This picture was captured during the summer of 1963, on one of our weekends off, while my brother (on the left in the picture) and I still lived in the orphanage. After adding large saddle baskets, I used this same bike for my paper route a few years later. My brother received a new, larger bike like mine for Christmas, before he joined me on the paper route a year later.
The 15th Short Story
Seven Miles of Paper -- Part 4
"Seven Miles of Paper -- Part 4"
ANDY JUNIOR'S CHILDHOOD STORIES
Life After the St. Joseph Home for Boys
My 15th Short Story
When my dad remarried in 1965, he brought us three kids back to live at home on Sandstone Road in Spring Arbor, Michigan. I kicked off another new schoolyear that September at Western Junior High School in Parma, Michigan. My brother and sister went to elementary school in Woodville.
"Seven Miles of Paper -- Part 4"
“Don't trust a pet that doesn't know you.”
--Andy Skrzynski
After my Saturday horror with the tiny Chihuahua from hell, I became much more wary of any dog. Nicky would be the only dog I’d ever pet, if only he was still alive. I sure miss my buddy.
From that point on, I kept my head on a swivel and kept my distance when I was invited into a customer’s home. I never wanted to experience one of those frightful tug-of-wars again.
Thankfully, life as a paperboy was good, and I didn’t encounter another ferocious dog or any other pet for the rest of that year. Whew!
Later, during the second half of my sophomore year at Western High School, I was collecting money during my typical Saturday routine. I firmly knocked on the door, and the friendly man opened it.
He invited me in, and I obliged while keeping my eyes open for any furry attackers. I know there’s a dog in here somewhere. I’ve heard it many….
Before I could even finish the thought, a cocker spaniel raced out from around a hallway and made a beeline straight at me. Terrified, my heart raced while my eyes bulged.
Unable to react quick enough, the curly-haired demon chomped me right in the crotch. An excruciating pain shot up my gut as I screamed bloody murder.
My voice didn’t leave my lips in the deep, manly way it should have; it was a high-pitched, curdling screech like you’d hear from a terrified little girl. Dropping to the floor in a curled-up ball, I writhed in pain while ever so gently clutching myself between the legs.
I had been plunked in my family jewels by an errant baseball before and suffered unbearable anguish, but that was nothing like the never-ending agony emanating from my swollen privates at that moment. As I squirmed in a whimpering mass on the carpet, the owner apologized time and time again. “I’m so sorry. I forgot she just had a litter of pups. She’s normally very friendly! Pleeease forgive me!”
The last thing I wanted to do was to forgive the forgetful idiot. I wanted to punch him in the mouth, or worse. I should kick him in the groin and see how HE likes it? I desperately wanted to say it to his face, but I was tormented by too much pain to even stand, let alone say anything intelligible.
Luckily, the throbbing eventually faded over the course of the day, but my faith in dogs had been crushed along with my sensitive parts. Vicious pets provided enough concern of their own accord, but the heart of winter offered plenty more challenges to sow more seeds of fear.
The temperatures kept dropping to their lowest levels as the first two months of the year rolled in. Whenever the frigid air dipped into the lower teens and single digits, all the double layering and insulated underwear seemed to lose their effects by the end of my daily trips.
Even so, I’d never let an opportunity for a little fun go unnoticed. On this particular afternoon, one of the girls from my high school class happened to be outside. The snow had fallen that morning, and the fluffy, moist flakes were perfect for a snowball fight.
Before she even noticed me and my bike rolling down her street, I quickly dismounted and discarded my gloves. Scooping a handful of the white stuff, I mashed the glob together, while continually rolling and pressing it into one of the crudest weapons known to humans.
My intended target didn’t even have a chance to turn and look, before my little present whizzed through the air and plunked her right on the behind. Oops, I didn’t really mean to hit her there, but things are what they are in the game of war.
She shot me that "you're in big trouble, buster" glare. Without the slightest hesitation, she swiftly formed her own snowball and heaved the frozen missile in my direction. Shocked by the velocity and aim of her shot, I spun around. The icy projectile smacked me in the middle of my back. "Ouch!"
