Canoga Park, California, July 7, 1970, 5:30pm. My younger brother is loading large bottle rockets into one of the four, 24” steel connecting tubes, from our Korean War-era bunk bed, that I am currently holding on my shoulder like a bazooka. We are ensconced in an almost impenetrable Magnolia tree, giving us reasonable protection from the “enemy” bottle rocket team across the street, in Timmy Johnson’s shrubs.
We had been trading shots for about ten-minutes, when my brother tapped me on the head signaling he had just lit a loaded rocket. I aimed just a little high this time, to see if I could bounce it off the wall behind the shrubs and ruin Timmy and Orlando’s day! The rocket left the tube with a hiss just as the police car rolled into my peripheral vision.
Both Cops had their windows down, and were looking at the Johnson’s house when the bottle rocket flew through the open window on the passenger side, and out the driver’s side window of the still rolling car, before hitting Timmy’s wall and blowing up! I was in the Seventh-grade, and to say I was freaked out would be a mild understatement as the policeman hit the brakes and came out of the car with their guns drawn.
My brother and I were onto the roof and into the backyard before they ever left the street! My Mother asked me what was going on as I came in the back door holding the bunk bed part. I shrugged and was about to say something stupid when the doorbell rang. My Mom answered, it was the two Cops. We heard her say, “No, my boys are with their Dad,” and shut the door. We knew we were dead.
And changing your MAC address before using it too.
