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A trip down memory lane with Mr. Martini
BY DAVID JAKIELO

College is a time in a person’s life when they are supposed to “grow up,” take on responsibility and mature (note: this never actually happens). While college can be a great time, this maturing process is not pleasant. Everyday life finds a way to become more complex with the constant work, stress, relationship issues and everything else that comes along with this maturing nonsense. Sure, there are still times when we can be immature and party to the point where, at the end of the night, we mistake our shoe for a toilet. However, with the reality hanging over us that we will soon be adults, it’s not the same as the good old days.

When my family first moved into our current house, my sister and I soon became good friends with two neighborhood kids a house away, Billy and Michael. Everyone can relate to this because growing up we all had our own Billy and Michaels. Maybe you weren’t lucky enough to have two, maybe you were lucky enough to have more than two, or maybe you had an imaginary friend that you still love dearly and are reading this column with right now. Either way, you had great times. My sister, Billy and Michael were all older than me, but closest in age was Billy so we got along quite well. At first, Michael never came around much. My mom asked Billy why and he replied, “Michael doesn’t like girls, he won’t even eat Girl Scout cookies.” At 20, that statement seems innocent and funny but to any prepubescent male it made total sense and it was very respectable to hear the firm beliefs of this Michael fellow.

When you’re a happy-go-lucky kid you have less worries and more imagination. Think back to some of your happiest childhood memories. Did they cost much? Did it involve getting an “A” on a test after staying up 48 hours to memorize pointless facts? Did you have to drink half a bottle of vodka, only to wake up to an irate friend’s phone call - “You mistook my SHOE for a TOILET again!” - with not only a headache but also an irritating itch in your private region? I think not.

The fondest of memories most likely come from simple acts. Some of my examples include the time Billy, Michael, my sister and I decided that we should dig a hole to China in our backyard. This all seemed very logical at the time and we were convinced that we were close. Michael would scoop dirt and think that he saw something and I would put my head to the ground and think I heard something. The hole was never filled, which made playing right field during wiffle ball games a bit tricky, but the hole was almost an entire FOOT deep, making it far too big of an accomplishment to fill up.

Not all was lost with the hole as we later used it for a very topical and exciting game we invented, entitled “Saving Baby Jessica.” Looking back, this was just their excuse to cover me in dirt.

There was the night we decided to pitch a tent and camp out in my backyard. This was also the same night I learned what sap was and had 75 percent of my body stuck to either the tent, grass or my face. I was probably in my own bed sleeping by 11 p.m., but we put forth a valiant effort in becoming one with nature.

A popular indoor game involved the bar in our basement. Someone would be the bartender and everyone else would sip on water or hard liquor depending upon whether or not mother and father were home (note to my parents: Joking! Mostly!) The name of this game was, “Mr. Martini.”

When I asked my mom her favorite story of us playing as kids she explained how one day in August before school started she heard us playing school with our new supplies. Days later she walked in on us again playing, “Kill The Teacher.” Ah, yes, those were the days.

Billy and Michael ended up moving away while I was young, and we have been out of touch since. Later in life, their suddenly moving out of the neighborhood will someday make for a great conversation between a psychologist and I which will involve shock treatment.

Me: I remember when we used to kill the teacher.
Doctor: Bzzzzzzzzzzzz!

Whenever times get rough now, it would be nice to block everything out, let imagination take over, and play, once again, in a carefree world with Billy, Michael and my sister. Sadly, that can’t happen, but when times do get tough, at least we can always play “Mr. Martini.”

Just make sure you and your invisible friend stay away from my shoe.