“What’s the matter, big boy? You can dish it out, but you can’t take it, huh?” Well, she didn’t have to say no more. Those were fightin’ words. Before I knew it, we were in an all-out free-for-all with snowballs flying through the air as quickly as we both could chunk ‘em.
As crazy as it might sound, if I had not liked her at least a little bit, I would never have thrown that first snowball. The female combatant was one of those girls I didn’t see that often in school, but she was definitely good looking.
Even though we never shared any words of the like, other than a casual conversation, I would have dated her in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, the opportunity never really presented itself, and I was too chicken to ask.
Truth be told, I was quite shy when it came to initiating such personal discussions with a girl. You see, I didn’t exactly savor the idea of being rejected.
My tender heart couldn’t possibly survive a girl telling me she didn’t like me. I’d be crushed and have to crawl in bed, never to emerge from under the covers.
After a good dusting of snow on both of our parts, I handed the good-natured girl her newspaper. We said our goodbyes, and I continued merrily along my way.
Whether she even had any attraction to me would never matter, we weren’t likely to ever get that far in any conversation to come. Like so many other possibilities while I was young, this was just another one of those squandered opportunities to expand my horizons.
A couple of weeks blew by, and another Sunday morning was knocking on my door, but this was no normal morning. A winter storm approached with a vengeance and promised to be more frigid and threatening than any I had ever witnessed.
The night before, Tata warned us to expect it to be extra cold. Heeding his advice, my brother and I made sure to wear thermal underwear, extra layers of sweatshirts, our heaviest coats, and two sets of gloves. For good measure we even sported earmuffs over top of our stocking caps, and we even pulled up our hoods and tied them tight. No cold could possibly get through all of this!
It's not like my brother and I weren't used to working outside in the cold. After escaping the clutches of the orphanage, we'd been working outdoors every single day on the farm, year-round. We had already experienced sub-zero temperatures many times before.
Even so, the moment we stepped outside and took those first couple of steps, I noticed something different about this cold front. The light's rays outside the backdoor sparkled among the crystals which had formed over the crusty top layer of snow.
Even more telling, the frozen, white blanket crunched every time my thermal-lined boots took another step forward. Worse yet, the billowing cloud of humid air spewing from my mouth and nose with each breath was thicker than I had ever seen.
I stared into by brother's eyes, after we mounted our bikes. “This won’t be no picnic today. We’re going to freeze our tails off!”
By the time we traveled the mile to our pick-up point at the gas station, my fingers and toes were already tingling from the numbness forming underneath my gloves and boots.
My younger brother pointed at me with a look of surprise. “You’ve got icicles in your mustache.”
I reached up and felt my upper lip. Sure enough, not only were my whiskers iced over and brittle, but the hair inside my nose was already freezing up.
Lucky for us, the owner of the gas station always left the restroom doors open. After counting and loading our thick Sunday papers, we took shelter in the bathroom for about five minutes. Removing our gloves, we stuck our hands in our pockets and warmed them as much as possible before proceeding down King Road.
Halfway through the route, my fingers, toes, ears, and the depths of my chest burned with pain, despite all the thick wrappings. The corner of my eye caught a glimpse of some distant blob in the middle of the street. I couldn’t make out what it was through the cold tears blurring my vision as it approached.
A few seconds later, I heard, “Andy, it’s way too cold out here!” My brother shivered while his teeth chattered like dishes in an earthquake as he came to a stop nearby. Huge clouds of humidity escaped his mouth with every word he spoke.
I pointed up the street. “Come on. Let’s find some shelter somewhere before we both freeze to death.” I rode my bicycle over the snow-covered pavement with my brother on my tail.
At first, we couldn’t find anything, but just as we turned the corner, I spotted a garage with the door part-way up. I glanced behind me while continuing to pedal. “Look! Let’s hide out over there -- in that garage.” I tilted my head in its direction.
