One night in the summer of 1963, Nick slept over night. I remember this because I was still in my old 1st floor bedroom. Later that year I moved to the big upstairs bedroom when my brother left for college.
My bedroom had a big double bed and a dresser, that's all. A spartan life for me. The headboard, a bookcase, was against the back wall and we faced the doorway.
It had to be a weekend because my father was home. He worked the 3rd shift at the GE from 11 p.m to 7a.m.. We had played pool in the basement, watched t.v., had some pizza and popcorn before heading to bed about 11-1130.
Like any set of teens my father had to come in to tell us to "shut up!" a few times. About midnight a fart fest broke out. There were "freeeps", "beeeerts", "raaaaaaaaaaaaaats"and a couple of harmless "phuuts." Honestly, it was the "phuuts" that got us laughing. We couldn't stop.
That's when my father slammed the door open and yelled," You stop............. Jesus Christ, you freak'n pigs crack a window in here! " In the background we could hear my mother,"Bud! Bud! What's the matter, Bud?"
"Dottie, these kids are freak'n pigs! Jesus H. Christ Almighty, Glenn!"
Nick and I lost it totally then.
Some time around 330-4 a.m. my brother came home after a night of drinking and stopped in the doorway on his way to the bathroom. All he said was," Oh man, what died in here?"
Nick and I were off again.
This was a story repeated over and over. A true "you had to be there". After my mother passed in 2001, we moved into the house I grew up in.
Forty four (44) years after the fart fest, I get diagnosed with ALS and we have to renovate our house to accommodate my electric wheelchair. Along that side of the house was my parent's bedroom, a bathroom and my old bedroom.
We gutted the whole side and made it into one bedroom and a huge handicapped accessible bathroom. My childhood bedroom space became the bathroom. Some how, in a sick adolescent way, it seems appropriate.