Some of cousin Terry’s other hustles weren’t necessarily on the up and up, like the time he showed up in our backyard with cases of cigarette cartons and all of a sudden all the kids from the neighborhood, myself included, were back there smoking, with a vaguely suspicious-sounding story about these cases having fallen off a truck or some such thing. They were actually somehow stolen from a local tavern by Terry. It didn’t matter to me. We were so cool, I thought. Even better, we didn’t get caught.
But we usually did. In fact, part of the reason that we were given a lot of free rein to come and go as we pleased was that our friends’ parents were keeping an eye out on all of us. This was made quite plain to me once when I went over to see the Ball brothers, Arthur and Willie. With this group of friends, football later became our thing, and once I started to get bigger and taller, I assumed the role of quarterback. Our games were all about passing, running, and scoring, which resulted in so many touchdowns that final scores would end up being something like 114 to 98, more like basketball scores. The Ball brothers were the best blockers any after-school team could want, on their way to becoming the biggest cats you ever saw in your life. Two of the nicest, most gentle guys I knew, they were the size of professional football linemen by the time they hit adolescence. Early on, one of the first times I went to their house happened to be a particularly hot summer day, and when I arrived it was apparent that the screen in the door to the Ball house had been knocked out and the door was just a wooden frame. So, rather than mentioning the obvious, I just walked right through the wood frame and into the house.
All at once, Mrs. Ball, their mother, came into view and shook her finger at me. “Boy, you better get back outta here and open that door! Where’s yo’ manners?!”
I stood there for a second, not understanding. The screen was knocked out, so the door was already open, wasn’t it?
Mrs. Ball didn’t see it that way. As I pivoted around to obey her, she added, “You weren’t raised like that! I know your mother. Now, open that door like you got some sense. G’on back out there and open the door, you hear me?”
A heavyset woman, a little older than Moms, Mrs. Ball made it clear that this was her house and she was in charge.
Still saying nothing, I didn’t know how I was supposed to go back out through a door that was already opened. Did I exit by stepping out as I had entered, or did I push open the frame of the door? With her standing there, hands on hips, eagle-eyed watching me, I opened the wood frame of the door, went back out, and closed it.
Now she said, “Come on in.”
The moment I did, Mrs. Ball smiled and added, “How you doing, Chrissy?”
