Zorro Got Me Grounded For A Month

When I was six years old Zorro was my idol. What really impressed me was how Zorro carved his "Z" trademark signature with his saber. Zorro carved the "big Z" on everything including Sargent Garcia's cummerbund as his own unique way of letting his enemies know that this was Zorro's turf.

One summer afternoon in 1956, while my mom was her 3 p.m. cocktails with another desperate housewife who lived across the street, I decided to emulate my hero by dipping a sharpened stick into a gallon of dad's red paint and painting a few dozen of Zorro's "Z" signature on the wood siding of our family house.

I had no idea that my artwork on behalf of Zorro's cause would result in a precipitous decline in the value of my parent's home. In fact, I thought my parents would be proud of my artistic statement on behalf of Señor Zorro, hero of the downtrodden masses. As it turned out, I was wrong.

When my mom returned home, the shrieks could be heard from the foot of the driveway and the shrieking continued into the early hours of the next morning. I didn't know the meaning of the word "trouble" until that fateful day of my failed Zorro art project. I was restricted to my room for a month and banned from ever watching "Zorro" ever again. My dad burned up my treasured Zorro Halloween costume on the barbecue grill.

I spent the balance of my childhood years cursing the evil Walt Disney for producing a television show that transformed me from "the good son" into vandalizing juvenile delinquent at the tender age of 6. As result, I learned the hazards of hero worship at a young age.

Even as an adult, I was haunted by the Zorro incident. For the rest of her life, my mom would retell the Zorro story at every family event, and present it as evidence of my life long tendency toward destructive anti-social behavior. I will go to the grave wearing the indelible mark of Zorro, like a scarlet letter of shame.

I consider myself lucky...worse things could have happened to me. Later that same year a first grade classmate of mine jumped from third floor balcony of his parent's apartment, wearing a cape that he improvised from a bath towel. He broke a leg attempting to prove that anybody wearing a cape could fly like Superman. Lucky for that kid that he wasn't trying to prove that real bullets could bounce off his chest or he could stop a speeding locomotive in it's tracks.