Growing up in a small Wisconsin town was an ideal experience. There was a vacant field at the end of the street and our Spring Ritual was the initiation of our version of major league baseball. Billie, Bobby, Charley, Curt, Dale, John, Ned, Roger and Dick (that's me) were on the field daily right through Summer. As the days turned cooler and the leaves turned redder, our days turned to football -- Packermania came early in life.
As winter arrived, the cold became overwhelming for even the hardiest and craziest and outdoor activities diminished. In bad weather I discovered that Rosemary, the 7-year old next door, was an acceptable alternative. She didn't like sports but had lots of neat games that we could play indoors...get your minds out of the gutter, I was only five at the time.
My Mom was shopping one day and Rosie suggested we go over to my house. She announced that we were going to play house and marched right into my parents' closet. She would be the Dad and I would be the Mom. Rosie donned my Dad's shirt, tie and pants and slopped around in his huge shoes. His hat (men wore hats in those days) rested neatly on her lower lip. She helped me get into my Mom's underwear and then slipped a dress over my head. She sat me on the bench in front of the huge vanity with the gigantic circular mirror and began applying face powder, rouge and lipstick in roughly the same quantities used by Bozo. She applied equal proportions to my face, the clothes, the vanity and the floor. This was really fun until...
"Dickie! Where are you!" Oh how I hated to be called Dickie. We scrambled about trying to put things away, but my Mom was in the room before much could happen. She was spitting mad and shagged Rosie's butt home. Never mind that my Mom's name was also Rose. This was too much. "As for you young man, look at the mess you've made." Then came those chilling words that every kid learns to hate, "Just you wait until your father gets home." Oh, boy, I'm really going to get it now.
That night one of those huge hands imparted 5-fingered wisdom to my behind. My initial reaction was; boy, I'll never do anything like that again. By the next morning the pain of the hand was gone, but something else remained...the feel of those clothes. I knew I wanted to do that again. But next time, I would be careful not to make such a mess.