CATCHING BEES BARE-HANDED!

I loved my brother, Orien, so. He was 5, and I was six years old.

We had great times together, with children from the neighborhood, wherever we lived.

Everyday, after daddy left for work, and our brothers and sister went to school, we would have our own adventures.

Every morning, we would sit on the front steps with daddy's old fashioned, square razor-blade. Anxiously we took turns, using it to shave the hairs off our legs, the way daddy shaved his face.

We shaved every morning AND practiced tying our shoe laces, on the front steps.

Another, favorite pass time of ours, was bee catching with neighborhood children.

Who could resist the hum of bees on a sunny day milling around the bushes, along the entire length of our fenced-in yard? We loved locking our prisoners into glass jars after puncturing tiny holes into the lids. It was on the second day of this adventure that we learned how Orien caught more bees than the rest of us. He was catching them bare-handed, and got stung!

As playmates, we scarcely ever stopped to make sure that all the rules were spelled out to younger companions.

More to come on our innocent misunderstandings.

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