Until I was about 16 my little brother and I shared a bedroom. We had a vintage set of bunk beds, a couple of toy chests with ninja turtles painted on the top, and a dresser that could have turned some heads at the Antique Road Show. Truth is, it was our own little paradise. One of my favorite memories was sliding face first off the top bunk, slamming into the ground, and then climbing up the end of the bed as fast as we could and repeating the process until either our heads collided with each other instead of the floor, or we were simply too tired to climb. More often than not our little game wouldn't start until after we were told to go to bed so the sound of us slamming into the ground head first, or the light remaining on when it was supposed to be off, would often wake up my parents. When we heard my parent's bedroom door open we would quickly kill the light and jump into bed like we'd been sound asleep. 90% of the time it was our mom who came to dish out the discipline, given away by the sound of her slippers on the carpet. But every now and then the hallway floor would creek, which could only mean one thing. Dad was coming. Rather than assuming a normal sleeping position, when dad was coming, we'd each bury ourselves completely under the covers, face the wall, and attempt to lay completely still and hold our breath. I remember one time we both managed to crawl under the bottom bunk because it felt safer there. HAHA! So many great memories!
One of my other favorite memories of Russ was nearly ritualistic. We used to take vacuum cleaner extension poles, put on karate outfits, and pretend we were ninja turtles. Rather than fighting the bad guys though, we'd fight each other. These little battles of ours never lasted as long as we wanted them too because without fail one of us would hit the other one in the head causing a "one-up" game of retaliation and intimidation. Almost immediately the person hit in the head would trade in his vacuum cleaner poles for a pool cue and start screaming something like, "THAT'S RIGHT PUNK... YOU WANT SOME OF THIS... I'M FREEKIN CRAZY!" This caused the "about to be jacked with a pool cue" fighter to look for a slightly more intimidating weapon. Usually the only option was a pool ball but since the area around the pool table was protected by "freekin crazy," the only other option was to retreat upstairs. Although I can recall atleast one time that a metal baseball bat made it into the mix.
These are the memories that I look back at and can't help but laugh out loud. Russ has come a long way since the days of hiding under the bed from my dad and threatening to beat me with a pool cue. Congratualtions again on finding an amazing girl to spend the rest of your life with! NOW FIND ME ONE PUNK! HA!
