Friday Flashback: He Ain’t Heavy* . . .

June 17, 2005
I’ve decided to dedicate yet another Friday Flashback to a family member – partially because I couldn’t think of any other stories (except for two which are kind of on the serious side – and I didn’t know if I was ready to write them yet).

He will answer to Boo. J Money. J Dog. The Boy. Jimbob. Jimbabwe. Boo, James Boo. Smith. And of course the ever popular Jimbo. Although when he introduces himself to people, he says Jim (because Jimbo is just soooooo gauche!)

I met him in the fall of ’79 – I was four at the time. I remember thinking – “Hmpf – he’s okay, I guess..”

Anywho – our official “friendship” didn’t begin until the summer that we made the infamous “pact.”

We were jumping on our trampoline- I was 11 and he was 8. He got double-bouced and the word “shit” flew from his elementary little mouth. Now – you know what siblings do, don’t you? One will hear another one curse and then hold it over the “cussers” head for as long as possible – sometimes demanding slavery and other favors – “or I’ll tell Daddy!”

But that day was different. Instead, we made the pact.

“From this day forward, we will cuss as much as we want and we will NEVER tell on each other!”

And so it was. We’ve been the best of friends ever since.

There are several funny stories about the old J$. The time that he ruined the electronic scale in the tub because he “wanted to see what he weighed underwater.” The time he snuck into the van, punched in the cigarette lighter, and then, when it was burning bright orange, stuck his finger right into it because he wanted “an ET finger.” The time he tried to “move Daddy’s truck” (which was a standard) when he was about 9 years old, so he could play basketball. Well – as soon as he put his foot on the gas and attempted to put it in gear, the truck “hopped forward” right into the goal and it timbered like a tree.

But the funniest of all these is an incident that only happened about 4 years ago. And for that one – I’ll go into more detail.

My sister and I were staying at my Granny’s (she and PawPaw were out of town) and Jimbo was down the street at my dad’s (they were also out of town).

Well – just as my sister and I were turning in for the night (about 1 am) we were startled by a rattling on the bedroom window and a man screaming “EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY!” (much like the way Dustin Hoffman screams “ELAINE” in The Graduate). I cautiously peeped through the blinds and saw that it was the boy.

“OPEN THE GARAGE!”

So my sis and I run to the front of the house and fly out the door into the garage. We see his fists banging on those top garage windows – still screaming EMERGENCY like Hoffman’s Benjamin.

He races under the half-open garage door and into the house – clutching his right (or was it left?) hand that’s wrapped in a bloody towel.

“WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO YOURSELF, BOY???!!!???”

“Shot myself . . . gotta go the ER,” he mumbles – then turns on the sink faucet and places his bloody hand underneath.

At this point, my sister and I are freaking out. He SHOT himself? What the hell?

Well – as it turns out – Jimbo is quite a lover of history –especially military history. So, whilst my dad and Sara were out of town, he decided to have some sort of war filmfest all by himself. He had just watched “Glory” and wandered into the back for some reason – when he saw something shiny as he was passing the spare room.

It was our stepbrother Matt’s old BB gun.

Yes, I said BB gun.

So he, of course, goes right to it and begins playing around with it (being in that war mind-set and all.) He pumps the handle a bunch of times, fires it, and nothing comes out –just a puff of air.

So he thinks “Wow – I wonder how strong that puff of air is?”

Now, he hears BBs rattling around in the gun, but since nothing came out on that first shot . . .

Well – he pumps the handle about a hundred times, sticks his index finger over the barrel of the gun, fires, and promptly shoots a BB into his finger. His fingernail stops the BB from coming out on the other side. (OUCH!)

This of course, starts the panic process, which leads him to run down the street like a jackass and bang on our windows.

We calmly take him to the hospital where he is immediately ridiculed by the majority of the ER.
The doctor who removed the bb said (verbatim) “What in the fuck did you shoot yourself in the finger for?”

All throughout the ER we watched nurses and doctors walking by, talking, pointing to their index fingers and laughing. The place was abuzz with the boy’s folly.

Did I mention he was 22 at the time?

Anyway – the incident will be forever known as “Boo’s BB Bobo.”

He’s probably going to kill me for telling all of this – but he should be honored to have his own entry.

Aren’t ya, BB Brain?

(This photo was taken at Christmas 2002. That was his one and only “beard experiment.” I think it looks pretty good.)

* Actually, he was rather heavy in 2000, but he’s slimmed down quite a bit since then.

10:02 a.m. ::
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