Sarah Nigbor

When I was a child, I might have looked like a curly golden-haired angel, complete with innocent blue eyes magnified by my giant, plastic 80s glasses (which for reasons I cannot fathom are making a comeback), but I could be a mischievous imp. I was not what you would call a bad kid, but I definitely had a naughty streak that I’m sure drove my straight as an arrow grandmother nuts.  

These childhood transgressions were brought to the surface by a recent visit from my childhood best friend, Meghan. Whenever we are together, the years melt away and I’m a carefree child with permed hair blowing in the wind as I ride my bike down Laurel Hill with no hands. My biggest worry back then was doing the dinner dishes before being released from captivity back onto the wilds of Saddle Club Road. Meghan and I laughed until tears streamed down our faces remembering how my grandma forced her to learn how to wash dishes before letting me out to play. She recalled being terrified she would miss a crumb under the watchful eye of Grandma, who always called her “That Weinberg Girl.” Let’s just say Grandma didn’t always appreciate her boisterous enthusiasm or its affect on me. Because it was my friends who influenced poor, innocent little Sarah into mischief. Right? If she only knew how often I was the instigator. 

Like the times we sneaked out to Grandpa’s wood shop to make prank phone calls. I was delighted when my grandparents had a phone installed in the shop. Grandma liked it because she could call out to Grandpa and let him know when supper was ready, when he was working. I liked it because I could call my friends without them eavesdropping. Back then we had phones with actual cords, so I could never stray too far from the phone jack, which was about 6 inches from my grandmother’s rocking chair.  

Little did we know that Grandma was wise to our plans and watched Meghan and me sneak into the shop. I’m sure she knew we weren’t out there to build a table or sand a shelf.  

We were smack dab in the middle of singing the Nutrisystem Diet song to our friend Derek on the phone when I heard her sharp voice over the line: “Sarah! You get in the house right now!” Before I could blink I looked out the shop window and saw her marching from the house to the shop, arms swinging and brow furrowed. Meghan took one look at her and scampered out the door across the field to her house. I was left to bear the wrath of Grandma alone. My head hung as she reamed me out and grounded me. I would be doing a lot more than dishes to make up for this faux pas.  

Another time, Meghan and I decided to build a snowfort on the new neighbor’s land in a pine tree grove. When we tired of packing snow, we decided we needed some pine branches to help build our hideout. However, the flexible boughs wouldn’t break off. Not to worry, Meghan said. She had a plan. We ran to her house and brought a couple of steak knives with us to saw off the branches. Let’s just say the new neighbor was NOT impressed. However, that’s how he met my grandparents and became a close friend. See, my mischief had a purpose! I was, however, mortified that he mentioned it at my grandmother’s funeral some 30 years later.  

My grandma still worked at Smead Manufacturing in River Falls back then. Grandpa was usually in his shop when I got home from school and Mom was at work, which left me to my own devices. Quite often, my friend Derek came home with me and we of course always wanted a snack. My grandma was not one to keep many snacks around; she didn’t want me eating between meals. The only thing even remotely resembling a snack was dry, tasteless Wheatsworth crackers. Desperate to find something that wasn’t sweet (because Grandma knew if we dug in the cookie container), we opened the chest freezer in the garage. “Look,” Dered said “Chicken patties like they have at school!”  

We soon learned to microwave a chicken patty for a snack, which became our habit. One day when we were playing in the yard, my grandmother came rushing from the garage holding an almost empty chicken patty box. “Look at this! Someone has been breaking into our garage and stealing food!” She was so upset and I was stunned into silence. Do I tell? I thought. I’m ashamed to say I never did. As far as Grandma knew, a chicken patty thief was on the loose on Saddle Club Road. A mystery she never solved, because suddenly, the thief developed a distaste for Schwan’s chicken patties.