Thanks Katy, and great idea for a thread, it's threads like this that make me enjoy the Lounge so much. Great and touching stories by all.
Happy Birthday Tenn!
Ok, I'll tell y'all another one, keep in mind, this tale is from the memory of a six year old, so there might be some unintentional exageration.
When I was six, and lived in Georgia, my parents took my brother and I to see the movie Grease. That day was the first day I truly knew the meaning of love, or maybe even lust in the mind of a six year old. Olivia Newton John was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and I decided that she must realize I was the one for her, yes, I was the world's youngest stalker.
At six I was pretty ingenuitive, having already built our doorless clubhouse, yes a small oversite on my part. I also loved taking mine and my brothers toys apart to see how they worked, to his dismay. I was definitely more handy then, than I am now. So I decided that the only way to score chicks, or Olivia Newton John for that matter, was to own a car, a hot car, like the one in Grease.
So with that in mind, I went to building a go-cart. It was a pretty simple go cart, two evenly cut sides, a back, and some plywood on the bottom with wheels. Not exactly constucted with safety as a priority, there were bent nails along with some unbent, hanging out everywhere. Finally when it was done to my satisfaction, I painted it, just like the car in Grease, well, as much as my abilities allowed it to. I wasn't very good with lightning bolts, I've included an interpretation of what it looked like, that I think is fairly accurate.
After it's completion, I and the rest of the kids in the neighborhood were pretty excited to see it's maiden voyage. So the big day finally came and in true Evel Kneivel style, I was dressed for the occasion, I was wearing my Superman underoos and a Dallas Cowboys football helmet, for safety of course.
Our house was in a cul-de-sac, that was lead to by a road that came down a pretty steep hill, then curved into that cul-de-sac. So my brother and I pushed the cart all the way to the top of the hill, and he went and got his big wheel, he was part of the chase team.
We gathered the neighbohood kids, which consisted of the twin girls, who I was set on if Olivia Newton John turned me down, my brother, and my friends Brandy and Jeremy. It was a pretty good turn out in my opinion. So after some, I'm sure, idiotic speech, I got in and my brother started pushing me down the hill.
I've previously called this contraption a go-cart. I believe that to be an erroneous statement now, upon further reflection. See, a go-cart tends to denote some form of breaking or even steering, but my box on wheels had neither of those. I also realized it then, about halfway down the hill, cramped in this little box, nails sloppily sticking out of everywhere. I did what any brilliant six year old would do, I panicked. I bailed out, tipping the whole thing, and rolled down the rest of the hill. I had some scrapes and bruises, nothing serious, course, I was crying my head off, and my brother road his big wheel down to my rescue.
Well, for a while at the top of that hill, I felt like a superstar. I was chock full of confidence, had the attention of the girls, the adoration of my friends, it felt great. Of course, it, like most of my attempts to woo women for quite a long time, fell flat, but it was great anyway.