No more monkeys jumping on the bed

We were the legendary “Monkeys Jumping On The Bed”. From an early age we could bounce up and touch the ceiling, do flips, tag-team jump, and even jump from one bed to another. We would occasionally knock support boards out from under the box springs and the bed would crash to the floor. For a while, it was an evening sport – which Dad hated. Dad would yell, Dad would fume, Dad would climb up the stairs – leather belt in hand – and convince us to stop. As scared as we were of the belt, we jumped carefree until we heard his feet on the stairs. Hiding under the blankets didn’t work; hiding under the bed was too obvious. One night in a stroke of genius I squeezed down between the edge of the mattress and the wall. But there was no place to hide – Dad was too smart to be fooled. Dad also had a wooden paddle with a depiction of a young deer looking over its shoulder at a black bear following it – with the saying “For the cute little deer with the bear behind”. Despite our young age, we clearly knew what the play on words meant! I don’t recall that Dad actually used the paddle on us.

(Years later as I was coaching a youth hockey team, we were on a trip to Maine for an overnight tournament. The kids were excited about staying in motel rooms and as I did rounds, caught a couple of boys bouncing on the beds. They bragged about how they could actually touch the ceiling. Totally unimpressed, I announced that they were amateurs and “I” could touch the ceiling with my feet. So I jumped, flat on my back, feet skyward, bounced up and kicked the ceiling as predicted. Actually, a bit harder than expected. The boys had a grand time telling their teammates how I dented the ceiling in their room. The parents were a bit less impressed.)

Sliding down the banister on the front stair case was another forbidden sport that we loved to do. Usually the first couple of kids would make it down successfully and get back up the stairs, but it never took long until just as we were hitting bottom Mom or Dad’s palm was hitting our bottom.

For some reason Dad didn’t like us to laugh at the supper table. This turned into the sport of who could prompt someone else to get into a fit of the giggles. We could get Laurie to the point of barely suppressing her laughter – then she would screech “I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM” and RACE up the stairs, bursting out in loud laughter as soon as she was out of sight (but certainly still within earshot). But she was safe, as she hadn’t laughed at the table!