Parallel Lives by Mike Freeman

 Parallel Lives

By Mike Freeman

I live a parallel life with Jimmy the Giraffe and Fuzzy-Wuzzy Bear. I know them through stories my father tells me. They must be delightful company. We share many of life's interests and adventures.

I am four years old. Our family moves into a new house with a huge dirt backyard. There is buried treasure in that yard. I have no doubt. Grabbing my father's shovel from the garage, I begin digging holes. I know a few shovel-fulls of dirt are the only thing separating me from my prize. My parents find my efforts amusing.

"It is just a matter of time." I think. "Keep digging, keep digging, keep digging."

One weekend, a lawn, a few fruit trees, and splashes of colorful flowers miraculously appear in the backyard.

The transformation amazes but does not change anything. I snatch my father's shovel and start digging holes. I know treasure riches are imminent.

I am digging my fourth hole when my father runs out from our house.

"What are you doing?" he asks desperately.

I am perplexed. I am doing the same thing as always. Persistence leads to success. Why get upset about a few dug-up flowers or patches of lawn? There are jewels to discover. Why are my parents now unhappy with my efforts?

My dad introduces me to Jimmy the Giraffe and Fuzzy-Wuzzy Bear at bedtime that night. By sheer coincidence, they dig holes too! They dig deep holes because they know treasure is always deep in the ground.

Digging one day, they hit a buried sprinkler waterline. They are drowning in the hole. Fuzzy-Wuzzy Bear climbs on Jimmy the Giraffe's back, escaping a horrible water tragedy. Jimmy the Giraffe keeps his head above the water with his long neck. He yells to their fathers for help.

Their fathers arrive and pull them out to safety.

"What do you think of that?" my father inquires with a knowing smile.

"Wear water wings while digging in the backyard?" I speculate. I look at my father's bewildered expression.

He explains that Fuzzy-Wuzzy Bear and Jimmy the Giraffe are no longer allowed to dig holes in the backyard, and neither am I.

I feel miserable for us. So many buried treasures left undiscovered!

There is a small park behind our backyard fence. It features playground equipment, a sparkling community pool with diving boards, and an enormous open grass area ideal for neighborhood football and baseball games. This situation is good and bad.

The good part is that climbing over our backyard fence is the shortest way to the park. The bad part is my parents peeking out of our home's second-story windows. Mom's prying eyes see everything we do at the park.

I am now five. I go to the park. Some teenagers invite me to join them. One of them hands me a cigarette and asks if I would like to smoke it.

"Sure," I say.

They think it is hysterically funny to watch a five-year-old smoke a cigarette. Over time, I enjoy it. When they offer one, I accept. I assume everything is great.

My parents disagree. They call me home and ground me for one day each time they catch me smoking. I am up to 10 days. My father pulls me aside, into the kitchen.

"Smoke this!" he commands, handing me a just-lit cigar.

I take the huge stogie and smoke it to completion. My ashtray overflows.

I think, "This is a great development. My dad hands me punishment-free cigars to smoke!"

I don't remember this next part, but my parents do. My dad alleges I asked him for another cigar. He is despondent.

That night, I received another Jimmy the Giraffe and Fuzzy-Wuzzy Bear story. They like to smoke cigarettes too! They do it even though it is not healthy.

Fuzzy-Wuzzy Bear develops a serious hack. Jimmy the Giraffe gets a horrible, sore throat. They decide to stop smoking. I join them. That night, all three of us made a tremendous decision to cease the sickening habit.

New homes continue to show up in our neighborhood. Occasionally, I gather scrap wood with my new friends to create fires. We find this very entertaining. Our parents do not. Their threats and guidance cause us to stop. At least for a while.

We evade parental discovery by lighting indoor fires on the concrete floors of garages. One time, my Mom walks in as we initiate a roaring blaze. I don't know how she found us. I remember suffering incarceration for several days at home.

I am pleased that Fuzzy-Wuzzy Bear and Jimmy the Giraffe are also playing with fire. As my dad tells the story, they start a fire and accidentally burn down a house. The fire department and police show up. It does not end well for either of them. I decide to stop starting fires.

Two weeks later, my fire-creating friends congregate in a garage and accidentally set it on fire. My parents and I are ecstatic that I am absent from this grand event. I tell my dad that Jimmy the Giraffe and Fuzzy-Wuzzy Bear must have attended.

A few years later, new neighbors move in. George and I instantly become best friends. We enjoy swimming at the park, building forts, and creating explosives with my chemistry set.

There is an alley walkway between our homes connecting our cul-de-sac to the park. George and I decide to build underground bunkers in our backyards and connect them with a tunnel underneath the walkway.

Digging commences immediately. There are no sprinkler lines in this part of the yard. Once the hole is over our heads in depth, we begin digging the tunnel to George's yard and future bunker.

My dad tells another Jimmy the Giraffe and Fuzzy-Wuzzy Bear story later that night. Miraculously, they are digging a deep hole like George and me. Their hole collapses and buries them alive. Fuzzy-Wuzzy Bear scrambles under Jimmy the Giraffe's belly. He survives there in a small air pocket.

Jimmy the Giraffe's neck is just long enough to keep his head above ground so he can breathe and scream for help. Their fathers come to their rescue and pull them out of the deep, dark, dangerous hole.

The next day, our dads fill up our hole. They tell us to go to the park and play.

As an adult, I learn life lessons from God, my wife, family, and friends. I miss my dad's stories about Jimmy the Giraffe and Fuzzy-Wuzzy Bear. I still hope to meet the two someday. We would have so much fun.

I can see us sitting around a crackling fire, in a beautiful landscaped garden with a deep swimming hole, drinking beer and smoking cigars.