One day we were in the Montano's back yard playing basketball and after a while it got boring since neither of us was very interested in that sport. We both stood around with that, "NOW what are we going to do?" look.
Over on Monterey Avenue was a family of Whitties. There were lots of children. One of the older daughters had moved into the Skapouski's old house, across the street from the Montanos, after another neighbor, Anaclario, had done some remodeling. The Whitty daughter now had several young children -- a new generation. Richard and I did not know her name, so we always just referred to the family as the "Junior Witties."
Suddenly Richard grabbed the basketball and said, "Watch this!"
He kicked the ball as hard as he could. To kick a basketball at all is pretty impressive; to kick as high as he did was marvellous, and all that Richard had intended. However, the ball sailed high up next to the Montano's giant pine tree, curved over Fresno Avenue as it caught the wind up high, slowly arced over the street, picked up speed as it plumeted to earth, bounced once on the walkway in front of the Junior Whitties' house, and then sailed through the plate-glass window that Anaclario had recently installed to front the living room.
Richard and I stood with our mouths open, blinking. After a few moments Mrs. Junior Whitty came shrieking out of the house. "Are you out of your mind?! Are you trying to kill my kids?! I am calling the police. First I am going to beat you senseless...",
I continued to stare blankly, but Richard turned to me and said with his impish smile, "Pretty good, huh?"