The Apocryphal Penguin

In response to this post, Mrsfabp mentioned that I was getting nostalgic in my blogging and asked me to write about an experience I had as a very young child. In the interest of full disclosure, this story is possibly apocryphal. Wikipedia defines the term apocrypha as a word “used with various meanings, including "hidden", "esoteric", "spurious", "of questionable authenticity", and "Christian texts that are not canonical". So in essence what I am saying is that this story is handed down in my family as history, canon, with no one to actually be able to verify its veracity. I will relate it and several other stories under the “Apocryphal Penguin” heading as such, making no claims that they are 100% accurate. If any of my siblings read this and make comments / corrections/ or have different memories, I will share them too. And so now without further ado:

The Trike and Stoop Challenge

When I was very young, we lived one block from where I spent most of my growing up years. Actually it was about 300 feet as the two different backyards connected with each other. This house, typical for the Queens neighborhood (think Archie Bunker) had both a front stoop and a back stoop. For those who might not know, stoop is New Yorkese for a set of stairs leading up to or down from a door. The one on the front of the house was brick. The one on the back into the yard was wood.

Now as story is told in my family, I was riding a tricycle around the house and for some reason decided to ride out the back door into the yard. Unfortunately at age 3-4 my grasp of physics and gravity was not good and I plunged down the stairs into the back yard. Shaken up but not deterred, I continued the ride on the back patio. Again for full disclosure purposes, I do not remember this trike or that fall. I do remember the house and the two stoops, the back yard, and have some vague memories of living there, but very vague. It was not the first time I fell flat on my ass, nor would it be the last either.

Our dog Blackie

Also around this same time, we had a dog, a mutt named I believe “Blackie”. He was small, wiry, hyper and all black. Again, I do not remember him at all and most of the things I will tell you are from verbal history passed down through the family. Is it true? Who knows? Exaggerated? Probably, but it is still family history none the less. My father and grandmother always insisted that he was a very smart dog, you know, the kind that did tricks and such. I can remember seeing some old home movies where he would roll over or sit motionless on a kitchen chair as it was lofted over my dad’s and uncle’s head. But then the dog did a not so smart thing, he bit me. Again I don’t remember this at all. You might think I would have held this trauma memory forever but no, I’ve got nothing. Anyway, I understand that my parent’s reaction was quick and decisive, Blackie was sent to “the farm’ the next day. Years later my grandmother continued to say he went to “the farm”, a euphemism for “being put down” a euphemism for the ultimate punishment, but again no memories of this except for a few frames in some old home movies.

More stories in a later blog entry...