He shook his head as we sped toward the only shelter around. Hopping off our bikes, we ducked inside, while removing our gloves and huddling in the warmest corner, nearest to the house.
We blew on our fingers and stuck them in our pockets, against our legs, as we tried to warm them up. Even though it seemed to be working, the more the fingertips thawed the more they stung as the feelings returned. After our hands warmed ever so slightly, we held them up against our ears to heat them as well.
Suffering from so much pain, we held each other and cried until we ran out of tears. I’d been told many times before that grown men don’t cry, but I didn’t give a flip! This hurts too much.
After a few minutes of consoling each other and warming ever so little, I sighed and looked at my brother. “We don’t have any choice but to get this over with. The quicker we get it done, the quicker we get back home, where it’s warm.”
Shaking his head, he groaned as we both blinked the tears from our eyes and wiped our cheeks dry with our gloves. I blew on my hands once more for good measure and stuck them back into my chilly gloves.
My brother followed suit, before we both climbed our bikes and sped off to finish our routes. By the time we got home, our bodies were frozen to the bone and shivering uncontrollably.
We quickly peeled off every bit of our outerwear to gain exposure to the warmth inside our basement house. I desperately wanted to stick my hands under hot water but knew better from prior experiences. Too much heat too fast only makes them burn that much more. Besides, my fingers were so frozen, I was half afraid they’d crack when the water hit them.
After about 20 minutes, we both slowly stuck our hands under the stream, pouring from the kitchen faucet, and gently rubbed our fingers until they thawed. We hopped in place and moaned while the nerves regained their feelings and seared with pain, as if we were holding our hands over a flame.
I shut my eyes tight. I NEVER want to go through that again!
Later that night, when Tata was watching the news, he sounded shocked. “No wonder you guys were so cold. It got down to 25 below zero this morning. That’s a record for these parts on this day.”
All I could do was shake my head. No kidding. Doesn’t surprise me one iota!
My entire body shivered from the morning’s Arctic adventure, even though I was wrapped tightly in a blanket. One thing was certain, delivering papers in the heart of winter was a tough way to make some pocket change.
************
That's it for now. I'll be sharing many more of my short stories in the weeks and months ahead.
Thank you so much for your wonderful support!
Andy Skrzynski
ANDY JUNIOR'S CHILDHOOD STORIES
Life After the St. Joseph Home for Boys
My 15th Short Story
When my dad remarried in 1965, he brought us three kids back to live at home on Sandstone Road in Spring Arbor, Michigan. I kicked off another new schoolyear that September at Western Junior High School in Parma, Michigan. My brother and sister went to elementary school in Woodville.
"Seven Miles of Paper -- Part 4"
“Don't trust a pet that doesn't know you.”
--Andy Skrzynski
After my Saturday horror with the tiny Chihuahua from hell, I became much more wary of any dog. Nicky would be the only dog I’d ever pet, if only he was still alive. I sure miss my buddy.
From that point on, I kept my head on a swivel and kept my distance when I was invited into a customer’s home. I never wanted to experience one of those frightful tug-of-wars again.
Thankfully, life as a paperboy was good, and I didn’t encounter another ferocious dog or any other pet for the rest of that year. Whew!
Later, during the second half of my sophomore year at Western High School, I was collecting money during my typical Saturday routine. I firmly knocked on the door, and the friendly man opened it.
He invited me in, and I obliged while keeping my eyes open for any furry attackers. I know there’s a dog in here somewhere. I’ve heard it many….
Before I could even finish the thought, a cocker spaniel raced out from around a hallway and made a beeline straight at me. Terrified, my heart raced while my eyes bulged.
Unable to react quick enough, the curly-haired demon chomped me right in the crotch. An excruciating pain shot up my gut as I screamed bloody murder.
My voice didn’t leave my lips in the deep, manly way it should have; it was a high-pitched, curdling screech like you’d hear from a terrified little girl. Dropping to the floor in a curled-up ball, I writhed in pain while ever so gently clutching myself between the legs.
