis.
I rode a bike. Many of my childhood self-inflicted injuries would occur while riding my bike. I lost track of the number of stationary cars, mailboxes, poles, trees, bushes, signs, and fire hydrants I hit. There were times I hit so hard, I didn't think I'd ever walk again. Actually, at first, I wasn't sure I'd be able to breathe again. In an attempt to provide negative reinforcement and in a feeble attempt to appear as though she had a nurturing instinct, my mother would pour rubbing alcohol on my cuts and scrapes. This usually hurt worse than the injury. Rather than learn from my mistakes, I would then go out and do it again. I had several trees in the backyard and one of them had some excellent low hanging branches. I conned some other guys in the neighborhood into riding in tight formation through my backyard where we would reach up, grab a branch, and swing into the tree at speeds somewhere near MACH 2. The fact that we were all trying to grab the same branch and occupy the same space did not originally seem to be a problem. When we all fell out of the tree and landed on our bikes, the plan's design flaw became readily apparent. I told them not to worry. My mom had enough rubbing alcohol for everybody.
Other bike related fun included forms of "dodgeball", where someone in the street had water balloons filled with a sand and water mixture that felt like being hit with concrete. You'd ride your bike and try to avoid having your front wheel or your head knocked off by the idiot with the balloon. When that ceased to entertain, we'd attempt to throw sticks into the spokes of a passing bike. Occasionally, the stick would lodge in the spokes, the bike would flip in mid air, and hilarity would ensue. The same trick worked with frisbees instead of sticks, but was significantly more challenging for the thrower.
I formed a band. Well, I thought I did. I talked to other kids about it. I found out who played what instruments, scheduled a time with them to jam in my garage, and waited for the band. No one showed up. At the time, I thought it was me. Now, I know better. They were musicians.
I farmed. At one point, my family moved to the Pacific Northwest and bought a small ranch/farm. I don't know why they did. They had no interest in farming. They filled the place with animals, decided that the farming tasks were not their problem, and left it to me to do the bulk of the work. I raised cows, pigs, chickens, horses, and goats. I repaired fences, built sheds, chased livestock, pulled weeds, planted crops, cut and baled hay, and stocked the barn for the winter. I put up barbed wire and electric fences. Eventually, I fenced in 10 acres with hogwire across hills covered in lava rock. I worked my stupid hindquarters off without ever saying, "No."
I drove. Granted, I was of legal age to do so, but I drove on mountainous, hilly backroads that never saw a snowplow or a guardrail. I can't remember the number of times I drove through the snow wondering where the road was. When there was no snow, there was gravel. I lived a few miles away from paved roads, so I had plenty of practice drifting around corners. Not many Plymouth Horizons ever caught air or pegged the speedometer, but ours did a few times. There were times I was in mid flight when I'd encounter another vehicle and I don't know how we ever missed. I also don't know how I stayed on the road as I fishtailed around the next curve.
Some friends of mine had an old beater of a car with numerous problems. Among them were the fact that the back bench seat was not bolted down, so it slammed into the front seat whenever the driver hit the brakes. One of the more interesting features was the radio antenna. If you reached out of the passenger window, you could bend it completely horizontal, sticking a few feet out to the side of the car. They would cruise thought town, spot a "target" walking in the same direction they were heading, drop the antenna into position, and thwack them across the rear as they passed.
My family drove cars that other people gave us out of pity. We had a Buick Electra 225 that had a nuclear engine. At least, I think it did. The driver's door didn't stay shut, the accelerator stuck (frequently), the defroster didn't work (ice on the inside of the windshield), and you had to hold the key in position to keep the car running. If Death drove a car, he'd drive this one. He'd also paint it black with flames on the hood, but that's beside the point. We also had an old Studebaker that had more rust than metal. Most of the nameplate had fallen off on the back, so it just said, "Stud". That was cool. When I went to buy a car, I wanted to buy a hearse, painted as previously described, with "Meat Wagon" stenciled across the back. My parents vetoed that decision.
I and some other friends enjoyed studying people's reactions to our stupidity. We would go into a public place and fall down a flight of stairs, or walk into a glass door. We would go into an ice cream shoppe (yes, there were some spelled like that), and order flavours like, "Spam Spumoni" or "Tomato Ripple". We would go into a fancy restaraunt and then order water. When we would be told we needed to order something off the menu, we'd ask to see samples of their ketchup packets. We played Zombie Volleyball. It's like volleyball, only you play it as if you were a zombie. Hitting the ball with your head while moaning, "Brains!" was an added plus.
