Masters Of Deception

Grandpa snowed the cops and I helped.  He took my cousin and I to The Dayton International Air & Trade Show.  It was late July in Ohio; heat shimmered off metal and pavement, the air was broth.  The event features tours, and a flying exhibition, of the world's most elite aircraft, but sugar waffles, frozen lemonade, corndogs, and French fries are the main attraction when you are 7 years old.

We climbed up to look into a jet fighter cockpit or two: ‘So many buttons.'  We toured a luxury airliner: ‘Thanks for the wings captain.'  These were pleasant enough distractions on our way to the good stuff - food and trinkets.  ‘Look, it's ice cream!  Hey, they're giving away free fans at that booth! Fans!  For free!'

After the stunts are performed, the spectators wander back to the cars they left to bake in a field. They are sun burnt and heat weary, with full bladders and sour attitudes.  The free cardboard fans are curiously soggy, the plastic wings pins have shed their metallic paint.  It is time to begin the snail-paced parade out of the mile-wide parking lot.
 
We left after The Blue Angels, a truly unoriginal escape plan.  My cousin and I bounced across the springy scorching vinyl of the backseat - Hansel and Gretel into the oven.  Grandpa put down the windows and mopped the back of his neck with a handkerchief.  Then he started the car.  The Buick inched along over a field that was more dirt than grass, patches of gravel here and there, the occasional pothole taken in a strange sort of slow motion.  As we approached a sheriff's deputy directing traffic, Grandpa spotted the road to glory - a service vehicle access path.  A plan was hatched then and there.

Grandpa leaned over the seat with a large plastic souvenir cup.  He handed it to me. "Take this and lie down across your cousin's lap.  Pretend you're getting sick into it," he said.  "Cousin, rub her back and talk to her like she's at death's door." 

Cousin and I looked at each other, our eyes wide with disbelief.  Aiding and abetting! Pulling off a caper with the family patriarch was irresistible; we embraced our roles with vigor.  I gagged and sputtered, he there-there'ed and held my hair back. 

Grandpa pulled up to the officer and made the pitch. "'S'cuse me Officer," he said, sweet as pie, sorry-to-trouble-you, like.  "I have a sick little one here.  Do you think there's any way I could maybe, uhh... maybe... use the access road?  I just want to get her home and out of this heat.  Poor little thing, she was having such a great time too.  It's her birthday."

The cop peeked into the backseat where the birthday girl was heaving like a supermodel.  I splashed around the backwash in the bottom of the Dayton International Air & Trade Show commemorative cup for effect.  The cop took another look at Grandpa - the physical embodiment of goodness and honesty - and hopped to it.  He opened the gate and called ahead on his walkie-talkie to ensure no hassles and a speedy exit.   At each checkpoint on the road Grandpa would nod and give a smile of gratitude.  He waved with his fingertips.  I would lie over my cousin's sweaty thighs and push the cup up to my face, panting and groaning.  Every one of the officers had heard the story of the nice old grandpa with the sick kid, they were more than happy to help us out.

Past the last gate and approaching the highway, Grandpa gave us the ‘all clear.'  My cousin and I were exhilarated.  We gave compliments and high-fives, and told Grandpa how brilliant he was for thinking it up.  We laughed at the suckers stuck in traffic.  We laughed at how easily we'd deceived law enforcement.  We were naturals, outlaws.   And we'd just pulled off the perfect crime.

"Now children, I don't think we ought to tell your folks about that little fib I told the officer, do you?" he asked; the answer built in to the question.  We were all in agreement that it should stay between the three of us.  No need to involve our parents in this misdeed.  It would be our secret. 

All of the parents and most of the extended family knew every detail of The Great Dayton International Air & Trade Show Caper Of 1976 within 24 hours. 

We were masters of deception, but shameless braggarts.