A Childhood Memory

A Childhood Memory



It was a hot summer morning. I ran out the backdoor of our small house and into the deepest, darkest, spookiest jungle in the history of deep, dark, spooky jungles. I was Tarzan, King of the Jungle. Invincible. Feared by man and beast alike. I was armed with my trusty rubber knife. It may have been made of rubber, but it was a formidable weapon against imaginary lions and tigers. I was wearing only shorts and barefoot, of course. The grass felt cool and sticky under my feet.

I needed a spear, something I could throw at the lions and tigers. I could use my knife when they came into closer range. I pulled off a small piece of tree branch and fashioned a spear from it. I crouched down low, my sharp eyes scanning the jungle. Was that a growl I heard? Yeah. That was definitely a growl. There was a ferocious lion around here, somewhere. He was sneaking up on me. He was going to pounce on me at any minute!

Something rustled in a clump of bushes. Yeah. There was a lion in those bushes! He’s starting to charge at me! I throw my spear at him. My spear sticks in him, but he continues to charge me. I wrestle with him. He is a strong lion (lions usually are) but I am Tarzan, King of the Jungle. He is no match for me. I pull my knife from my belt and stick him with it. We roll around on the ground I stick him again. His huge mouth is open. He’s trying to bite my head off!

I manage to squirm away from him. He growls and shakes a mighty paw at me. But I growl back at him and shake my fist at him.

“Get out of here, lion… I am Tarzan, King of the Jungle.” I holler at him.

The lion knows he cannot win a fight with me. He runs away into the jungle. I rear my head and beat on my chest as I yell the Tarzan yell: “AAAAHHHHEEEEAAAHH!”

Tarzan lives in a tree. Heck, everyone knows that. I find a tree with branches low enough to get a foothold and climb it. I reach a part of the tree that will make a suitable house. I settle back. I have brought along a small paper sack stuffed in my belt. It is my lunch. The sack contains a couple bananas (I had never seen Tarzan eat anything but bananas) and a small jar of Kool-Aid. Did you know that Tarzan drank Kool-Aid?) Well, he did.

I eat my lunch and relax. I feel good in the cool shade of my tree house. No one can find me up here…not even my pesky sister. If she finds me she’ll be sorry. I am Tarzan, King of the Jungle.