I had been plunked in my family jewels by an errant baseball before and suffered unbearable anguish, but that was nothing like the never-ending agony emanating from my swollen privates at that moment. As I squirmed in a whimpering mass on the carpet, the owner apologized time and time again. “I’m so sorry. I forgot she just had a litter of pups. She’s normally very friendly! Pleeease forgive me!”
The last thing I wanted to do was to forgive the forgetful idiot. I wanted to punch him in the mouth, or worse. I should kick him in the groin and see how HE likes it? I desperately wanted to say it to his face, but I was tormented by too much pain to even stand, let alone say anything intelligible.
Luckily, the throbbing eventually faded over the course of the day, but my faith in dogs had been crushed along with my sensitive parts. Vicious pets provided enough concern of their own accord, but the heart of winter offered plenty more challenges to sow more seeds of fear.
The temperatures kept dropping to their lowest levels as the first two months of the year rolled in. Whenever the frigid air dipped into the lower teens and single digits, all the double layering and insulated underwear seemed to lose their effects by the end of my daily trips.
Even so, I’d never let an opportunity for a little fun go unnoticed. On this particular afternoon, one of the girls from my high school class happened to be outside. The snow had fallen that morning, and the fluffy, moist flakes were perfect for a snowball fight.
Before she even noticed me and my bike rolling down her street, I quickly dismounted and discarded my gloves. Scooping a handful of the white stuff, I mashed the glob together, while continually rolling and pressing it into one of the crudest weapons known to humans.
My intended target didn’t even have a chance to turn and look, before my little present whizzed through the air and plunked her right on the behind. Oops, I didn’t really mean to hit her there, but things are what they are in the game of war.
She shot me that "you're in big trouble, buster" glare. Without the slightest hesitation, she swiftly formed her own snowball and heaved the frozen missile in my direction. Shocked by the velocity and aim of her shot, I spun around. The icy projectile smacked me in the middle of my back. "Ouch!"
“What’s the matter, big boy? You can dish it out, but you can’t take it, huh?” Well, she didn’t have to say no more. Those were fightin’ words. Before I knew it, we were in an all-out free-for-all with snowballs flying through the air as quickly as we both could chunk ‘em.
As crazy as it might sound, if I had not liked her at least a little bit, I would never have thrown that first snowball. The female combatant was one of those girls I didn’t see that often in school, but she was definitely good looking.
Even though we never shared any words of the like, other than a casual conversation, I would have dated her in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, the opportunity never really presented itself, and I was too chicken to ask.
Truth be told, I was quite shy when it came to initiating such personal discussions with a girl. You see, I didn’t exactly savor the idea of being rejected.
My tender heart couldn’t possibly survive a girl telling me she didn’t like me. I’d be crushed and have to crawl in bed, never to emerge from under the covers.
After a good dusting of snow on both of our parts, I handed the good-natured girl her newspaper. We said our goodbyes, and I continued merrily along my way.
Whether she even had any attraction to me would never matter, we weren’t likely to ever get that far in any conversation to come. Like so many other possibilities while I was young, this was just another one of those squandered opportunities to expand my horizons.
A couple of weeks blew by, and another Sunday morning was knocking on my door, but this was no normal morning. A winter storm approached with a vengeance and promised to be more frigid and threatening than any I had ever witnessed.
The night before, Tata warned us to expect it to be extra cold. Heeding his advice, my brother and I made sure to wear thermal underwear, extra layers of sweatshirts, our heaviest coats, and two sets of gloves. For good measure we even sported earmuffs over top of our stocking caps, and we even pulled up our hoods and tied them tight. No cold could possibly get through all of this!
It's not like my brother and I weren't used to working outside in the cold. After escaping the clutches of the orphanage, we'd been working outdoors every single day on the farm, year-round. We had already experienced sub-zero temperatures many times before.
Even so, the moment we stepped outside and took those first couple of steps, I noticed something different about this cold front. The light's rays outside the backdoor sparkled among the crystals which had formed over the crusty top layer of snow.
