Topic: Kirmser Sunday
When Jamie and I were boys playing and scrambling through the neighborhood, it was Our Boy Kirmser who was the one to get hurt. Whether it was getting his leg sliced open while scooting past an airconditioning unit with a jagged edge or having his foot sliced open on an errant can lid, it seemed that Jamie was always firmly situated in the path of harm.
Sometimes (the blogger admits with shame), I was responsible. For instance...
Jamie and I often snuck into the old Arlington Stadium usually during off-season or when there wasn't a game going on. After all, it wasn't about sneaking into a game. It was about access to this huge structure. The security was awful, so you could easily slip in and wander all through the place, visiting the dugouts and player locker rooms. In retrospect, it is shocking to me how much access we had.
One day we found some stray cats in the deep underbelly of the stadium. Jamie had picked one up, but she was antsy and wanted away. So I made a recommendation to the K-man.
"Why don't you hold her legs under your arms? That way she can't get away."
Jamie followed my guidance at once. And it worked. The cat's movement was restricted. I felt pretty good about myself until...
The cat bit the livin' ghee out of his arm and leaped to freedom.
Upon returning home to consult with his mother, there was much discussion about the risk of rabies, distemper and other nefarious illnesses the cat likely exposed him to (e.g. Scurvy and Syphillis). Fifty shots, people kept saying. Fifty shots in the belly. That's what Jamie will have to have.
"Why in the world were you holding a stray cat to begin with?" the question was eventually asked.
"Aron told me to."
From that point on, I made myself scarce at the Kirmser household until such time as the issue of Jamie's rabidity could be resolved.