CITY MIDGETS
Part One: The Brilliant Plan

We all have warm thoughts of our families and our minds and hearts are filled with memories of the times we’ve been with them.   When I lived in California , I cherished the times when my son Tenderheart would come to visit.   Well, what parent doesn’t love everything about their child?   If they have an idea, why you just go do it, no questions asked, right?   It’s because they’re your child, and they’re just so special that you know the idea is a good one.  Right?  Right.   So that day, when Tenderheart downed his beer, yawned, stretched, and said “Let’s go hunt down some midgets” I was out the door before the words were out of his mouth.

I feel forever fortunate that he had the good sense to rush to the door and call me back.  

“Wait Dad!”  

I turned.  “What is it Tenderheart?” 

“What are you doing?!

“What?  I thought we were going to hunt midgets”

“Come back you fool!"

"You mean you weren't serious?"

"We need weapons!  We need to plan this out”.  

God.   He was right.   We couldn’t just rush out and hope to find a pack of midgets somewhere and beat the crap out of them.   This did have to be planned.   We decided to plan through the night and head out early in the morning. 

 Later that night, with the bald kitchen light beaming down on our scribbled plans and now empty whiskey bottles, Tenderheart halted the proceedings.   “All of these plans”, he said derisively shoving aside hours worth of calculating, “are worthless.   What kind of midgets are we going for here?”

“What…what do you mean?   I mean...midgets are midgets, right?”

“ Moron !” he cried, whacking me on the forehead.   “Are we going for country midgets or city midgets?”

“There’s a difference?”

The look on his face was derisive.

“Duhhhh!  And you’re my Dad?” 

Putting a foot up on to a chair and leaning on his knee, he went on to explain that he'd seen country midgets before on television. Maybe a documentary or something. These particular country midgets wore little coveralls, had beards and moved about in a car driven by Walter Brennan. Country midgets go around terrorizing the countryside, setting barns on fire and causing cows to miscarry.   City midgets, he went on to explain, wear little sweaters and curled up shoes.Some of them have beards, but these midgets are more refined. He saw these in a nother documentary about some girl whose house landed right in one of their little cities.

Shifting his cigarette from one side to the other and taking a slug from the nearly empty fifth of Jim Beam, five o’clock shadow looming across his face, he then proceeded to explain that they all hang out in packs.  It's for protection, you see.  One midget walking down the street alone is of course going to be kicked and laughed at. But a full pack of midgets would instill fear in the average citizen.  Plus it's hard to kick and laugh at a whole group of midgets.  They'd bite your leg, it would swell up and fall off. 

I hadn't thought about any of this. He must be right, I said to myself.

Well, it seemed to us that it would be wisest to go after city midgets because we were already in a city.

But where would we find them, I asked. Tenderheart pondered on this. Probably the best place to find them would be at the park.  But we’d have to go out early because he figured that that’s the time they probably feed.  

“What do they feed on?” I asked

He seemed to search for an answer.   “Hmmm”, he said, rubbing his palm over his stubble.  “They're tiny little bastards so they must eat tiny little food.?” 

“You mean, like grapes?” 

“Yeah! Grapes!  Do you got any grapes in this dump?”  

“Yeah, we got grapes.  That’s why I thought of them, because I was just eating some.”  

New blank paper was found.  Ideas were suggested, sometimes rudely shot down, other times accepted and written down.  By two o'clock we had it.  I’m telling you our final plan was a masterpiece, a work of the kind of genius that only intelligent men with a few belts in them could come up with.   This, friends, was a plan!  We would head out at precisely four o’clock in the morning and walk the three blocks to the park.    Once there, we would set out bear traps covered with grapes and then hide behind trees.  There we would await the city midgets.   Then they would arrive snickering and leaping about.  Soon, they would smell the grapes, run forward and BANG!   One would be caught.   The others would probably run for help, so I suggested we bring along my fishing net to catch those others.   With this plan we figured we’d have two midgets snared by five o’clock .   It was brilliant.

 Time ticked by.   At exactly four AM , we looked up, intense eyes locking for a moment.   His fist hit the table.   “It’s time.  Let’s roll.”

I yelled to my wife, “We’re going out to hunt down city midgets.”

“Whatever”, came the sleepy voice from upstairs.

 We opened the door and stepped out onto the street.  I clutched the grapes and net, Tenderheart held the bear trap.   The city was dead.   The street lights added to the eerie drunkenness of the scene.   It was like being in a different world.  My next door neighbor’s dog barked.   With his bark he seemed to say “You’re not supposed to be in this late night world.  Don’t make me break out and bite you.”  

The cold air hit us like a wall.   I didn’t know how drunk I had gotten until we walked outside.  

“Damn”, I said, “Ish cold at this time of night.”.   

“Nosh shit”, said Tenderheart.  

I looked to him, the leader of this expedition, this safari. 

“Shall we go?”  

Tenderheart sniffed the air for a minute, looking around in the darkness.  

“You know what Dad?”  

“What, son?”.  

“Um, I think these are the kinds of nights that midgets don’t come out.   It’s too cold for them, see.   You know I told you that all they wear are little sweaters?   They can’t and wont come out now.   Let’s try again tomorrow.”

 We agreed to try it again the next morning, but somehow it didn't happen then.   But, we did mount a second expedition.   Hunting down some midgets.  That's right.  City midgets.

Go to Part Two  -  Go back to Warmheart's Tales