For the record, attempting to reenact the famous lightsaber duel in Star Wars with florescent light tubes is not a great idea. Not even when you have several dozen of them.
Pillow fights on a bus cease to be entertaining when someone stuffs an alarm clock in their pillowcase first.
When pushing a broken down bus on a sun baked highway, it's a good idea to wear shoes. 3rd degree burns on the soles of your feet can hurt.
When hauling musical equipment for a stage show, don't assume that you will ever have any help. I lugged an electric piano up three stories on an outdoor winding staircase, then went back down and hauled up my drums, all the PA gear, and the risers. Eventually, someone came over to help carry a mic stand. Great. Thanks a load.
When organizing a flash mob, it's a good idea to have people know what a flash mob is, or to wait until the term has been invented. When I did it, it was known as "Being Irresponsible" or "Causing a Public Nuisance" or "Being an Idjit". It prompted long heated discussions on all that was wrong with that boy.
At camp, it is not only your right as a camper, it is your duty to circumvent the rules in a dramatic fashion. We had to line up outside the mess hall before meals. The cooks would open their window and hose us down with their sprayer on their sink. Kids who move out of line were denied food until all others had eaten. After the second time, realizing that this was a pattern of behavior, I led a revolt. We gathered frogs, rather large ones, and got in line as ordered. When the hose came out, we propelled our amphibian troops through the open window. I don't think we got lunch that day, but the window stayed shut after that. Finding ourselves constricted by the presence of a camp counselor, we found that filling the foot of his sleeping bag with peanut butter did a wonderful job of encouraging him to sleep elsewhere. Did you know that other campers in enemy cabins do not enjoy having you sneak into their cabin and set off an air horn? They resent it almost as much as when you offer to hydrate them in their sleep with five gallon buckets of water. After that, I was always separated from my friends when I went to to camp. That didn't seem to help.
In college, (yes, that's still "as a kid" in my book), I held mattress races down staircases, using freeweights to "bowl for water buckets" in subterranean tunnels, "assist" other students in their all nighters (I was a study break), organized beanbag chair diving events (I had to take a friend to the emergency room for that), and became a "Trucking" expert. That last one may require some explanation. I did not start this tradition, but my friends and I tried to take it up a few notches. The underlying theory was that you could plant an image in someone's dreams and then use it against them in the following manner. 2 or 3 guys would enter someone's dorm room while they slept (usually with the participation of the roommate). Armed with pillows, they would gather around the sleeper. After a silent count to three, they would scream, "TRUCK!" and slam their pillows into his slumbering face. Before he regained consciousness, the group would flee. The theory was that, in his dreams, he would suddenly see an oncoming truck, which would hit him as he woke. Seeing no one around, he would not know who to blame for his misfortune. That's the basic, "Truck" prank. We did this so frequently, we were often blamed for it even when we had not been involved. To right this egregious wrong, we decided to put a certain signature on our pranks so there would be no doubt who was involved. It was essentially a two man operation. Upon screaming, "TRUCK!", one would slam the victim in the stomach. When he sat up, the second would smack him in the face with a pillow, knocking him flat. At that point, we pretty much abandoned any pretense of studying the psychology of the prank and just whacked people in their sleep.
One other prank was never publicly admitted (at the time). We never got credit/blame for it, and that's probably for the best. In the men's dorm, all of the showers had shower curtains. One night, well after 1AM, I led a handful of accomplices through the dorm as we took every shower curtain and hid them near the garbage chute on each floor. We made sure to include our own floor in order to avoid suspicion. As guys were up working on term papers, or whatever, we had to be very careful to avoid detection, but we did it. We made sure to join in the ensuing hue and cry the next morning as the ugly truth of the situation dawned.
The RAs had to work the front desk all night as a security measure. Taking pity on the poor soul struggling to stay awake through the long dark night, I tried to help. I "procured" a tall metal garbage can with swinging lid from another floor's restroom. I then "appropriated" a large chair from another floor's lounge. I called an elevator, took my items to the 2nd floor, and got out, placing the chair near the door with the garbage can stacked precariously leaning against the elevator door. When the elevator continued down to the first floor, the door opened and the can fell onto the tile floor. I could hear the echo and the resulting scream of shock from the second floor. I was happy to help.
There were the other things, the unexpected explosions, the rocket launch that went horribly wrong, the senior citizens who were startled so badly they lost wigs, hearing aids, teeth, and their second childhood, and the music teacher who committed himself into a sanitarium following my 7th grade music class, but I don't think we need to go into those.
It would appear that I haven't successfully matured.