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Here is the coke can story from my childhood: My grandfather was a liquor salesman and would supply us with many neat advertising items, one being a heavy metal can given out by the Coca Cola company as a gimmick to advertise their product. The can was approximately 18 inches across, 24 inches deep and was used by our family as a cooler to stock drinks on picnics and BBQs. From the time I was about three, I used it as a personal cooling device, filling it with cold water during the hottest and worst days of summer. I would dunk and splash much like a bird in a bath. One horribly hot afternoon when I was six, I filled the can from the hose and prepared for some refreshing summer fun. Not realizing that I had had a growth spurt over the preceding year, I climbed in butt first and squished down into the water. It squirted up from the sides around my rump and when I tried to move I was stuck tight. The more I squirmed the tighter I got. I began to panic, knocking myself over and rolling down the little hill toward the Willow whose trunk kept me from rolling into the creek. I was terror stricken and began to scream so loudly that it roused the attention of my family...bringing my brother, sister, Nana, mother and even my father from his work in the garage. They all stood gawking at the spectacle. My wet strands of red hair wriggled like Medusa and my arms and legs were waving around like tentacles from some marine animal that was squeezing back into her den. Brother and sister immediately began convulsing with laughter, holding their sides, tears streaming down their cheeks. Nana's ample bosom was heaving up and down and my mother simply stood with her mouth a gape. Then I heard the sound of my father over my own squalling..."Oh for Christ's sake..."he bellowed out. In three giant leaps he covered the yellowing lawn and yelled at my brother to come hold my arms while he took hold of the bottom of the can. He began to pull, but the suction was too great and they could not budge me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my sister rolling on the ground. Nana had lit a cigarette and sat on the porch exhaling smoke rings. Mom sat by me commanding me to stop screaming. I managed to calm myself some and heard my father say with exasperation, "Well I just don't know..." as he walked away shaking his head. He returned with a hammer and screwdriver and began punching holes in the bottom of the can with Mom telling him to be careful not to punch my bottom. "Punch it!" he yelled, "I'm gonna paddle it if I can get it out of here!" Of course he DID get it out and I did NOT get a paddlin'. But I did have to live for years with the torture and torment at the recounting of that mortifying moment at every family gathering.

By: bobobonehead - The Nikon is in the shop. Waaaa! Copyright © All Rights Reserved

Taken: May 5, 2010
Uploaded: July 7, 2010

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