Kidhood

Kidhood should happen when you turn nine … maybe ten.

And last until the day you turn fourteen.

Then it’s over. Done.

That’s when everything you’ve learned starts to count.

For real.

Tommy Scott taught me to follow directions … by diagramming touch-football plays on my bony chest … with his stiff index-finger. The McCann brothers showed me how to tough-out a job … by delivering newspapers thru rain and snow. Joey Dandry proved that being muscled didn’t mean you couldn’t be soft … and sing like a choir boy.

Russell Pennington schooled me in music by teaching me to give every song a second chance. Howard Powell taught me to gut a fish … and Chrissy Keubler showed me how to prime an engine … and siphon gas without killing myself.

Matty McCann proved a kid can make a two-story fort … or anything else … with scrap wood and a jar of nails. And a ruler. Now he does it big time.

I discovered that girls and guys are surely different … but not as different as I imagined.

Marianne McLane uncovered my chivalry … and Bonnie Bohrman kick-started my libido without even knowing it. Ruth-Ann Repko taught me that ladies prefer gentlemen. And Helen O’Dell showed me how to kiss … very softly. And mean it.

Mark Middleton proved that some adults are racist-idiots … who can be perfectly shamed by a cool kid. And Ian Masterson proved it wasn’t necessary to talk every few seconds … that a nod would do.

Mary Byrne Hoffman showed brilliant guts by reciting every line of “The Song of Hiawatha” … without dying on stage … despite her speech issues. And George Elliot proved beyond a doubt that playing the piano was way cooler than swishing a bunch of jump shots.

Steve Bullock inspired me by pissin’ me off … and it cost him a swim championship. And I learned to use that switch to my advantage. Still do.

Larry Williams taught me the importance of patience … and helped me fall in love with the guitar. Eddie Plank demonstrated that it wasn’t impossible to be a football star … an altar boy … and a brainiac.

And Gary James learned never to sucker-punch my younger brother.

And there was more. Lots more.

Lessons on fighting and forgiveness … winning and losing … and even some bravery stuff. Informal tutoring about loyalty … and honor. And seeing inside people.

I learned how to take a beating … and to defend myself … and when enough is enough. And when to shake hands … and get back to whatever.

I almost mastered the difference between clever and crude … funny and foul … and what to say and not say in certain moments.  And I learned about friendships … how to make ‘em and keep ‘em.  And how to lose ’em with a word … or a broken promise.

I found out that kindness matters lots. And that “do unto others as you would have them do unto you” ain’t just preacher stuff. It’s real.

I conquered embarrassment by learning to laugh at myself … and rescuing others from their blushy moments. I discovered how to go solo … rather than follow the crowd … and be very okay with that choice. I found me.

I was coached on how to shoot a gun … flick a fly rod … string a bow … spear a fish … ride a motor scooter … and fix a prop.

I mastered zipping around the lake on one ski … and I taught my friends how to do it, too.

And all of this happened before any of us turned fourteen … without any adult in sight.

Because of that I didn’t raise my own kids like mushrooms … in a some dank room. And I didn’t protect ’em from every life-bump … or bother with the “what ifs” because I was too busy cheerin’ the “Why nots“.

They learned to love the big moment that made other kids shut down. But they also understood how to win … and lose … with grace and quiet class.

I allowed for lots of mistakes, bad decisions … and beautiful screw-ups. Even accidents. And I shut up as much as I could … because bad decisions have their own “I told you so” sermons. So, I bit my tongue and saved my homilies for when they really mattered.

I let ’em hang with the right friends … and learn things like I did … from one anther.  I went easy on the rules and heavy on the common sense.  And I let ’em try lots of things … sports, instruments, and edgy adventures that wouldn’t kill ’em.

I made sure they weren’t tv addicts or video junkies. I encouraged them to be the best … and taught them to be gentlemen way before they were even men. 

So … throw ‘em on a team. Dare ‘em and challenge ‘em.  And when they show up covered in dirt … with a hole in their head or some dried blood on their chin … don’t pass out  and think they’ll come down with cholera by sundown.

If that stuff happens enough … well … you just might find yourself living with a helluva kid.

It happened to me. Three times.

Denis Ian