Emancipation is a compelling literary compilation of stories focused on a wide cross-section of melting pot Americans.
Excerpt
STORY FOUR
Beneath a weighted canopy of winter’s early dusk
– The Prophet
Evening was cold. School had been canceled the day before due to an anticipated snowstorm. Most of that winter afternoon I had spent participating in tackle football, amid icy snow and subzero temperatures. All able-bodied men in our neighborhood teamed together to create a simple network of wide paths leading from doorstep to sidewalk to the next doorstep throughout the entire block. For us, those passages were avenues of infinite excitement, adventure, mystery, and intrigue. Cowboys and Indians, American soldiers overwhelming a foreign enemy, secret agents thwarting communist spies, thieving pirates on the high seas, explorers seeking treasure in icy caverns harboring creatures unknown. Confrontations were acted out with snow-manufactured weapons: bullets, bombs, arrows, tomahawks, cannonballs, knives, bayonets, and grenades.
“You’re dead.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not. You only wounded me.”
“That was a grenade. It blew up your whole body.”
“Did not!”
“Did so!”
“It only took off one arm. I can still fight. I got another one.”
“You’d probably bleed to death trying to fight with one arm.”
“I would not!”
“You would so!”
On and on we created new scenarios of good versus evil. Worlds where justice always managed to eke out a triumph. Then the inevitable occurred. Our favorite winter pastime would joyfully emerge from the mere suggestion that we play: football. The word breathed into us unanimous glee. Slipping, stumbling, tripping, sliding, belly flopping and pratfalls on slick, child-made, dull gray carpets where once lay thick pads of fresh white snow, we proceeded to horribly emulate those sports heroes we idolized. This mockery of sport and vaudeville continued until that fateful moment when the uncompromising voice of Grant’s mother loudly ordered Grant inside. With Grant went the football.
We persevered by sculpting footballs out of snow. It didn’t work of course. After whoever had, the snow-football was tackled — if they didn’t simply fall on it, drop, or crush it — new imitation pigskins were constructed to replace its demolished predecessors. Intense arguments arose about how they should be designed. No one knew the actual dimensions of a real football (not that that would have mattered). No one had ever seen a real football, which I would later discover was twice as large as the one Grant owned. Size, shape, and weight became important issues needing accurate answers, matters to be hatched out and decided upon by a committee to maintain correctness and ensure the sanctity of our most beloved game. Once these points were hammered out to majority satisfaction, another instrument of play would be crafted. With each new ball sprang up novel considerations. To pass or not to pass, should the ball be hiked (particularly since it had a tendency to fracture or crumble during the exchange)? Should the person who had the football originally keep it for the entire play? What about lateraling — or as we put it, throwing the ball backwards? How did we know when there was a fumble?
Each of us had our own preferences. Toby for instance was marshaled against passing, no surprise there. Toby couldn’t catch Grant’s football without it bouncing off his face. Curt wanted the ball rounder like a fat snowball. He was quickly vetoed. Had we been playing baseball or basketball, it would have been a valid suggestion. In football, it was definitely out of the question. Independently, each proposal was raised, voted on, then instituted or rejected. Former agreements were abolished after one play and reinstituted later. No snow football lay wrecked without having existed under its unique set of conventions.
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Copyright 2010 Lane Michael. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
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