Earlier this week I was taking my usual long walk of the day, the only exercise I dare undertake. It was one of those glorious March days with a brilliant sun high in the sky reflecting off of last week’s snow. The temperature was in the upper 30s but with the sun and a little exercise I was walking with my coat open. Across the street I see the wide base of a towering maple tree. I am suddenly inspired to make a snowball and try and hit that tree. It has been a couple of years since I have thrown a snowball but the snow and the target are perfect for this. I make a good round snowball and miss the target by several feet. Undaunted I try again, another miss but closer. On the third attempt I hit the tree trunk squarely. I return to my walk.
As I am walking I am getting closer to town and my mind is drawn back to the snowballs of my youth. My friend Paul Tully and I would hide among a copse of trees along Central Avenue on our way home from school and peg snowballs at passing cars. The best shots were direct hits on the windows or windshield. More than once we were chased by irate teenage drivers. Most of the time our knowledge of the local terrain allowed us to escape but one time we got caught and had our faces washed with snow and our asses kicked. Didn’t stop us. Another great place was behind a stone wall at the end of a dead end street. The MBTA trolley tracks sat about 20 feet below. As the trolleys would pass we would pelt them with a barrage of snowballs. Again the best shot was to have the trolley front window collide with a well arced ball. It was also fun to hit the passenger windows and startle the commuters. The best time was the time a trolley driver got out to yell at us, big mistake he got pelted and we wisely beat a quick retreat. We did observe, from a very safe vantage point, a cop car come by to clear us out.
As these sublime memories flooded my mind I made my way into downtown. There it was a pile of fresh snow with a panel truck approaching. Could I? Should I? Well why not but instead of the windows I would only aim for the truck’s box, I mean I have matured. I’m almost 70 after all. I made a ball and BAM! Smack into the name on the side of the truck. Then a block later was a UPS truck and bang! Oh here comes the FRTA bus oh boy! Bam As I proceeded through downtown I was knocking them off left and right. I came up to the new courthouse, a gigantic glass box inserted into the shell of the old courthouse. Whoopee!! There’s the library bam!, the District Court corridor, bang, the Superior Court on the top floor, it was a stretch but I made it POP! My reverie was interrupted by a court officer calling me by name, I have practiced there for over 30 years. He said: “Dave I always knew you were a juvenile delinquent.” I smiled sheepishly, dropped the snowball in my hand and returned to my office. I wished he chased me so I could run and disappear into a neighboring woodlot.
Well I am not 12 years old and I probably cannot outrun anybody but I sure enjoyed meeting my 12 year old boy again. I am very glad he is still around. This morning I could hardly get out of bed, my back hurt so much.
Attorney David Roulston lives in Greenfield.