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Rated: E · Poetry · Children's · #1189820
An old mans imaginary childhood games.
Teddy bear hockey

By Rusty Cason



When just a child my Nana's was my favorite place to go.

We would all end up so dirty, from our heads down to our toes.


We played out in the yard all day while Nana cooked inside.

Nana's yummy cooking was not all she did with pride.


She played a wicked hockey game with us, up in the hall.

We played the game for bath rights, but we always had a ball.


"No bath for me," I shouted, as she called us in to eat.

"Me neither," said my sister, as she climbed up in her seat.


We talked about our hockey game, and gobbled down our chow.

Grandpa knew we played each night but never knew just how.


Nana filled our bellies up, then gave our heads a rub.

"The loser of the game tonight has got to hit the tub."


We quickly ate our supper, as we knew what was in store.

Then gathered up by Gramps recliner, waiting for the snore.


As soon as Grandpa snorted it was like the Indy flag,

We raced across the room to grab our trusty hockey bag.


Up the stairs we went, we clambered over top each other,

I always beat my sister up but not my Nan or brother.


The staircase ended at the hall with thirty feet of floor.

At each end of that hallway, were the open bedroom doors.


Three of us on one side, Nana played the other end.

The open door behind us was the goal we must defend.


Hung there on the wall was Mr. Teddy on a nail.

I tapped him with my hockey stick then whacked him when he fell.


That bear had been our hockey puck for several years or more.

You could tell, by his appearance, as he slid across the floor.


Nana smacked him down the hallway; he was spinning like a top.

My sister thumped him back before he even got to stop.


Teddy's face was bulging, Nana popped him one more time.

She tried to slide him past me but I stopped him on a dime.


I let my brother whack him, Ted was sliding toward the goal.

I heard his buttons rattle as he tumbled, then he rolled.


He popped a string and tumbled as he spun and rolled about.

I saw that old Teddy's stuffing was beginning to fall out.


We laughed so hard we nearly cried, as Nana smacked that bear.

She got the final shot that sent Ted flying through the air.


Right through my legs and sisters too, old Ted slid through the door.

He lay there beat and battered in a pile upon the floor.


Hooray for Nana, we all cheered, she always seemed to win.

"Now hit the tub you stinkers," Nana said, beneath her grin.


By the time we finished bathing, Nana sewed old Teddy up.

We hung him in the hallway where she won the Stanley Cup.


We truly love our Nana and we loved to visit there.

But nothing is as fun as playing hockey with that bear.




By: Rusty Cason






© Copyright 2006 PAPA CASON (bookworm3880 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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