Need the Whip
Spook it up time
No barrier mine
Bring on black clothes
Cover head to toes
Cloak in cape
For an escape
Hidden half face
Booted no trace
Speeding in skip
Need the whip.HIDDEN CARDINAL
Dig, dig, dig, as I look through my father’s basement workshop. I’m nine years old. It’s October. I’m looking for some rope. Rope-less, I’m out the door to the garage to check his other workshop, in my mind, toyshop. I’m glad he’s working late, since I’d never get away this otherwise. He’d be on me in less than five minutes, “What are you looking for?” There’d be that tone of warning, yet a willingness to help (on his terms).
The garage is a much better cornucopia of tools and materials. It has to be the right rope, the right thickness. I need it to be black, or make it black. It must be black. I find some braided dense rope the right thickness. It’s even the right weight. I played around until I figured out what length it should be.
Back in the house. Scissors won’t cut it. A knife won’t work. Back downstairs to the workshop. I take one of his saws, clamp one end of the rope in the vice and saw away. It’s not easy. I’m determined. My mother’s doing laundry downstairs nearby. She calls out to me to let her know if there’s anything she can help me with. I call out that I will, as I keep on sawing. What kind of rope is this? I had no idea. It sure was tough.
Rope breaks finally. I clean up and put things back the way they were. My father was obsessive about how he organized and maintained things. Anything out of place would be noticed immediately. The rest of the rope went back to the garage exactly where and how I found it.
Next issue, the rope is white. How am I going to make it black? I look around in the garage. I can’t find anything. I pause and consider. Paint! I’ll paint it. More digging, this time under the workbench, finding everything except black.
Tucked in back shadows, I find a spray can of black Tremclad undercoating. Great, black spray paint! Paint is paint, right? Rope and paint came together outside. One coat, light grey with lots of white areas throughout, not good enough. I kept at it. Isn’t spray paint supposed to dry fast? This stuff was gummy, weird paint. Never mind that, I need it to be black. I used the entire can before it transitioned to sticky black rope.
I scoop a roll of electrical tape from my father’s supplies. Handle required. I wrap one end using the entire roll. That fixed the problem of gummy under my hand. It should dry by the next day, right? I’ll be all set for tomorrow at school, Halloween costume completed with whip accessory. I don’t recall what inspired me to dress as Zorro that year, something, somewhere.OWL EYES
My father arrived home later in the evening. I didn’t give it much thought. I’d made sure everything was where it should be and cleaned up. Half an hour later, he’s at my bedroom door. I’m supposed to ask first, not just help myself. He had rope intentions for my whip rope. Tremclad spray I used is undercoating for vehicles and it’s never going to dry like paint. Something else I shouldn’t have used. These things cost money. He needed all of that stuff, no touchy, touchy of my father’s things.
I remember thinking here he goes again. I really ought to know better. I ought to know he’s not going to miss a blink. Whip it good with leather belting time, not a rope whip. Long lecture, first rate education about correct paint usage included. As I’ve said in a previous post, I’m not a rule follower when it comes to creativity. All I’m focused on is creating. All obstacles are obliterated in the process.
Did I learn anything from this? Yes and no. I learned don’t get caught. I learned that somehow my father picks up on things no matter how careful I am. I learned it’s best to ask him first as much as possible, or else suffer the consequences. I still used his tools when I wanted. I just didn’t use up things that had to be replaced without asking him. I think he realized I wasn’t going to stop with whatever I wanted to make. I’m too strong willed. He softened enough to allow me to make use of tools, as long as I was careful and treated his things with respect.
I’ve written this post for 
Hive account@galenkp’s Weekend Engagement Competition. The topic is, “Your childhood memories”.
DROPLETS
All photos taken by Nine with a Pentax digital 35mm camera and 90mm Tamron macro lens.
For those wondering why this post is muted:
galenkp chose to mute this post in retaliation, among other shady behind the scenes behaviour since I gave him the boot somewhere around two years ago. He has muted this post because I chose not to allow him to control me, give me orders, influence what I write, who to upvote, who not to upvote, whose posts to comment on, whose posts to ignore, etc.
No one controls me. I have always been and will always be captain of my own ship. Deal with it.
