The Mischievous Mind of A five Year Old

One of the casualties of moving to town from the farm on Belk Road was that I had to leave behind a few friends. One of them was Leslie. I don’t remember her last name, but I do know that her Dad and my Dad were business aquaintances, and met from time to time. When I was fortunate enough to be with Dad on those occasions, instead of being bored stiff, Leslie and I played.

Leslie had short brown stick straight hair and a myriad of freckles all over her face. She always had a cheeky grin that seemed to be hiding the secrets of a five year old.

A few months after moving to Eleventh Avenue in Tauranga, Dad announced that he was heading back to Tauriko to meet with Leslie’s Dad. I asked if I could join him, and a deal was struck. I could hardly wait to see Leslie again.

We drove out in the old essex, a royal blue and black car that on occasion had to be cranked. The car looked like an old Model T, and had an interior that left a lot to be desired. The seats were lumpy, but I will say they were great for jumping on. Who could imagine then that one day in the future we’d all be wearing strange things called seat belts. We kids used to love to jump until our heads hit the roof.

The other unique feature of the car was the metal floor, which had a smattering of small cracks and holes in it. It was always fun to look down and watch the road go by. I’m embarrassed to admit that sometimes one of us children would pee on the floor if we couldn’t hold it any longer, and the others would oblige by jumping up on the seat.

It took probably about a half hour to forty five minutes to get out to Leslie’s house. Once there, she and I had a great time catching up, and making the most of our time together.

When it came time to leave, Leslie and I were very disappointed, so I asked my Dad if she could come home with us and spend the afternoon. He agreed and so did Leslie’s Dad, and soon we were on our way back to town.

We had a marvelous time playing and I’m sure making all sorts of five year old messes.

The house at Eleventh Avenue was situated on a corner, and covered in white stucco. It’s best feature was the many different types of citrus trees which dotted the property. Climbing these trees was most enjoyable, because one could sit up there anonymously for hours and eat fruit.

The time came for Dad to take Leslie home, and reluctantly we got in the car. We half sulked all the way back. On arrival Dad met up with Leslie’s Dad and they began a new conversation. During this time I came up with the brilliant idea that we’d hide Leslie in the back seat of the car, so she’d have to come home with us.

While nobody was watching Leslie got in and lay down on the floor as I covered her up with a blanket. Then I sat patiently on the old lumpy seat until Dad was ready to go. Forgetting about consequences I maintained a big cheesy grin on my face almost the whole way home.

The closer to home we got, the sicker I felt. The combination of fruit and worry was taking its toll. What would the moment of truth be like? I had certainly not entertained that thought in arranging this little scam.

Once home, all I could think to do was yell “SURPRISE!” as I pulled the blanket off Leslie. Leslie jumped out with that toothless grin, as we stood silently side by side for support.

What was Dad to do? I don’t know what ran through his mind, but dear old Dad must have forgiven us, as I don’t even remember getting a reprimanding. He always did what had to be done, and simply told us to get back in the car, as we were heading right back. Leslie and I never made a peep the whole way back, and Dad never spoke to us. Maybe that was our punishment.



Written by Hilda M. S. Gamette
January 27, 2009
(This story took place some time in 1955 when I was five years old)