What do you do when a pitchfork-wielding man chases you for stealing pears? If you’re 10, you run—pear bag in hand—and hope your dad doesn’t find out.
What would you do if you were 10 years old and some adult was chasing you with a pitchfork screaming at you? This happened to me. I did this guy had a wonderful pear tree. It was August and the peers were ripe. My friend Mickey and I would sneak up to his property and stare at the Paris. If they were a pair or two on the ground, we make a dash for it grab it and run. This day Nikki and I laid on the ground near a blackberry, bush and starred at the pear tree 50 feet away. I had a small burlap bag with me as Mickey. We were going to grab as many pairs as possible and then take them to a local bodega and sell them to the owner. The owner of a pear tree and several others, and his yard was an older man. On your 10 years old everybody looks old. He did have white hair. And that made him old in our eyes. He was outside working on his grapevines. They were closer to his house. His back was turned into the pear tree. I turned to Mickey and said, “let’s go.”
Mickey shook his head. He said, “we’ll get caught.”
“no way. His back is turned he won’t even hear us,” I replied. I know sooner spoke, and I was up and running toward the tree. I wasn’t taking Paris off the ground. I was picking the premium pairs off of this tree. My burlap bag was half full when I heard a stream of words only my dad would say when he was angry. I looked to the grapevine, and the old man had a pitchfork in his hand and was running toward me. I took off for the rear of his property. There was a ledge that dropped 4 feet. I I cradle the bag that contained my fortune and jumped. I pressed myself against the side of that drop. I looked up and I could see the man above me staring further down the hill. He didn’t see me, but he was shaking his pitchfork letting me know that if he caught me, I would be sitting on the end of it. My heart was beating so loud I thought he may have heard it. He left. I waited a good 10 minutes and then made my way back up over the edge of the drop. He was no longer outside and I raced for the blackberry bushes and my escape route. Mickey was nowhere to be seen.
I did sell my pears at the local bodega. I only got a couple bucks. But that was a lot for a kid 10 years old. Once they had the money, I’d have to figure out how to tell my mom and dad how I got it because they would find out that I had an extra couple bucks.
before I could tell them, my dad calls me in the living room and says where’d you get the pairs that you sold at the bodega? How did he know? I waited for his belt to come off. I knew I was going to get several wax across my butt. It wouldn’t have been the first time. I must’ve been a slow learner. But my dad said, “I love peas that my favorite fruit you should’ve brought them home.” some years later I realized I was more like my dad than I imagined.
