I Saw Bigfoot!

The native peoples of North America called him Sasquatch (I believe that this is their word for “big hairy smelly Boogey Man who eats children”). I knew him as Bigfoot and he was my worst nightmare. I watched every TV program and movie on this freak of nature. Even with the accurate and intelligent information I was getting, I felt that the experts were covering up information about the monster’s diet. Have you ever just known something? I knew instinctively that Bigfoot was real (this was corroborated by TV and movies) and that he didn’t eat as regularly as he would have liked. I also had a suspicion that frightened children might taste better than brave children which meant that I would have been a delicacy.

For some inexplicable reason, we used to play a game we called “Bigfoot”. There were a few simple rules:

· It had to be night
· One person had to play Bigfoot
· Everyone else had to have a picnic
· Bigfoot would attack the picnic
· Everyone else would flee screaming

The usual players were me, my brother and sister, my cousin Doug and his two little sisters. Doug was the oldest one of the bunch and he usually played Bigfoot because he wasn’t afraid of the dark (he is now but he wasn’t then). We would play several rounds before my mom and my aunt would suggest we play another game by saying, “YOU KIDS STOP THAT INFERNAL SCREAMING!!!” Actually, they wouldn’t say “infernal” but I used to get a mouthful of soap for using the word they used—it was a special word that only adults could use to demonstrate that the end of their patience had been reached. They never talked about this word in English class but I assumed by the way that it was used that it must have been an adjective that gave an intense negative meaning to the word it was modifying.

This particular evening, we had to play indoors because of cold weather and the lateness of the hour. We turned off all the lights in the house except in the kitchen. My mom and my aunt were sitting at the table talking and it was to this location that the screaming picnickers would seek refuge when Bigfoot was sighted. This night the moms were very tolerant of the game. Upon further reflection, they were downright accommodating.

While we were setting up for what turned out to be the last round of Bigfoot ever, my mom and my aunt smiled a smile that would have made the Grinch wonder what they were up to. As we, the hapless picnickers, looked for a lovely and unsuspecting spot to eat in the forest (a.k.a. “Living Room”) “tra-la-la-ing” as we went, Bigfoot (a.k.a. “Doug”) lurked in the shadows of his cave (a.k.a. “Coat Closet”).

My mom and my aunt thought that it might be funny to scare Bigfoot. I have to admit that it was a clever idea but to traumatize five small children in the process wasn’t even remotely cool. My aunt sneaked out the back door with, and this is the really evil part of their plan, a big black furry coat. Now I ask you, what kind of mother would even think about doing such a thing to the fruit of her womb? I believe that Social Services can now take children away from parents who do these kinds of cruel things to their children.

When my aunt came through the front door with the coat over her head, Doug fled the scene. Doug, when he is scared, is not what you would call a team player. He goes into a silent self-preservation mode that consists of quickly, and without so much as a whimper, leaving the danger zone. We asked him later why he didn’t warn us. He said that he thought he had secreted enough fear pheromones that it should have been obvious. We expected Doug to sneak up behind us snarling and growling Sasquatchian sounds but we did not expect him to whoosh through our picnic at mach one. We sat there in stunned silence until we noticed a twelve-foot tall furry figure in the front doorway heading our direction (I’ll never forgive my aunt for pretending to be a twelve foot Sasquatch). The five of us instantly levitated from our seated positions and were scream propelled into the safety of the kitchen where Doug was convulsing comfortably in a fetal position under my mom’s chair.

The horrible gasping sound coming from the living room could only mean one thing—Bigfoot got one of us. We took a quick head count (my mom was of no use because she was having some sort of Asthma attack and stomach cramps brought on by the fright) and discovered that my aunt was missing. We never left a man behind (well, Doug did but the rest of us didn’t) so the five of us held hands and went to rescue what was left of my aunt.

Betrayal stuns you like a tranquilizer dart. We stood open mouthed for several minutes as the reality of the situation began to sink in. We tried to be good sports about the whole thing and say things like, “That was a good one” or, “You really got us good” but it’s hard to make the words come out right when you’re shaking like a paint mixer.

When the mom’s finally stopped laughing, they said it was time for bed—Yeah, right! It was at least a month before I got a good night’s sleep. I don’t think anyone can sleep with someone snickering in the other room all night long.