Being a child was horrendous, and it perplexes me how so many can look back fondly on those dark, dark years. Sure, maybe your problems weren’t as pressing as they are once you grow up, but all ages have their problems. The injustice, the other kids, and the combination of both.

A common motif in children’s literature is the staggering incompetence of the adults around the kids. It’s incredible how accurate this is. I can remember back to my 6th grade year, where I, as well as most “good kids” quaked in fear of the dreaded Disciplinary Referral, or known by the sinister initials of the “DR.”

It was spring time, so naturally every Alaskan child was going absolutely buck-wild after the death-inducing cold receded. For whatever reason, my friend kicked and his shoe came flying off. I snatched it up, and thus a delightful game of keep-away began.

Keep-away was incredibly popular out on the playground. For those of you too old, or too sheltered to know or remember, keep-away involved stealing someone’s possession, such as a hat, gloves, whatever, and then you passed it between other people while the victim ran around in circles trying to recapture their item. It was a game my friends and I played often, just amongst ourselves, all in good spirit. I had my hat stolen numerous times. It was a game of one versus the mob, and was always, always hilarious.

I suppose that there were people who found this less hilarious, as it was considered bullying, which is reasonable, except it only happened between us compadres, so it was more of a good-natured harassment, the act was never carried out to torment another. By us, at least.

The playground was patrolled by the “School Gestapo,” or their given name: “The Duties.” These were teachers and faculty who had to spend recesses outside, looking for rule-breaking kids, or kids who looked like they might be breaking rules. Punishment was sometimes a scolding, a timeout on the bench, or the dreaded DR, which usually had a score of added punishments to be added.

So my friend’s shoe came flying off, and I snatched it up. Keeping it away from him as he laughed and hopped after me on one foot.

The game continued until he requested his shoe back, as his uncovered foot was becoming cold and wet. This was another part of the game, when the victim requested their item back seriously, it would be returned to them.

His shoe was replaced, but it was too late. A duty marched over, an ancient, dried-up harpy was making her way over. She turned to my friend, the one who had his shoe stolen, and asked for his name. He gave it to her and she spoke into the radio, telling the office to write him up a DR.

She then turned to me, and requested my name. I refused to give it to her until the situation had been explained. The camel was displeased at my rebellion, and completely ignored my attempts to explain that my friend, the one who had his shoe stolen, did not deserve a DR for simply being the victim.

As she was only able to hear the sound of her own cud-chewing and her horns growing, she completely ignored it, saying I could bring it up with the principal. Something that meant, “I am a lazy bitch who doesn’t want to do her job because I have recently come to the realization that I am going to die alone and unloved.”

After presenting our case to the principal, my friend was cleared of all charges. I, on the other hand, was sent to some kind of lunchtime detention where I was forced to write a letter of apology. It went something like this:

Dear Fred,

I am sorry I stole your shoe and tossed it around, even though you and I were playing and having a good time. They are making me apologize, so sorry.

Sincerely,

Nathan

I wonder if he still has that letter, I would love to see what I actually wrote.

He actually informed me that he is coming to visit for a couple days in August, so I can only assume that all is forgiven. It was the heartfelt, hand-written letter. I know it.

-Nathan

“Don’t go around breakin’ young girl’s hearts/HEEEEEEeeeeee” -Billie Jean by Michael Jackson