Decked

We have moved into a new house. My parents, my siblings, my children and I. My siblings and my children are the same people, but that doesn't seem important.

There is a second floor deck off the kitchen and the children and I are down below in the yard, gold plating something big, bulky, top secret and dangerous. Every so often my mother calls down from the deck telling us to hurry and every so often I leave to go next door to the high school where they are having graduation exercises. At the school I stand in long lines and shake hands with dignitaries who are there to watch us, but I always go back home to work in the yard.

We (my children, or siblings and I) are madly trying to finish gold plating the bomb in the yard when we hear a helicopter coming.  My mother warns us and we think about trying to escape, but I am caught holding the bomb, trying to pretend it is only a gold pumpkin as I start to slide down a water chute to get away.

The helicopter, which is shaped like a huge yellow boomerang, swoops down in front of me, forcing me back to the yard, then it lands in the back of the yard and several military officers disembark. They herd us all up onto the deck and the bigwig, who looks suspiciously like my grand-pop, gives a speech.

He tells us that we are heroes and our country appreciates what we have done and because of that he is giving me a gold colored band for the arm of my coat. I realize he is just bamboozling us and the band is less than worthless, but say nothing. He ends up giving me his uniform coat as well and the woman with him escorts us back down to the yard to resume working.

I think this is all a crock, but I am afraid to buck the system, so I wave at my mother up on the deck and she waves back smiling happily.