Ellen, Flowers and Cans

I’m about six years old and Wes, Laurie, and the Tobins have a fun plan. They pick a handful of flowers and give them to me, and talk me into bringing them two houses over where five year old Ellen Howland lives. I am supposed to give her the flowers and tell her that I love her. Although I am rather intimidated about performing this assignment, I am more intimidated about the consequences of NOT carrying out the big kids instructions. They are semi-hiding behind Nana’a house watching as I knock on the door. Ellen does come out and I do give her the flowers, but didn’t carry out the remainder of the instructions. The big kids were quite pleased with themselves anyway, and are proud of how funny and tricky they are.

I’m about nine years old and have played little league baseball for a full season. I am in the back yard tossing a can in the air and catching it, just for practice. Ellen is swinging on our tire swing and watching me from about twenty feet away. As she swings side-to-side back-and-forth, she decides that I wouldn’t be able to hit her with the can – so she challenges me to try. So I try (I might have mentioned that we are fairly competitive) because she told me to.

I carefully gage her speed and distance – and hit her in the forehead, right between the eyes. She is now crying loudly and bleeding. I am pleased with my perfect aim versus a moving target. I do not understand why Dad and Mom are so angry at me. She told me to throw it! They should all be proud of me, not spanking me.



I have never heard Ellen repeat the flower story, but she has often (and with the proper sense of awe and respect) retold “The Can” story.
Even 40+ years later she remembers clearly how I impressed her.