Chapter 5: Scaredy Cat

Mother loved to play jokes. She was the Queen of Laughter, and I learned early on it was better to be part of the joke then to be its intended victim. In the winter of 1954-55 I was four going on five years old. My sisters, Linda and Andrea, were both going to school and I was left alone at the house with Mother. We didn’t have a TV, so the only entertainment I had was self-made, and at four years old my creativity was somewhat limited.

I was used to playing all day with Linda who is 16 months older than I. We were always looking for something fun to do, and we weren’t too shy about what it might be. One day we decided to sneak into Mother and Daddy’s bedroom (we weren’t allowed in there). Looking around, the only exciting thing we could find was the large double bed. So we climbed up and began jumping. Of course, I lost my balance and knocked their bedside lamp off onto the floor and it broke into a number of pieces.

We stopped jumping.

Silence.

So we climbed downoff the bed and attempted to put the lamp back together. We thought we did a pretty good job. The lampshade was a little low, but we thought when Mother and Daddy went to turn it on they’d think they broke it. We left the room and went downstairs to innocently play with toys in the living room.

What seemed like hours later (probably 10 minutes) Mother went upstairs. And then we heard it: “Linda! Cindy! Come up here right now.” Up we went. When we got to her room she said: “Cindy. Linda. You know you’re not supposed to be in here! And you know you’re not supposed to jump on the beds!”

Linda and I stood there, holding hands, and I said: “But you and Daddy jump on the bed ‘cause we hears you, don’t we Linda?” She stood there, very quiet, looking as if she were chewing gum and just waved us on our way. We weren’t sure why we got off so easy, but believe me we headed for the stairs as fast as we could go.

But, back to my four-year-old dilemma of being bored in the middle of winter, alone in the house all day with just Mother. I think, at first, Mother felt the need to entertain me, so she took to jumping out from behind a door and scaring me. I’d shriek, and run, and she’d chase me, and we’d both end up laughing.

Now, at the age of four I wasn’t very savvy, but I did know that mimicking was a great equalizer. So I took to hiding and scaring my mom throughout the day, every day that my sisters were at school. I got pretty creative at this job. No hiding behind doors for me! Nope. i would bury myself in the laundry basket, under clothes, and then spring up! Or I would hide in the cupboard under the sink, and sit very still until she reached under to get something then I’d touch her arm. Quiet scares are the best. She hated mice, so a soft touch was always a winner.

Really pulling off a good scare takes practice. That winter I perfected my approach, learning all about timing, awareness, and knowing where the victim is vulnerable.

Learning the tricks of the trade early in life has kept day to day living eventful. I’d go on to learn many a bad habit from my Mother, including how to play excellent practical jokes, but much of my trickster nature came from that cold winter, alone with Mother, who had decided the best way to keep her littlest girl happy was to scare the hell out of her.

Today, as I was writing up this memory, I thought how I’d matured (now being 75). But then I remembered, that this morning when I went down to breakfast (we’re staying at a hotel that has a morning buffet) I walked up to the host who seats me every morning. He is a very classy guy. He was so intent on something he was reading that, you know, I couldn’t help myself so I jumped around the corner and said “boo!”  And boy did he jump!

Scaredy Cat.