Lesson 3: Look Before You Leap

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     "Let me see your cleats" demands the referee striding into rows of uniformed boys stretching on the field before our first game of the season.

"Me?" I squeak, already anxious to about to be playing varsity football at Bound Brook High School.

"Yeah you" he scowls with hands on hips, "where'd you get those dinosaurs?"

"My brother" I blurt, unlacing one of the ratty old black leather high tops and handing it up to him.

"Whewee, I ain't seen one inch spikes since they were banned in sixty-five" he exclaims. "Who's your brother?"

"Blaine Reed" I reply, looking over to the cinder track to see if he's watching and not finding him.

"I'll be damned, Little Bleeds" he gushes, shaking his head back and forth. "I hope you can hit like him, but it won't be in these old beauties."

__________

     It's not the first time someone has called me that. My mother had a yard of flowers at our house in Downs Manor, one of the later LaMonte subdivisions. First out in the spring were the roses-of-Sharon that she called rosaharn in her West Virginia lilt. The light green buds made great pellets for pelting sisters from behind the bushes planted at intervals around the split level starter house. Remaining buds unfurled into white or lavender whirls much loved by bumble bees and Reed kids.

"Betcha can't catch one" challenged Beat, daring Beulah and me to crimp the petals around a fat black and yellow bee.

"Let's hit her with our bee bombs" whispered Beulah as we took off after our big sister waving the buzzing buds, "but don't forget to run after throwing or it'll get you."

     The last flowers out in the fall would be the chrysanthemums. Pinching a tight green ball of a bud between thumb and finger unfurled a tiny burst of burgundy or orange. The survivors became soft knobs emitting the bittersweet scent of Indian summer.
     In between the rosaharns and mums came the real roses. Their tapered flower tops hid deep colors soon revealed as crimson, flame, or white by unpeeling the green outer petals. Our mom didn't trim the bushes so their tendrils arched outward, hanging with fragrant bunches that called in the Japanese beetles.

"You can crunch em like this" explained Beulah, showing me how to pinch the brown and green shells. "Mom'll give you a penny for each one."

"Ok" I lied, instead launching a handful of the scratching things up into the air when she wasn't looking.

"A petal will pop if you hit it like this" demonstrated Beat, placing one over a circle made by her thumb and index finger and slapping it with her other palm.

     My favorite flower game, to the chagrin of the gardener, was leap rose.

"Third try for a new world record" I huffed while pacing in front of the orange rose bush.

My spindly five-year-old legs had just false started twice at emulating the long strides, flying jump, and two foot landing I'd seen Ralph Boston use to win the long jump in the 1964 summer Olympics. A big black bird flapped up from the carport roof as I sped toward the unruly bush and leapt, sending petals and a red sneaker flying before tumbling down with thorn-ripped pants.

"Way to go Little Bleeds" cheered a neighbor guy walking past the yard, "just like your brother the linebacker."

__________

     "Never leave your feet" shouts Coach Righetti from the sideline as I'm getting up after trying to leap a blocker and getting tumbled over him, completely missing the tackle.

I slink back to the defensive huddle in my borrowed white spikes, barely hear the formation, and move to my position as outside linebacker.

"Let's go Weeds" yells Mazurk from his defensive end position in front of me. "Stop em here and we'll take over this game."

The Bernardsville offense runs a sweep our way with three players leading for the ball carrier. I try to scramble through to get to the runner but get swamped under the pulling guard, flanker, and fullback as their halfback scoots past and is gone down the sideline for a touchdown.

"Well Little Bleeds" scowls the coach as I trudge to the sideline holding one too big shoe lost in the kerfuffle, "as a linebacker you'll make a pretty good member of the kickoff team."