Leave Them Hangin'

My parents had a lot of weird friends while we were growing up and back then, their odd friends and representatives from various organizations they belonged to, would show up at our doorstep unannounced. My two brothers and I, one older, one younger, developed a complete introverted approach to all these visitors and avoided interacting with them at all costs. If the doorbell rang, we ran and hid. It didn't help that our house was usually in a shambles and that my older brother's wardrobe usually consisted of tattered pajamas which were unfortunately ripped in a very delicate region. If the phone rang, we didn't pick it up. Someone who only knew how to speak Ukrainian might be on the line!

One day the three of us were home alone as my parents were out somewhere. This was usually a recipe for something bad to happen and this day would prove to be no exception. The doorbell rang and I made a crucial error at this point. I answered it. There stood, on on our front stairs and sidewalk a contingent of young people from the Ukrainian Boy Scouts, known as Plast.
They were decked out in full uniform and were there to ask for their annual donation for their troop.

I told them to hold on, as I did not know what to do next. I left them outside on our stoop in the chilly air.

I sought out the advice of my older and wiser brother, who was of no help at all. After all, I was the one that had foolishly answered the door and I would have to figure out how to deal with the situation. I pleaded with my brother to go to the front door and let these young men know that our parents weren't home and that they would have to come back. But, my brother refused. I had created this problem and he wasn't going to anything to help solve it. I can't remember if I asked my younger brother to do the same or not. If I did, there was no way he was going to talk to them.

I peeked through  our front window to look at our visitors as several minutes had passed by at this point. They were still there, eagerly awaiting my return. They didn't know it, but I had already made up my mind that I was not going back to talk to them. Call it fear, rudeness, or just plain childish behavior, but I had decided that I would let them stay out there until their patience was exhausted and they would simply leave.

I continued to peek through the front windows and observed them, hoping they would leave quickly. After what seemed an eternity, they just turned away, got in their car and drove off.

My parents eventually came back home and being the generally honest kid I was, I told them what had happened earlier that afternoon. They were appalled at our behavior and ashamed that we had been so rude to our visitors. What would Plast think of our family now?

Well, we never found out. Plast never came to our door again.