Before there were energizer bunnies there was Petey Savarado.
Petey was your one-of-akind, wind-em-up and let ‘em go, shot out of a cannon, road-runner. Five minutes before the morning school bell, a dozen of us would hunker down around the school gate, pull out our stopwatch, and clock Petey from the time he tore out of his mom’s mini-van, backpack hanging on for dear life, and burst through the main entrance where Mr. Dalhousie, the viceprincipal, was checking the weather.
Petey kept a secret stash of energy in his backpack.
We could almost quote the administrator’s yell echoing down the hall in the wake of the mad dasher. It would be automatic: “Petey, tie up your laces, or you’re going to… trip. I told you; you would trip.”
That trip was the starting gun for the twelve of us. We tore past Mr. Dalhousie and tried to get into our seats before Petey had picked himself up and slunk into the classroom. For some reason, his energy ran out at the classroom door.
My mother said it was because his family stashed tapioca and potatoes down his throat for breakfast, lunch, and supper.
I’m not sure how she knew, but she worked as a volunteer at the Foodbank running out of our church basement and a lot of community members liked to donate their tapioca and potatoes for those who didn’t have much choice.
Petey would come to school with a stash of facts on the tip of his tongue. He’d say things like. “My grandpa Joe says ‘starch is part of a nutritious diet.’” “My grandpa Joe says ‘Jesus stashed energy into every bit of food we eat.’” “My grandpa Joe says you should save a dime for every dollar so you have it for a rainy day.” My friend Dennis would hold out his hand at this last saying. “You can stash your dime with me.”
One day Petey surprised us. I can still remember the moment. It was the day before Thanksgiving. By then, most of us no longer waited at the gate with our stopwatches. Petey had become one of the many. The show was over. “You’re not going to believe what grandpa Joe told me,” he said.
Dennis crossed his arms and set his jaw. “I’ve believed so many things that aren’t true I’m fine with not believing another one.”
Petey thought about that for a minute and somehow it made sense to him. He scratched the red mop on his head and adjusted his glasses. He nodded. “Okay, buckle up amigos. The God who is bigger than the universe stashed himself in a tiny body and lived in our neighborhood.”
“What are you talking about?” Dennis asked. “Which house?”
“There’s more. The God who stashed himself into a baby body also stashed his energy into all the living food he made.”
“Like what?” I asked. “Like grains, and seeds, and beans, and potatoes and fries, and bananas, and rice, and tapioca, and cornflakes, and bread and I can’t remember what else.”
“I’ve been to Sunday School since I could crawl,” I said, “and I never heard that.”
Petey frowned. “You should have invited me. I could tell your class all kinds of things Grandpa Joe told me since my daddy died.”
“You’re making this stuff up,” Dennis said.
Petey shook his head vehemently. “Am not. My grandpa Joe says his daddy was a preacher and found out all kinds of things stashed inside a good book.”
“You mean the Bible?” I asked.
“Not sure,” Petey said. “My grandpa said they used to read the good book in school when he was my age and they learned all kinds of stories.”
“That’s not fair!” Dennis said. “Why did your grandpa get all the good stories?”
“I’m not sure,” Petey says. “My mom doesn’t want him reading the good book when she’s around. She’s mad at God since daddy died. I don’t think she wants to believe the best story of all.”
“What story is that?” Dennis asked.
“When God stashed himself into a tiny body it was because he loved us. Somehow, he stashed himself into our hearts so that we could love others. I hope one day that God can stash himself into my mom’s heart.”
“I wish God would stash some love into my daddy’s heart,” Dennis said.
“Can you tell me that story, Petey?”
“Why don’t you come and hear it after school from grandpa Joe?”