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| Footings and Foundations? Screw those rich pricks, it is dirt clodding time! |
No only thing we hated more than bullies were the kids who lived just across the street from the trailer park. They lived in normal un-wheeled houses, like millionaires, and the rubbed it in. We battled them at every opportunity. We employed rocks, sticks, snowballs, even fists if the need arose; and the need arose.
The outsiders would antagonize us with chants they repeated while marching back and forth. 'I'm not a Geester Gauseter any more,' they sang for hours as they marched on their side of the fence. I am not sure what that phrase meant but it kind of rhymed and had singsong play on our family name. It would drive us into a fury.
We pulled clumps of grass up by the roots with a sizable clod of dirt still attached and hurl the missile at them and the fight would begin. Unlike bully fights, these were good-natured affairs and hostilities would stop if someone got hurt or started to cry. Criers were still laughed at for crying, but that is enshrined in our childhood code and, unfortunately, unavoidable.
We just hated them for their lives of privilege in a home without wheels. In high school I actually got to be good friends with kids from both of the families we hated so much. By then my house didn't have axles any more, it was still a mobile home, my dad had just had the axles removed.
