Alice Is On Fire

August 1961, Rory is 5, I'm 7 and it's 96 degrees. We have shorts, tee-shirts and sneakers on. Mom couldn't take the heat in our airless apartment and dragged the three of us over to Central Park. We start racing ahead down the path to the Alice in Wonderland statute after my father yells, "Who's King of the Mountain?" In a side glance I catch Mom muttering, "Shit Head," towards Dad.

Rory and I get there at the same time and jump on. To pull ourselves up, I grab the Mad Hatter's Hat and Rory hangs on to the Rabbit's ear. We scream simultaneously, "Ouch!!!!!" Our hands are on fire, our shins are cooking and the only way to get down is to use our hands and knees to shimmy backwards across the scorching toadstools.  I think Rory's hands were beginning to smoke. He's down runs to Mom, she says "Nice job, Bob," to my father, and I run over to Sailboat Lake to put my thumping hands in the water.

If you like my work check out my memoir, "I Hate the Dallas Cowboys - tales of a scrappy New York boyhood." Available at Logos Book Store or online at Amazon or Barnes & Noble.

The book has 103 Amazon five star reviews out of 103 total reviews posted. We're pitching a perfect game.

My old world echoes TV's "The Wonder Years" ~ just add taverns, subways and Checker cabs