Even more telling, the frozen, white blanket crunched every time my thermal-lined boots took another step forward. Worse yet, the billowing cloud of humid air spewing from my mouth and nose with each breath was thicker than I had ever seen.
I stared into by brother's eyes, after we mounted our bikes. “This won’t be no picnic today. We’re going to freeze our tails off!”
By the time we traveled the mile to our pick-up point at the gas station, my fingers and toes were already tingling from the numbness forming underneath my gloves and boots.
My younger brother pointed at me with a look of surprise. “You’ve got icicles in your mustache.”
I reached up and felt my upper lip. Sure enough, not only were my whiskers iced over and brittle, but the hair inside my nose was already freezing up.
Lucky for us, the owner of the gas station always left the restroom doors open. After counting and loading our thick Sunday papers, we took shelter in the bathroom for about five minutes. Removing our gloves, we stuck our hands in our pockets and warmed them as much as possible before proceeding down King Road.
Halfway through the route, my fingers, toes, ears, and the depths of my chest burned with pain, despite all the thick wrappings. The corner of my eye caught a glimpse of some distant blob in the middle of the street. I couldn’t make out what it was through the cold tears blurring my vision as it approached.
A few seconds later, I heard, “Andy, it’s way too cold out here!” My brother shivered while his teeth chattered like dishes in an earthquake as he came to a stop nearby. Huge clouds of humidity escaped his mouth with every word he spoke.
I pointed up the street. “Come on. Let’s find some shelter somewhere before we both freeze to death.” I rode my bicycle over the snow-covered pavement with my brother on my tail.
At first, we couldn’t find anything, but just as we turned the corner, I spotted a garage with the door part-way up. I glanced behind me while continuing to pedal. “Look! Let’s hide out over there -- in that garage.” I tilted my head in its direction.
He shook his head as we sped toward the only shelter around. Hopping off our bikes, we ducked inside, while removing our gloves and huddling in the warmest corner, nearest to the house.
We blew on our fingers and stuck them in our pockets, against our legs, as we tried to warm them up. Even though it seemed to be working, the more the fingertips thawed the more they stung as the feelings returned. After our hands warmed ever so slightly, we held them up against our ears to heat them as well.
Suffering from so much pain, we held each other and cried until we ran out of tears. I’d been told many times before that grown men don’t cry, but I didn’t give a flip! This hurts too much.
After a few minutes of consoling each other and warming ever so little, I sighed and looked at my brother. “We don’t have any choice but to get this over with. The quicker we get it done, the quicker we get back home, where it’s warm.”
Shaking his head, he groaned as we both blinked the tears from our eyes and wiped our cheeks dry with our gloves. I blew on my hands once more for good measure and stuck them back into my chilly gloves.
My brother followed suit, before we both climbed our bikes and sped off to finish our routes. By the time we got home, our bodies were frozen to the bone and shivering uncontrollably.
We quickly peeled off every bit of our outerwear to gain exposure to the warmth inside our basement house. I desperately wanted to stick my hands under hot water but knew better from prior experiences. Too much heat too fast only makes them burn that much more. Besides, my fingers were so frozen, I was half afraid they’d crack when the water hit them.
After about 20 minutes, we both slowly stuck our hands under the stream, pouring from the kitchen faucet, and gently rubbed our fingers until they thawed. We hopped in place and moaned while the nerves regained their feelings and seared with pain, as if we were holding our hands over a flame.
I shut my eyes tight. I NEVER want to go through that again!
Later that night, when Tata was watching the news, he sounded shocked. “No wonder you guys were so cold. It got down to 25 below zero this morning. That’s a record for these parts on this day.”
All I could do was shake my head. No kidding. Doesn’t surprise me one iota!
My entire body shivered from the morning’s Arctic adventure, even though I was wrapped tightly in a blanket. One thing was certain, delivering papers in the heart of winter was a tough way to make some pocket change.
************
That's it for now. I'll be sharing many more of my short stories in the weeks and months ahead.
Thank you so much for your wonderful support!
Andy Skrzynski