My younger brother, Joshua, was I promise you one of the most mischievous children alive when we were little. At three years younger than me, he was the perfect age to thoroughly annoy me at any given time, for about 15 years straight.
Joshua was just his own person from day #1. He entered the world at 10 pounds 13 ounces, (I know what you’re thinking, my poor momma!), and my dad was sure he was destined to be a football player.
When he was little he had his own jibberish, speak language that only one person could understand. Your’s truly. So for about a year I acted as his translator, informing people that when he said, Blillilili, he was actually referring to our older cousin, Billy.
He’s always had a super mechanical mind, and I figured out years ago, that he was freakishly smart. Smarter than I’ll ever be.
When he was 3 he used to walk next door to our grandparents house to put together the “New Nited States” puzzle, and eat all the good popsicles while we poor chumps were in school. My Nana says that she would walk out to the sun porch and see him working on his puzzle, and ask him if his mom knew where he was. He would look up a little shocked, and run home. But not for long, he’d be back soon to finish piecing together the “New Nited States” and munch more blue pop-ice.
It was around that time that we learned he had a huge sweet tooth, (he ate one of those giant peppermint sticks in a day! [mine was thrown away 3 months later not even halfway gone]), and apparently not much of a conscience.
Truth be known, he was a flat-out candy thief. Any candy, (or money really, but that‘s another story), that I got as a gift, reward, Halloween or Valentine’s school parties--you name it, he ate it.
By age 9 I’d wizened up and resorted to hiding my stashes of candy, (I was never one for eating a big batch of candy in one sitting, I liked to make it last a little longer). But Joshua would have my stash found and devoured before I stepped foot of the school bus in the afternoons. Punk. I may still be a little bitter about that.
In 1992 our family relocated to a suburb of Houston for my Dad’s work. A few days after moving my older brother, James, and I were allowed to walk to go pick up a loaf of bread from the gas station at the entrance to our apartment complex. We were ages 8 and 9, and 5 year-old Joshua was not allowed to go. Needless to say he was not happy about not being included.
At 3:00 a.m. the next morning we were awakened to a police officer knocking on the door. Joshua had decided to prove his ability to walk with us to the gas station.
In fact, he’d one-upped us. He had, by himself, at 3:00 in the morning, woken up, unlocked the door, and while everyone was sleeping left and walked to Wal-Mart, almost a mile away. And that’s where the police picked him up.
New locks child locks were promptly installed on our front door.
By middle school Joshua had again given up on speaking the language most of use. You know, English. He chose instead to communicate in a series of animal sounds. “Hey, Joshua, what are you doing?” would elicit a response of, “Meow.”
The almost 11 pound child my father knew was destined to be a football player, had turned into a lanky bean pole, who daydreamed in the baseball outfield pretending he was a can of spray paint. I don’t think he ever stepped foot onto a football field until high school marching band, where he answered his section leaders in various meows, barks, growls, and other non-word noises.
But back to childhood and one of Joshua’s most notorious stories ever. This one involving him, a master lock and the towel bar in my grandparents’ guest bath.
You see, one of those days when 3 year-old Joshua was toddling across the field, down the path to my grandparents’ house to work on his beloved “New Nited States” puzzle, he somehow acquired a Master Lock pad lock. No one knows where it came from, where he found it, or why in the world he had it. But something possessed him to attach said Master Lock to the towel bar in Nana and Grandpa’s guest bath.
Where it has been for the past 20 years.My Grandpa tried taking the towel rack off the wall, but somehow Joshua had managed to attach the lock in the only spot on the entire towel rack, where even the towel rack was detached from the wall, the lock still would not come off. Every guest that has come to the house in the last 20 years and has a Master Lock key on their key ring has attempted to free the lock, to no avail. My dad and Grandpa have tried ever Master Lock key they could find in the house, barn, garage, and wood shop. No dice. A few weeks ago I was at a thrift store and saw a huge bucket of keys, and I actually contemplated looking for some Master Lock ones just to see if I could find one that would free the Master Lock from the towel rack.
Just a few weeks ago Grandpa finally got a fancy new cutter and cut the lock off. But he left it on the towel rack just to see if anyone would notice. You’d have to know our family to fully understand.
And what became of the mischievous child?
He graduated (with honors) from college last year with a bachelors in digital graphics and design. While in school he produced some gorgeous ceramic pots,
photo by Adam Barnes
and phenomenal photographs. He reinstated a dormant chapter of a national art fraternity and served as the chapter president. He served as historian for the school’s chapter of a music fraternity.
He played trombone for two years in the school’s marching band.
He built a new kiln for the ceramics lab. He ticked a few professors off telling them how to do their job better, (I’m sure he was right). I could go on…
photo by Adam Barnes
And today the mischievous child turns 23 years old...
but he can still do a mean spray paint can impression.
Happy Birthday, Joshua!
