13 - G.I. Joe with the Kung Fu Grip

How is it that even toy makers started subjecting us to sexual stereotypes when we were barely able to crawl, yet we all didn’t end up in therapy?
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Well, most of us did.
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It truly becomes evident as you look at any plastic “fashion/style” doll. All the tiny plastic women have hourglass figures and neutron bomb breasts, ready to poke an eye out. GI Joe and Ken are basically built the same, but Joe would obviously kick Ken’s ass in a fight. When I was in kindergarten, my sister gave me a tiny suitcase filled with Ken and Barbie and all of their various clothes and accessories.
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She said, "Here, take this to ‘show and tell’. It will be fun."
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"What about GI Joe?"
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"What about him?"
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"Can I take Joe?"
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"Alright, I guess," she said and carefully tucked him into the small wooden box with Barbie and Ken and all of their clothes. All GI Joe had was his helmet, his olive drabs, his rifle and his gun. One was for fighting and one was for fun. So, Joe got to go to school with Barbie and Ken, bouncing around in the case between the two. Ken and Barbie had special straps to hold them in place. Joe, on the other hand, was tossed on his head several times. It was okay, though, because Joe could take it.
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I got to Kindergarten and stored the carrying case beside my Happy Days lunch box n my storage cube and went about my day. The teacher had laid large strips of paper across our tables and we spent a good part of the morning gathered around our group's table coloring on the paper and talking about anything we could think about, which was usually which toys everyone did or didn't have. About halfway through the morning, Mrs. Greer, our kindergarten teacher, asked a trivia question about something she had talked about during the morning. If someone answered her trivia question correctly, they were allowed to sit on one of the four beanbags during story time. I was usually busy talking to someone, so I rarely knew the answers to her trivia questions. Instead, I got to sit on the hard, carpeted floor with Karen and Stacey Goldman, who also never seemed to have the answers, either.
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We'd lie down and whisper things between each other, giggling, and often getting told to quiet down by Mrs. Greer. Sometimes we'd just get split apart until show and tell. After story time, we got to have play time, which always got us all wound up. During playtime, Eric Butler, who also sat at our table, and Joey Burton joined us while we played with Tinker toys or Wooden Blocks. After a while, Karen suggested I get my wooden box off the shelf and we'd play with whatever was inside.
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I ran to the cubby hole with my stuff and pulled out my sister’s “Doll Box”. I returned and flung open the lid. Ken and Barbie were ready and waiting, strapped into place.
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“Oh!” exclaimed Stacey, “I just love Barbie!”
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She carefully removed Barbie from her perch and walked her back and forth on the carpet. Eric followed along, unfastening Ken and prancing him around on the carpet next to Barbie. I dug through the clothes and out popped the head of G.I. Joe (the Great American Hero!).
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However, before I could get my hands on Gi.I. Joe, Joey quickly snatched him up and began dancing, forcing his way between Ken and Barbie.
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“Hey! That’s mine!” I exclaimed.
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“Yeah, but I got him first. Fingers keepers, losers weepers, boo-hoo-hoo!” He mimicked rubbing his tearful eyes before returning to his dance with the Barbie Doll. Every so often, he took Joe by the arms and pretended to punch him. Then, he laughed and danced next to Barbie some more.
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“Here,” said Eric, “You can take Ken.”
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“But I want Joe.”
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“I am playing with him. You’ve got Ken.”
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And so I did have Ken – which wasn’t what I wanted at all. As I watched Joe show off with G.I. Joe, I grabbed Ken by the legs and clocked Joey on the head. Ken flew out of his beach pants and fell to the ground. He was broken in two.
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“Ohhhh,” said Stacey.
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“He’s hurt,” said Karen.
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By this time, Mrs. Greer came over to see what all the commotion was about and she immediately stooped down to pick up the broken Ken doll.
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“What do we have here?”
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“”Balth hit me with the Ken doll.”
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“He took my G.I. Joe.”
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“I did not.”
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“You did too. It’s right there in your hands.”
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“Alright, alright, Joey, you return the G.I. Joe to Balthazar and we’ll return Ken back to normal.”
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“But he’s broken…”
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Mrs. Greer led me to her desk where she pulled out a drawer with a large stash of sewing supplies. She fished out a crocheting needle and used the hooked end to pull out the extra bit of elastic cord. Then, she fastened the cord and pulled everything was as good as new…almost.
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“Ken’s bent over.”
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"Well, maybe the elastic is just a bit too tight. It'll stretch with time.”
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She attempted to fix it, but he was still slightly bent into an L-shape. Mrs. Greer scrunched her nose the slightest bit as she handed him back to me.
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“I know it’s not perfect, but it’s the best I can do.”
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I took Ken and returned to the play area where the Doll Box sat. I fastened Ken into place, but he was reaching forward, like a kid on on that amusement park ride where you spin around and the bottom falls out.
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I stared at it for a moment before putting everyone back into the box and returning it to the cubby hole. Show and Tell came and went without me sharing the Doll Box to the classmates.
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When I arrived home, my sister immediately greeted me as I entered the kitchen. She was fixing up some of her special Macaroni and Cheese for us. It included a handful of taco cheese stirred in at the end. Long strings of cheddar always stretched from the fork to the macaroni, which made it taste great and it was more fun, too.
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“How was show and tell?”
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“I didn’t do it. I had a problem. I broke Ken.”
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“Oh?”
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She came over as I opened the Doll Box and explained that morning’s events. She simply scruffed me on the head and said, “It’s okay, maybe Ken is a bender. Maybe he’s a gymnast.”

