Tarzan

Tarzan was our favorite game.  No Cheeta. No Jane.  Just Tarzan, Master of the Jungle, swinging from tree to tree.  Actually, there was only one rope swing hanging from a shade tree, but it worked just fine.  We alternated being Tarzan and vine fetcher.  The thrill of standing on the branch, beating your chest and calling out Ahahuh….uhuh…uhuh!!!! before swinging through the jungle was powerful.  We never got enough.

One day, Billy was in the Tarzan mood when I wasn’t around.  He climbed the tree, rope in hand, looped it over the branch, got ready to beat his chest.  Rats! The rope slipped off.  He climbed down, retrieved the rope, looped again, beat his chest again.  The rope was gone long before he got to Ahahuh….uhuh…uhuh!!! Disgusted but not defeated, he came up with another plan.

Climbing up with the rope clamped tightly between his teeth, he stood on the branch and pounded his chest, pouring all his frustration into his this effort!   Uh Oh!!  Tarzan did not swing out over the jungle.  He fell out of the tree, rope still clamped tightly between his teeth.  Blood gushed and he went wailing in to Mother.  His two front teeth were sticking out like piano keys. Mother blanched, staunched the bleeding and rushed him to the dentist.  Tarzan returned, several hours later, his spirit and teeth subdued by emergency braces.

10 thoughts on “Tarzan”

  1. Well, it’s good to hear that “Tarzan” had better days and that he grew into such a strapping young man. Still, I can’t help but cringe a little on his behalf just thinking about that moment of impact. Ouch!

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  4. Gahahahaa! Poor kid… sounds like some of my childhood adventures. We were always up to some kind of trouble! :-) Glad to know Tarzan’s teeth could be saved, though. That;s kind of important. Just think of all the corn on the cob that would have gone uneaten!

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