The EAV Club

            Recently a close friend referred to me as “Indiana Jones in the flesh-- female, of course.”  At the time I chuckled, I had just returned from a month-long personal mission to “rescue” my Cuban refugee/fiancé from Honduras; miraculously managing to smuggle him over three borders to Washington, DC (where he now has Unites States political asylum.)  However, when I reflect on my past three decades, I realize how profoundly influenced I have been by such childhood films. 

 

            In the early 1980’s, I created a club, which I named E.A.V.:  Explorers, Adventures and Venturers (keep in mind, at 9 years old, I thought “venturers” was legitimate vocabulary.)  Fashioned after the eclectic, pre-teen troop featured in the film, “The Goonies”, as self-appointed President of E.A.V (“It was MY idea, so I am President!!!), I recruited a handful childhood neighbors to enlist.  Membership mainly entailed an iron loyalty to the President, ability to follow the President’s omni-potent instructions, a backpack, a flashlight, and some kind of sharable snack (twinkies, preferred.)

 

            Our maiden voyage took us through Mrs. Wysocki’s Forbidden Backyard.  Mrs. Wysocki, viewed as the neighborhood “witch”, did not allow ANYONE to snoop through her backyard.  Signs were posted everywhere:  NO TRESSPASSING.  GUARD DOG.  However, we KNEW she had no guard dog—no one had ever seen nor heard it.  So imagine our surprise to run into a llama (which we thought was a deformed camel) in the midst of our explorations into the Forbidden Backyard.  Despite our hasty and noisy retreat, the adrenalin rush guaranteed another adventure for E.A.V.

 

            Following several explorations into the Forbidden Backyard to watch the camel, abandoned home-construction work sites, and such, an inevitable boredom set in (members complained) and we were keen to set on a REAL adventure.  As the kids in “The Goonies” discovered treasures among caves below their homes, we decided to investigate the neighborhood sewers (the closest thing to caves we could think of.)  Armed with backpacks, flashlights, peanut butter sandwiches, and a few Barbies, we managed to collectively remove the heavy man-hole cover and descend down the ladder into the sewer unnoticed.

 

            The sewers throughout Reston, Virginia (the first planned community in America), are connected; therefore, we walked through tunnels for hours (at least it seemed like hours.)  And yes, it did stink and we had no idea what sewers really did, but we were confident we would find a treasure.  However, after several hours when no treasure appeared and Stevie had to use the bathroom and our Navigator, Katie, grew confused—we decided to return to the surface.  Only we couldn’t get the man-hole cover off!  This naturally incited a wide-spread panic that led to screaming for help.

 

            Luckily, a near-by 7-Eleven Cashier (who happened to be having a smoke-break outside) heard wailing coming from, what he thought, the sewers.  Within minutes, a team of 7-Eleven staff and random customers lifted the man-hole cover.  We, smelly, soggy kids, emerged (with one missing Malibu Barbie.)  It turns out we were nearly 5 miles away from our neighborhood!  Parents were phoned and 7-Eleven Slushies were distributed to we, obviously traumatized kids.  The glorious moment did not last long, as when my mother arrived to pick us all up, she was NOT happy.  We ended up at the ER getting protective shots and such.  I was “grounded” (no after-school television or play outside) for a week.  Unfortunately, E.A.V. disbanded.

 

            However, it appears my E.A.V. days have not really ended after all.  In the past decade, I have lived and worked on 5 continents, survived a mudslide in Tanzania, witnessed an elephant assault my car in South Africa, run into a python, had to be rescued by the Coast Guard in the Gulf of Mexico, accidentally walked in the middle of the Chogye Temple Riots in Korea, and such mayhem.  I blame “Indian Jones” and other such childhood films.