bottlebugs
Well-Known Member
Growing up on the prairies could be as dull as toast, especially if it was
raining out and I was stuck indoors. Television during the day was not
for kids as they should have been outside and playing. Would if I could.
I cried out to my Mom, "I'm bored!" She was always great for advice not
wanted. Read a book if I was bored. Eat an apple if I was hungry. And of
course elephant tails were always for supper. Sigh.
I perused the bookshelf and furrowed my brow. Our library consisted of
cast offs and bargain basement leftovers. One book caught my eye. On
the cover was a flying tiger. Being a base brat, my best friend's dad
was a RCAF pilot. I felt obliged to at least give it a look. It was great! I
read it cover to cover many times as a youth. It became my favourite.
Imagine my joy when it aired as a TV show in 1976. I was fully knee deep in nostalgia and bottle collecting. As a kid I had played the part of Pappy Boyington with a ratatatat dive bombing everything in sight. I made models that flew and models that exploded with the right amount of fire crackers in the fuselage. War time Coke and Pepsi bottles started to fill my shelf, right next to my treasured book.
As I grew older I became what you would call a war buff. I wore a flight jacket and aviator style glasses. I collected WW2 then WW1 then Civil and Revolutionary war mementoes. I of course grew up and entered the world of work and family, albeit, sometimes kicking and screaming. Little by little the bottles and bottle caps were put aside while I searched for true love. Shucks, you know I found it.
Meanwhile, my Dad was getting long in the tooth a few years ago and I was compelled to make the hour long trip into the country to keep an eye on him. Mom had died and he was packing the house with other folks garbage. Ever the inventor, he fashioned the shell of an old bbq to tow behind his electric wheel chair. He scoured the streets on trash day and brought home anything and everything. The garage was full.
Luckily, he couldn't fill the basement anymore as the stairs were impenetrable by wheel chair. He got me to do his bidding. On one of maybe a hundred trips, I knocked over a pile of magazines and to my surprise, uncovered the old book shelf, still stocked with the useless; except for one book. The Flying Tigers came home with me. I showed my new wife my favourite book and she eyed me with suspicion.
She tapped at the inscription on the inside page. "Why have you got a book that was given to MY DAD for Christmas in 1943?"
I gasped.
She was right.
"Merry Xmas 1943 from your cousin..." was blocked in childish print on the first page. It was a gift for her dad. You see, her dad grew up on the same street as my mom. They
must have been visiting on trash day.
Now I know where my father got that book..in my wife's grandparent's garbage before we moved to CFB Obodo in 1964. (I hear the Twightlight Zone theme playing right now)
raining out and I was stuck indoors. Television during the day was not
for kids as they should have been outside and playing. Would if I could.
I cried out to my Mom, "I'm bored!" She was always great for advice not
wanted. Read a book if I was bored. Eat an apple if I was hungry. And of
course elephant tails were always for supper. Sigh.
I perused the bookshelf and furrowed my brow. Our library consisted of
cast offs and bargain basement leftovers. One book caught my eye. On
the cover was a flying tiger. Being a base brat, my best friend's dad
was a RCAF pilot. I felt obliged to at least give it a look. It was great! I
read it cover to cover many times as a youth. It became my favourite.
Imagine my joy when it aired as a TV show in 1976. I was fully knee deep in nostalgia and bottle collecting. As a kid I had played the part of Pappy Boyington with a ratatatat dive bombing everything in sight. I made models that flew and models that exploded with the right amount of fire crackers in the fuselage. War time Coke and Pepsi bottles started to fill my shelf, right next to my treasured book.
As I grew older I became what you would call a war buff. I wore a flight jacket and aviator style glasses. I collected WW2 then WW1 then Civil and Revolutionary war mementoes. I of course grew up and entered the world of work and family, albeit, sometimes kicking and screaming. Little by little the bottles and bottle caps were put aside while I searched for true love. Shucks, you know I found it.
Meanwhile, my Dad was getting long in the tooth a few years ago and I was compelled to make the hour long trip into the country to keep an eye on him. Mom had died and he was packing the house with other folks garbage. Ever the inventor, he fashioned the shell of an old bbq to tow behind his electric wheel chair. He scoured the streets on trash day and brought home anything and everything. The garage was full.
Luckily, he couldn't fill the basement anymore as the stairs were impenetrable by wheel chair. He got me to do his bidding. On one of maybe a hundred trips, I knocked over a pile of magazines and to my surprise, uncovered the old book shelf, still stocked with the useless; except for one book. The Flying Tigers came home with me. I showed my new wife my favourite book and she eyed me with suspicion.
She tapped at the inscription on the inside page. "Why have you got a book that was given to MY DAD for Christmas in 1943?"
I gasped.
She was right.
"Merry Xmas 1943 from your cousin..." was blocked in childish print on the first page. It was a gift for her dad. You see, her dad grew up on the same street as my mom. They
must have been visiting on trash day.
Now I know where my father got that book..in my wife's grandparent's garbage before we moved to CFB Obodo in 1964. (I hear the Twightlight Zone theme playing right now)