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It is funny how, in the 1970s, that phrase would’ve been so harmless and meaningless, yet now, as I look back, there is a stereotype which was pervasive all throughout the day, even back then. Ken was Ken and Ken hung out with Barbie, but she really probably preferred a weekend out with Joe, talking about his missions with the Adventure Team, doing something with his SCUBA gear or using his zip-line to get into an enemy hideout.

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Yeah, those toy manufactures, just like the rest of us, they jump to conclusions without batting an eye. Me and my sister sat down in the kitchen nook and ate our macaroni and cheese and all the troubles just seemed to blow away.
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12 - When Things Get Out of Hand

In the early spring of 1983, Craig MacIntyre was discovering amazing new sensations down in his trousers.

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Well, maybe not completely new…

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Although “Jack Mac” had messed his pants while dancing at the Watergate Hotel in Washington D.C., “Jack” earned his nickname two and a half years earlier in the spring of 1980.

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When we were just 11 and 12, Bryan, Billy, Alex, and I were a semi-regular group of four, riding our bikes back and forth through the streets of Reynoldsburg and playing some sort of pick-up game in someone’s backyard, whether it was Wiffle Ball, soccer, or football. Today, it would be soccer.

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Billy had tucked a soccer ball into his backpack and he led the way to Craig MacIntyre’s house. Craig had this huge backyard parked atop a hill with a long stretch of field running east-to-west.

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Mr. MacIntyre was some sort of architect and he had built goal posts at both ends of the yard and mowed it n a crisscross pattern at least twice a week from early Spring to late fall so we could play Soccer at the safety of the MacIntyre house. Craig’s house was always our favorite place to hang out and play.

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We rode up the narrow bike path that led through a small grove of trees and up to the driveway beside Big Mac’s house. We dumped our bikes in a messy pile next to the basketball pole at the back of the drive and ran towards the house.

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His room was in the basement and you could see directly into his bedroom from the window that strangled the ground. Billy was the first to hit the window and look inside.

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“Holy fuck!” he shouted.

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All of us ran up to the house and cupped our hands over the window to shield the sunlight as we peered into the basement window.

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“Holy fuck!” I repeated.

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Craig was stretched out on the big red beanbag chair that sat in front of the television, completely naked. The TV was tuned to the “Key Club” channel. Craig seemed to be enjoying what he was watching although the Porn channel ad been scrambled by the cable company and the picture was out of focus.

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When Billy arrived at the window, Craig jumped to his feet and quickly jerked up his pants. By the time the rest of us arrived, it was all about Craig trying to dress himself as fast as possible. As soon as he was in jeans and a t-shirt, he reached up and yanked the bedroom curtains shut.

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“Can you believe it?” laughed Billy.

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“What was it?” said Alex.

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“He was stretched out on the beanbag chair jerking off.”

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“You gotta be kidding…he knew we were coming over, right?. I mean, I just talked to him a half hour ago.”

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“Sometimes, nature calls,” said Bryan.

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Yeah, but I think you should have the brains to close the curtain first.”

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After a few minutes of waiting, we went over to the soccer field. Since there were only three of us, we stood in a triangle and kicked the ball back and forth. We waited quite a while for Craig, so Billy finally decided we should see if he returned to watching TV or what.

