Big Brothers and Wild Rides

I looked at the latest piece of junk my brother Doug had lugged home, an ancient perambulator. It was rusty, mildewed, and had pine needles in the area where the baby was supposed to lay. The handle was missing the grip and the plastic wheels were cracked. He pushed it back and forth, making a squealing sound.

“Isn’t it great?” he asked. He pushed the bed down and water squelched out of the waterlogged cushions.

In the iconic movie Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Mark “Rat” Ratner…one of the main characters …provides a voiceover. He explains that in high school, everyone has an adviser. His adviser is his shifty best friend Mike Damone who famously provides him with his “five point plan” for meeting and dating girls. Rat seeks out Damone’s counsel on everything, usually with very poor results.

Growing up, my adviser was my older brother Doug. When I was 11…in sixth grade…he was 15, a sophomore in High School. Like Rat, I believed everything he told me. So if he thought the perambulator was cool, then it must be cool.

The perambulator found a home outside next to the trash containers and over the next several days Doug put it into use in a variety of ways. It carried lawn clippings to the back of our property. He filled it with GI Joes and it became a mobile command center. He picked up our wiggling and uncooperative dog and pushed her around in it. She stood, balancing unsteadily, looking very unhappy.

A week later, my friend Kirk and I were putting gas into our minibikes when Doug came into the garage. “Hey, I have a great idea,” he said. I put the lid on the gas tank and set the gas can down. “Yeah? What?”

“How about you get in the baby buggy? I’ll tow you on my minibike.”

A faint alarm bell went off in the tiny area of my brain that housed good sense, but it did sound like fun. Dangerous, but fun. And since Doug had thought it up, it must be OK. I hesitated.

Doug pressed. “Look, I just want to see if it works. If it does, we can charge the other kids for rides.”

The prospect of making money towing other kids around did sound appealing. Kirk nodded in agreement…it was suddenly two against one. What the heck, OK.

Fifteen minutes later, Doug helped my into the perambulator in front of eight other interested neighborhood kids. I was wearing my minibike helmet and some gardening gloves. As I settled, the springs squealed and I sank absurdly low; I could barely see over the edge. The basket was almost touching the ground. It was designed for a ten-lb baby, not a 80-lb kid.

He tied one end of a 100-foot nylon rope to the handle of the perambulator and the other end to the back of his minibike. He slowly inched forward, until the rope was taut. “Ready?” he called. I gave a thumbs up. The other kids watched.

The road we were on was about a quarter-mile long and ended in a cul-de-sac. We started at about the halfway point. He began very slowly, maybe 5 mph, but even at that speed, everything groaned and squealed. I began to think maybe my initial instincts had been right and this wasn’t such a good idea. He gradually increased the speed to about 10 mph until we reached the cul-de-sac.

We slowly turned and started back. He yelled over his shoulder. “OK, I’m gonna go full speed past everybody. We wanna show them how much fun it is.” Oh, great.

We picked up speed until we were racing along at about 25 mph, the perambulator rocking and swaying crazily. I gripped the edges tightly with my gloves. My helmet had slipped down so I couldn’t see anything, but I couldn’t release my grip to fix it. Just as we were approaching the other kids, disaster struck.

All four wheels came off the axles and the frame disintegrated. There was a loud snap as the springs were released, and the remainder of the perambulator fell to the road. My rear end hit the pavement, hard; I saw stars and shooting pains went up my back. I fell out and rolled over and over on the pavement until I came to a stop, face down.

Doug felt he was no longer pulling an 80-lb weight and looked over his shoulder. He circled back as I slowly picked myself up. I don’t think there was a place that didn’t hurt and my shirt and jeans were torn and bloody. The other kids stared. “Are you OK?” he asked in concern. I was conscious and standing, so I nodded. He scooted forward, I sat behind him and we headed for home, still dragging the rope.

The whole episode was an epic fail on many levels. I hurt for weeks; we didn’t get rich with our ride business; and worst, my faith in my adviser was shaken.

Just as Damone let Rat down at a critical time in Fast Times, so I felt Doug had led me astray. I didn’t ask his advice on anything for several weeks. But just as Rat and Damone mended their fences, so did Doug and I. Nothing more was ever said about Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, as it came to be known…but I think on some level we understood the gravity of my faith in him and his responsibility to provide sage guidance in loco parentis.

Because as I moved through the various chapters in my life…my teen years, college, my first few years as a husband, my career…my adviser continued to be there for me as a sounding board, dispensing sound advice. My big brother was my oracle.

I hope he knows he still is 🙂