Buzz

Just for background: I hate mosquitoes.

Yes, yes, I know, hate is a very strong emotion . . . its usual application is made by and against bigots, in reference to “the worst president in my lifetime” (regardless of party and integral to personal bias), and generally in reference to Ohio State (couldn’t resist!).

In the last three days, the virtual mosquito tap has been open on high and the little bastards have made their presence known. Today’s water cooler chat had inordinate attention to the buzzing little devils. I am, moreover, fairly certain I am not alone in my odium. I have noticed in the last two nights, while pulling up my driveway, the swarms’ attempts at transfusing my truck. I didn’t dally on my scoot to the house.

I believe I was nine, maybe ten, and the city of Monroe (Southeast corner of Michigan – gateway to Lake Erie, on the banks of the River Raisin, and a short mall run to Toledo) embarked on a mosquito control program that consisted of trucks laying massive fogs throughout the streets, parks, and neighborhoods of our fair burg. The trucks were smaller pickups with a device bolted on their beds that literally created a lingering fog that would make most Londoners jealous.

In the late 1960s or early 1970s, little over-thought was applied to insecticides . . . who knows, was it DDT? Other happy mixes of carcinogens? Or maybe an innocuous potion that had a placebo affect on the residents. It didn’t matter – it was fun to ride our bikes behind the trucks at full pace as though we were pilots breaking through low hanging clouds on our way to the great blue yonder.

Oh, make no mistake, we panted and wheezed in the clouds of “mosquito orange” but figured a chug of water was all we needed. It was a kick to push our bikes blindly following the buzz of the aerator and (I think I remember) there were status points awarded to anyone who could ride close enough to hang onto the back of the truck.

Yes, dumb. Yes, foolish. Yes, fun!

Here is what I know about a few of us who dove into the cloud: two are judges, one a commercial real estate pro, a couple of teachers and coaches, most are parents and/or grandparents, and me . . . almost successful!

I would not ever consider allowing children to repeat our steps (pedals?) . . . it could not have been additive to our health. I do, however, relish a time when we could just be kids without the constant furor of caution or litigious action. Yes, I expect a few harangues from that last statement.

Some of you may be movie buffs . . . remember that scene in Scarface where Pacino yells, “Say hello to my little friend” ??

That will be me and my fogger this weekend.