100 Things About Me #85: I've been shot at.


When I was younger and my mom was still married to The Psycho, we spent alot of time being shuffled around from one place to live to another. Mostly because it was one way that he (The Psycho, that's really mean..I should quit calling him that) could keep control, by telling us where we could or couldn't live.

One of the places we used to live was a little rinky-dink town in Eastern Oregon called Stanfield, in fact, if you were to visit that lovely peice of smoking donkey poo town today, you could drive past the house I used to live in next to the city park. According to my grapevine sources, the house is still owned by T.P., or possibly T.P's parents. (Sold to them on a whim to get them to pay his overdue child support, no doubt.)


Please note that I call him 'The Psycho' not because I harbor undelt with anger towards the man - oh no - I call him that because he is. And I have the manifestos to prove it.


Anyway, it was summer during one of our 'move backs' to Stanfield, and I was like 10 and out in the park nextdoor to our house (Right next door too, our property lines met.) playing baseball with a bunch of my friends. It was actually a really fun summer, a good summer because T.P. was gone somwhere. Mushroom picking? Fishing? I don't remember, but I remember for a good bout of almost six weeks he wasn't there, and I reveled in it. When he was gone, it ment I could be a real kid, and not just someones slave or someone trying to hide out in my room to avoid having to deal with him.


But that summer, yeah..I remember, there was a whole gang of us, anywhere from five to nine of us at any time. I usally ended up being the only girl though, which was frustrating most of the time, but I didn't mind hanging out with 'the guys'. (I always end up with more guy friends then girls..what is that?) We split our time up between bad monster movies, swimming in the river, and attempting to convince each other that we were each the best damn hitters that ever lived in this dumpy town. I, was not a hitter, in fact I'm ashamed to say I was one of those kids who flinched every time a pitch was thrown. I had good reason however, I was always getting smacked with the ball. So, in a vain attempt to thwart bruises, I learned to live my life as a fielder. A very very very far outfielder fielder, as far away from the ball as I could get. It didn't work, but it was good logic on my part. I guess.


It was a really sunny day, and there were about six or seven of us and we were standing in a group arguing over something. Who was out, who wasn't, I don't remember exactly. (I'm sure whatever it was it held the fate of our game in the balance. You know how kids are.) And the park was always full of other people, usally people playing basketball or picknicking under this huge oak next to the swings, so there was always cars going by and people yelling to each other and what not. I don't ever remember feeling unsafe or uncomfortable, I (and everyone else) had lived in that town off and on for so long that I don't think any of us were really worried about anything bad happening to us. Kids don't worry about that stuff most of the time anyway, what they're doing today is more important that what could happen.


So, anyway, with all the people and cars we didn't pay attention to the blue pick-up that was going around and around the park, in fact, we didn't notice it at all. It was someone else not even involved with us who had. Standing there listening to the guys argue back and forth about stupid bases, I was getting pretty bored, and I remember looking up just in time to hear a loud 'pop' and watch someone in this pick-up that was driving by pull something in his passinger side window and speed away.


Scared the shit out of us, let me tell you.


I remember my mom, and Stephen's (Who was pitching I think) mom who lived across the street running out and asking if that was backfire. It sounded too loud to be backfire.


Whoah, I'm thinking....he shot at us!


So, some of the others piped up...they had seen the guy pull a gun in his window too. The cops were called...I don't remember talking to them, but I might have. I remember someone saying they felt something go past their face, I don't remember who that was either.


Nobody was hurt, and I don't know if they ever found the guys who did it, or if they ever had any more problems like that in the park. I do remember that it was a while before my mom would let us go galavanting around town again that summer. I don't think it dramaticly changed my views on the world, or on childhood, or on summer. It didn't traumatize me to the point I couldn't function like a normal kid. I remember lots more of that summer, and it all included alot of laughing. It just turned into one more story I've got in my big bag of stories.


I do remember being oddly mystified in that one instant though. Hell, we were just playing baseball, what would anyone shoot at us for?