One summer when I was about 5, my parents sent my brother and I to visit some friends while they finally got some well deserved alone time. I'm sure they were just catching up on their lost sleep.
These friends had a boy and girl, Trillium, (we just called her Trilly) just about the same ages as my brother and I so it was a great match. They lived out in the country and could wander roads and fields as long as they told their mom where they were going. So one afternoon we walked to the creek. Our path was down the dirt and gravel road; along side it grew the biggest cat-tails I'd ever seen, so we picked them and slowly tore them apart, leaving a fuzzy trail "back home." Without this fuzzy trail, we rationalized, we would be entirely lost! (gravel road not-withstanding)
I enjoyed the first few days immensly. I got to play outdoors and explore the creek and generally do things I never got to do.
And then things took a turn for the worse. Trilly decided she did not want to share the front seat of the car with me on the way to her mom's school. Her mother was a teacher in the local elementary school. So Trilly rushed ahead of me, jumped in the front seat, and tried to slam the door on me. I was just a little too quick for that. I stuck my little five-year-old hand on the edge of the door before she shut it. Unfortunately, she couldn't quite figure out why it wouldn't shut ALL the way and kept tugging. Her mother figured it out though. My mangled fingers were smooshed but as I recall only one finger was bloody and it was a minor cut. It was the smooshing and Trilly's continued tugging on the poor mashed fingers that got to me. I think I sniffled for the rest of the evening.
I wish the story ended there. It doesn't. Their dad must have come home early the next day. We decided to play softball in the backyard. We democratically chose which trees, and bumps in the yard would be the bases. Her dad would pitch and it would be the boys against the girls. The boys were up first and rounded the bases. Then it was our turn. Trilly hit a triple and stamped each base as she went over it. I was up and hit a double. I stood at the base of a tree watching her go up to bat again. And then it happend.
I don't actually remember it happening. So the next 60 seconds or so are blank. Then I was screaming, flailing and crying all at once. The bees had not taken kindly to my standing on their home, having first been disturbed by all the giants running over them. They decided it was time to attack.
What I do remember is their dad running towards me, grabbing me, alot of yelling, and then setting me down inside the house. He slammed the sliding glass door on the largest mass of bees and then starting smacking me all over to kill the ones on me. They fell out of the folds of my clothes.
I was so sick. I ached and hurt all over; from each bee sting to the smooshed finger. And no mommy was to be found. I remember being stripped to my undies and put in their parents bed. Their mom mixed up a baking soda mixture and pretty much smoothed it all over my body. She tried to comfort me and make my owies feel better. I must have been feverish and nauseous; I don't remember much except misery. And I wanted MY mommy. I'm pretty sure they called my parents and they came right away but it seemed like a long time. I remember my mom coming in to their room and picking me up. It was so good to see her.
Here's the lesson for today: Do not run, stand or walk over bee hives. They don't like it.
And always have a mommy nearby. Doesn't have to be your own; someone else's will do in a pinch.
I still have problems with bee stings. I swell so fast I bruise; I get nauseous and a little feverish. Thank God for Benadryl. And I do NOT like the buzzing of bees, hornets, yellow jackets or any other fuzzy small flying insect creature.
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