On a Wednesday night, like some other Wednesday nights, there was a PTA meeting at my grade school. My mom was an active member of the PTA, and she always brought me along so that I could play on my school’s playground. I use the term playground loosely because the school could afford a seesaw which was bent beyond repair, a metal slide that burnt everyone that used it in the summer, a merry-go-round that touched the ground on one side, and a small swing set with two swings. All of this was kept on a gravel plot and somehow it managed to entertain the 80 students from Kindergarten to 8th Grade at my school.
So, on this Wednesday night during my third or fourth grade year, I went about my business, playing in the gravel or trying to jump out of the swings and touch the pavement (smart, I know). I was thoroughly enjoying myself, when two young boys came up to the playground to play as well. I can’t tell you what was going through my head, but for some reason, I decided that it would be fun to throw rocks at the two boys. Maybe they would think it is as entertaining as I thought it was? So time went on and I ended chasing the kids around the playground just tossing rocks at them.
Taking a detour to hide out behind one of the giant oak trees that were in the middle of the school parking lot, I was startled by another boy who was yelling at me. He looked like he was about my age and asked me what I was doing. Of course, I said “Nothing!” Of course, that was a lie. Of course, he proceeded to chase me down and pummel me.
As it turned out, those two boys were his little brothers. As we were wrestling and fighting on the ground, our moms come out and separate us. I guess the PTA meeting was over; or maybe they just heard our commotion. They all filed into their car and drove out of sight. I didn’t really think much about that night right away, even after my mom punished me. She probably grounded me or didn’t let me listen to music or have vegetables. My weirdness is a story for another time though.
That next Monday rolls around, and who should I see in school but THAT kid himself. This can’t bode well, right? He walked up to me and asked if I wanted to spend the night at his house. Um… sure! We were 8, and apparently the rock incident never happened. We hung out all that week, and the following weekend, I rode the bus out to Mike’s house. From that point on, we were nearly inseparable in grade school. We even a speech together, Say Goodbye, Herb; it was the first speech either of us had done. I can still recite a few lines from it actually.
It’s been a long time since we first met, but I guess I have a great story about it. Also, as a rule of thumb, this is probably *NOT* the best way to make friends.
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