The 'B' Word!

The 'B' Word!



In the life of a boy, best friends are an immeasurable gift. Sam was that kind of friend, together we cruised into the often times dangerous labyrinth of our sixth grade year at Westview Elementary School. It was here, we both entered a phase where we tried to more than just talk about being tough guys. According to our estimation, intimidation went 'part and parcel,' with being tough. This misconception dramatically changed our walk home after school one day.

Back in those days, our neighbourhoods had concrete sidewalks that were big enough for two people to walk side by side. Our combined mental gene pool figured if you wanted to be regarded as tough, you needed to crumple up your face with a stern squint, look the oncoming person in the eye, and refuse to budge, making them step off the curb into the street to get around you. I must say, our bravado worked for a while, especially on kids younger, and with less stature. Nevertheless, as goes the plight of young ruffians, eventually we met our match. I guess that saying is true, “Every chip on someone’s shoulder, is just sitting there, waiting to get knocked off.”

One Friday after school, Sam and I were feeling frisky about our prospects for the weekend. We also felt exceptionally buff, particularly when we spotted our soon too be victim, approaching in the distance. This innocent bystander was walking on the opposite side of the street from us. Nonchalantly, we meandered across the road and continued down a plumb line, heading directly toward our unsuspecting target. Unfortunately, as he approached closer, the kid looked like he was in high school and didn’t appear to think too much of our macho theatrics. Riding a wave of dumb, we mustered our collective will power, challenging each other to remain strong. Little did we realize the magnitude of the approaching storm, heading directly into our path. My oh my, what a catastrophe it was! With a swift and deadly extension of his right arm, this larger than life teenage bully, grabbed Sam by the front of his jacket, and with one fell swoop lifted him several feet off the ground; shaking him furiously like there was no hope for tomorrow. Then, this nefarious pugilist, with lightening fast speed, threw Sam to the ground like a discarded rag doll, unleashing a barrage of swear words, neither of us had ever heard before. With vigilante sense of justice flashing in his eyes, he turned his attention toward me. Figuring Sam’s debut couldn’t be the right answer, I squealed like a baby pig, offering up my share of the sidewalk, as I looked over my shoulder in a dead run.

This behemoth’s parting shot came when he had the audacity to call us both, “little bastards.” He then continued along his merry way, no doubt telling himself, he had done his good deed for the day. Well, let me tell you, our death defying experience with this mutant child abuser energized us. Riding the thrill, we immediately added the word ‘bastard’ to our ever-broadening sixth grade vocabulary list. Neither, Sam nor I, had so much as a clue, what the word meant, that had so eloquently flowed from this ruffian’s mouth. Dusting ourselves off, we exchanged this innocent word bastard, playfully with one another, the remainder of the way home. Practice makes perfect, and if memory serves me correctly, we even shared the term with a couple of young children playing in their front yard.

Exhilarated by the thrill of this lesson with verbal power, I changed my clothes as fast as I could, then made a beeline for Sam’s, to begin our after school ritual of play. To my utter dismay, dark clouds hovered over Sam’s house. Yep, right there in plain sight, Sam’s mom loomed gloom, all over our play field. She was not only home, she was also hot under the collar, about her one and only son, neglecting to pick up the dog poop, as he had been repeatedly instructed. So, allow me to ask you a simple question. What do sixth graders do when they pick up a new experience? Absolutely, they use it! Sam’s mom seemed like a more than appropriate target, to try out our new vocabulary word on.

So picture this, Sam has a large brown paper grocery bag in one hand, with this little black fireplace scooper in the other. He’s dancing in and out of poop piles, like honeybees dart to fresh luscious flowers in the summer.

With steam building and taking on the image of courage, he finally got enough nerve to express his frustration over the immediate task. Out of the blue, Sam decided he’d had enough scolding for the day. In twelve year old plain English, he laid it right out there and said, “Mom, you’re a bastard!”

Well, let me just say mommy dear could not believe her ears. I must have looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an on coming, semi-truck. In a slow-motion moment, she looked over at me with a glare that could kill legions; deciding it was time to draw me into their domestic fray.

Tilting her head with a motherly look of disbelief, she asked, “What did he say?” Like I was supposed to be the United Nations Neighbourhood Interpreter, for the Young and Dumb children of the world?

My saving grace must have been the stupid look on my face, when I blabbed out, “He called you a bastard.”

With the phrase hanging effortlessly in the air, her tranquillity fled, as she moved toward her son with the speed of light. I tell you, she collared that boy, scooting him across the yard like a rocket booster to the back door.

Standing like King Kong a top the Empire State Building, her scolding finger locked in place with one hand, with Sam gasping for air in the other, she instructed me to go directly home, and make darn sure I didn’t pass go, while doing so. There was no doubt in my mind, our verbal declarations would land poor Sam in the slammer for life. Sitting on my back porch, I shook my head thinking about him getting beat up, twice in one day! I'm sad to report; Sam was held in solitary confinement for two weeks, that's right, fourteen endless days. When he was finally able to make his break for fresh air and sunshine, we resolved together, there would be no more bullying tactics, expressed on the wings of the 'B' word.







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