Warming up on the bunk bed

I begged my parents to let me have one, and once of their best decisions raising me was giving in to my wish. It made having friends over so much cooler. I remember when we first got our dog Jazz (who lasted a mont with us - he had ather eat our furniture instead of his food), I tried to get him on the top bunk to sleep because he was too big to actually stay in my bed with me. He didn't like being up there too much and he bit me. Broke the skin and I cried. I also remember Ashley, the dad's best friend's daughter, staying on the top bunk. She's four years older than me, but we, at that time, were probably even closer than her dad and I. The night she stayed over we hung out in the hot-tub my parents had just bought and checked how long we could hold our breath. Either I actually kissed her on the cheek, or our parents just teased us about it when we got out. This was before David and Teresa separated. Even if I did, on the cheek doesn't count as a first!
I remember praying, elbows on the bottom bunk mattress, hands clasped and wet-eyed, whispering please God I don't want to ever die.

When we moved, the bunk-bed didn't come along. With it's absence, part of my childhood was left behind too. Anyways I think we didn't bring it because my legs were too long to fit on it anymore, not because I didn't want it. I was lucky enough to get the queen-sized bed I was probably made on. That one stayed behind too, when I moved to this apartment. I wonder what else I left behind?

On Safari Diaper Cake

One time my neighbor Dylan beat me up. This wasn't unusual. What was unusual, in this instance, was the way that he did it. He knocked me out with my own aluminum baseball bat. When I came to (with a swelling head might I add), I ran to my father crying. He was hanging around the back porch, cooking on the grill. I was crying and smacking my hands on the screen yelling "Daddy!". He opened the door and I spilled my guts.

"Da-da-da-daaadyyy (sob sob sniffle)- Dylan hit me in the head with my baseball bat!"

He sat down and said, "Justin, come sit over here."

I did.

"I'm going to tell you something, and I'm only going to say this once. You let Dylan do this to you all the time; I'm tired of it. The next time he bullies you, you better do something about it- and I don't mean come running to me. In fact, if you come running to me about Dylan, expect me to spank you for it."

The next time something happened I didn't know what to do, so I ran to mom. She told me a little secret, a very 'pissy' story if you will, about why no one spends the night at Dylan's house. I let him know I knew, and I had no problems with Dylan after that.