My middle school years
could have been taken right out of a “Jackass” episode. I cringe when I
think about the foolhardly stunts we pulled as kids: careening down steep
pavement on a wobbly skateboard we made from a pair of old roller skates or
playing tag football in the street while we watched for cars, brushing off
Uncle Pete’s fierce but familiar, “Ya’ll better get out that road!”
All of us in the
neighborhood gang – me, Elbert Banks and brothers Jeff and Greg Pankey –
carry scars from our days of youthful bravery. But I don’t regret anything,
because our stunts, no matter how reckless, made me the tough competitor I
am today. That’s because we always wanted to beat each other at whatever we
were doing, and we never gave up or gave in. If we were playing tag football
(always on pavement, sans knee or elbow pads) and you happened to be the
smallest guy in the game, you’d better watch out because no one was going to
take it easy on you.
One of our more daredevilish
pastimes was pole vaulting. We’d rip through the woods with an axe and chop
down sturdy braches fit for whittling into pole vaults. Each of us had our
own pole, often personalized with carvings of our names or symbols with
secret meanings. We’d set up a bar right next to the coal pile near graddad’s store. If you know anything about slate coal, it’s soft. This
was the stuff of
our landing zone. Of course, after a while, our makeshift poles would become
brittle with age and eventually break, usually in mid-air, and we’d get
busted up.
We used the nearby woods
for more than just pole-hunting. Elbert and I were always searching out ways
to bulk up, and we’d make it an adventure scouting tree limbs to transform
into weight-lifting bars. We’d stick the wooden bars through some
cinderblocks we’d find near the granddad’s house, which was always
surrounded with packrat treasures like car parts, tires or old farm
equipment. I’m sure we looked hysterical, shirtless and straining under the
pressure of wobbly cinder blocks.
When we weren’t hefting
weights, we were chasing yellow jackets. Yeah, we were young and dumb. We
thought we were hunters, and a few stings here or there weren’t a big deal.
One day, though, we were playing baseball and found a nest near the area
that we used as a pitcher’s mound. One scoop with a spade shovel, and we
were in big trouble. I’m not sure what made the hive so aggressive, but I’ve
never seen so many bees. They lit us up like firecrackers, tailing us across
the field and stinging every step of the way. It wasn't the best way
for me to discover my allergy to bee venom, but after a few hours and a shot
in the rump at Oak Hill Hospital, I was fine.
So what did my utter
disregard for reason, sensibility and human pain teach me as a kid?
Everything. Although I’m much more judicious as an adult, I’m not afraid to
take risks. And I’m a fierce competitor though and through.
