Growing Up in the Nation’s Capital

In our neighborhood, kids often engaged in devious little deeds to have fun. Although most of the things we did together in the summer were harmless, a few came close to being downright dangerous. Our neighborhood was far away from where Gallaudet University stands today. In my childhood, it was a vast area of trees and thick brush known as Patterson Woods. We would go into those woods to hike, discover the wonders of nature and play. We often went into the woods to escape the summer heat. It was also off of the beaten path and well hidden from the prying eyes of parents. If you are at all familiar with our Nation’s Capital, you know that this historic, culturally rich and beautiful city is sizzling hot and humid in the summertime. We were out of school for three months and we spent much of our time in Patterson Woods because it provided us with dense cover and shade from the heat. It had rich, lush underbrush, and since we often played in the woods to cool off, we had worn a good path through it. We liked to observe the birds, small animals and insects there. Despite the cover of trees, we could still feel the heat rise, even early in the morning. We spent hours on end in that shady, wooded area. We would walk from our neighborhood, always passing through Patterson Woods and continuing up to McKinley Technology High School for free swimming lessons at the school every morning. After a few years most of us had learned how to swim, but we must have continued going to free lessons at the swimming pool mostly to cool off from the heat. We just loved the delightful hours our little group spent together, particularly the adventurous trips through Patterson Woods. We took that happy trek for years when I was young. When I think about it today, I can still see us, at least ten to twelve kids in all, following the paths, pushing and shoving each other, playing with sticks and throwing stones. We took turns hiding from one another and pretending to be lost. We jumped out from behind trees and scared each other. We explored life and had great fun. We were there together, we were friends and we were free. We were a happy bunch, our little gang, we really were. Patterson Woods was not close to our home, but we never noticed. We were bent on enjoying the sheer pleasure of our treasure hunts, explorations and discovering many of the creatures in nature. One incident occurred when we were where walking through Patterson Woods. For years everyone had heard many dark and mysterious legends about Farmer Brown’s place located deep within the woods. We knew that the owners grew crops and did some farm work on their land. We also knew that there were lots of animals on their farm. Our parents knew that it was private property and warned us not to trespass. Of course they told us not to go there, but that’s what parents do. They tell you what not to do. They repeatedly warned us to stay away and not to bother “the good people” on that farm. But we were best buddies, ranging in age from 6 to around 13 years old, and we all had vivid imaginations. What did they expect us to do? You can surely understand that we children somehow had a different viewpoint of what not to do than our parents did. The things we were convinced we should be doing were worlds apart from their ideas. We saw no valid reason not to “sally forth,” just like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, into a world of unbridled adventure waiting for us out there. We could see no harm in going to Farmer Brown’s place, especially if we were armed--and we were. We were all so courageous and the bravest among us (the boys) vowed to protect the weakest and most cowardly (me). What could possibly happen to innocent little children? With that in mind, we conceived our game plan. We would go to Farmer Brown’s and see his animals. But just in case there was any danger, we armed ourselves with our own handmade bows and arrows (just like brave warriors did when they embarked on their grandiose, unimaginable feats.) We were ready for anything or, as my four-year-old grandson would say, we were “superheroes with wings.” If any of those fierce animals wanted to come after us, each child carried a weapon made by his own little hand. With this protection, we could confront any dangerous beast and “double-dare” him to attack us. Our bows and arrows would surely protect us, we just knew they would. What could happen to us? We were invincible, we were untouchable! We were kids! So as we stealthily approached, still playing and jostling each other, we came to that dreaded clearing. The birds stopped chirping and the squirrels ceased their constant chatter. The air went deathly still. The silence was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The path in the woods opened up into a vast field. Lo and behold, standing right there before us for all to see was the infamous Farmer Brown’s place. What we heard was right. There were animals on that farm--chickens, a few cows, some sheep and lots of pigs. We could hear them making their farm noises; you know, the usual “baaaas,” “moos” and “oinks.” And we could smell them too. Well, seeing that farm and those animals must have drained some of the bravery and spitfire right out of our little gang. The boys moved forward in a cautious, united front, their arrows drawn back in their makeshift bows. They very quietly approached the pigs. Someone got up enough nerve to shout, “fire!” The boys let their arrows fly in the direction of the pigs. Not one of them was close enough to hit any animals, but the pigs let out their shrillest of cries. They seemed to be saying, “I don’t believe this. I dare you to do that again,” or something to the tune of, “Are you crazy?” The boys who didn’t shoot the first time let their arrows fly, but they didn’t get much closer than the first ones. The pigs shrieked, again and again, only louder this time. The boys stood there in awe looking at the fat pigs. The frightened pigs stared back, shrieking over and over and louder and louder. Suddenly Farmer Brown appeared in the distance. He must have been ten feet tall, and it looked like he had his own weapon in his hands. He was very angry, and he was shouting at us to get off of his property. We all turned and ran back into the woods as fast we could until we were out of breath. All I remember is that I ran so fast that I went directly into panic mode. My eyes clamped shut and my mouth flew wide open while I screamed hysterically at the top of my voice, “Waaaaa!” Then we all heard it! BANG! Farmer Brown had fired his shotgun at us. He had fired a round of buckshot at us! Unbelievable! He didn’t shoot anyone. He probably didn’t want to hurt us. He was only trying to scare us and it worked. We ran deeper into the woods until we were out of Farmer Brown’s sight. Then we sat down in the shade and laughed and laughed. I didn’t laugh. It was difficult to laugh because I was still crying too hard. Each of the kids gleefully recounted the adventure, all while loudly bragging about how brave he was. They teased those among us who had been frightened by the ordeal, taunted those who weren’t very brave and they showed no mercy on those of us who were still afraid. Then suddenly, an air of conspiracy and serious secrecy developed. As if on cue, every one of them stopped talking. Remembering that I was the biggest, unabashed tattletale in the world, they turned towards me and said in unison, “Shhhhhhh, don’t tell Mother.” To tell Mother would mean that we would all be punished, and on that day, I had already been punished enough. Besides, I don’t know if it was the pigs or Farmer Brown that scared me the most. And I didn’t mention it-- not to anyone. It’s a shame that our wonderful childhood memory couldn’t be revealed until now. Such a shame!