I had not thought about Sharon Hawkins with any kind of seriousness for years.
She briefly crossed my mind in 2013 when I reached out to Jennings-ites in a quest to find my niece Amy. One of the people who responded turned out to be Sharon’s brother’s widow or ex-wife, I can’t recall which. Hearing from her got me thinking about my childhood years, when Jeff Hawkins and my little brother Steve stopped at nothing to annoy Sharon and me.
Their antics drove us crazy. They were four or five years younger than us and willing to go to any lengths to make us mad. They succeeded. We would sit under the tree in my yard, and they would cavort in the driveway, sometimes throwing pebbles at us. Stop it! we would cry, and if the stones came close enough, we’d scamper inside to tell whichever big sister had been given baby-sitting duty that day.
My sister Adrienne finally told us that we should ignore them. That summer had been long, hot and dry. No one had air conditioning. We got some relief by hooking the round, green sprinkler to the hose and running through the water. Jeff, Steve, and my brother Frank would do this for a longer time than Sharon and I. We had nearly reached the years when we disdained such antics and worked instead on looking chic and cool, and conspiring to get invited to swim in the Edicks’ pool.
The Edicks fascinated us. Their father owned a night club and they had built a swimming pool on the strength of what our parents speculated were ill-gotten gains. Gambling, maybe. But nobody else in the neighborhood had the kind of luxury that the Edicks boasted. Getting invited to their house became an obsession for us.
Most of the time, though, we sought solace under the oak tree and scolded the little boys.
When Adrienne told us to ignore them, her advice seemed sound. But they retaliated by having more fun than we thought possible in the late days of July, when the grass had long since died and the yard grew too dusty for sprinkler activity. We watched them organize a softball game in the Hawkins’ yard, with wild rules involving assorted sports equipment. They made a tent of our old swing set, and drove the red wagon at breakneck speed down the driveway and through the back gate. They didn’t seem to care that we had decided to ignore them.
Finally, we couldn’t stand it any more. We stood at the top of the yard, hands on our hips, and shouted down at them, We’re ignoring you!!! Sharon tossed back her blond hair and and stomped her foot.
The boys fell out laughing.
That image rose in my mind this morning as I discovered that I had been injured anew by a wrong someone has done to me. I closed my eyes and thought about writing the person an e-mail. You are so annoying! I would say. How could you be so stupid?? So careless?? So mean —-
And then I realized that all of that would be complaining!!! Oh krikes! How inconvenient this blog can be sometimes!!!! I stomped my foot and tossed my head in frustration. I know what I’ll do, I finally thought. I’ll write to this person and let them know that I am NOT GOING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT THIS NEW INSULT!!!
Na-na-na-na-boo-boo! I am ignoring you!
I’m still laughing.