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“Come on, let’s find out what’s taking him so damn long.”

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Billy marched up to the side door and knocked loudly. Mrs. MacIntyre rushed out from the kitchen.

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“Yes, boys?”

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“We were wondering what’s taking Jack so long…”

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“What? Who?”

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Bryan and I hid behind Billy to hide our snickering.

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“Oh, Jack – you know – your son. It’s a nickname we use for him.”

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“It is?”

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Billy nodded as we continued to fight off the uncontrollable laughter.

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“Oh, alright. Come on in and I’ll see if he’s awake.”

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“I’m sure he’s up,” said Billy.

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“Oh Creggy!” Mrs. MacIntyre called downstairs, “your friends are here and they want to play.”

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“Yeah,” called Billy, “I’ve got a big ball right here in my hand.”

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Craig ran to the top of the steps where Billy and Mrs. MacIntyre stood. As Craig cut between Billy and Mrs. McIntyre, his mother scruffed his hair and gave him a peck on the cheek.

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“Alright boys, if you want something to eat, I’ll be happy to make some Macaroni and Cheese and heat up some beans and weenie, too.”

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Bryan and I quickly darted out the door. As we hopped off the porch, Billy and Craig came outside just behind us. Billy immediately erupted into laughter as Craig just steamed past him towards the field.

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“”What?” I said.

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“Oh, you missed the best part. As we were leaving, Mrs. MacIntyre said, “Now Creggy, go have fun with your friends…or should I say ‘Jack’?”

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“Oh, that’s priceless, Jack.”

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“Don’t you ever say that to my face.”

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“Oh, come on Jack.”

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“Let’s just play soccer. Bryan and I will take on you two assholes.”

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The game was hard fought as Craig contested every ball with a hard sliding tackle or a body check. In fact, by the end of the morning, we’d all taken at least one swift kick to the shins, even Bryan, his teammate.

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Mrs. MacIntyre, however, saved the day as she called us in for an early lunch. We ate and made some small talk, but for the most part, the meal was quiet. As soon as everyone finished, Craig invited us to leave so he could get a jump on is book report.

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“But it’s only Saturday, honey.”

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“I don’t care. I need to get this finished now.”

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“Alright, alright,” agreed Mrs. MacIntyre, “If you insist.”

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“I do.”

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Craig led us to the door and showed us the way out.

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“Hey,” said Billy, “we had a good time, Jack. We have to do this again sometimes soon.”

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“Shut it,” snapped Craig.

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“Well, not all of it.”

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Then, Craig followed us to the pile of BMX bikes and spoke his mind.

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“Alright,” he said, “I’m done with this crap. You guys go home and I never want to see any of you again.”

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And we didn’t.

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Sure, we shared classrooms with him all through Middle School and Junior High, but the die had been struck. Jack Mac – or rather, Craig MacIntyre, was pretty much out of all our lives for good.

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11 - The Other Way of Stopping

At this point, I will jump ahead in my story to 1982-83. Alex Vance had moved to Canal Winchester and, consequently, my friendship with Billy and Bryan Barrett had grown quite a bit, even if it meant bike rides all the way down Bartlett Hill to the other end of the Huber subdivision.

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In the autumn of 1982, Bryan and I were in 8^th grade and played on the Soccer team together. Billy was a freshman and also played Soccer. We hung out and practiced together, kicking the ball back and forth during practice and generally joking around together.

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The next spring, Bryan and I were roomies during the Junior High’s trip to Washington D.C. It was a three-day affair, with stops at all the local hot spots, including dinner and dancing one night at the Watergate Hotel.

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During the dance, I hung out with Bryan at one of the tables at the edge of the room. Briana and Jenny were there, too – and sometimes Briana would dance with Bryan while I sat in the corner with Jenny. Soon, she left, too, to hang with her friends from band, who I really didn’t know. So, I stayed behind, guarding the table.

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Billy, who was out on the dance floor all night have a great time, dancing with a variety of girls, took a break and saw me sitting there alone.

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“What are you doing way back here?”

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I shrugged.

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“C’mon, get out on the dance floor. I’ll hook you up with one of the 9^th grade girls.”

I shook my head.

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“Don’t be such a pussy. Come on already.”

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I followed Billy to the dance floor just as “Endless Love” by Lionel Richie and Diana Ross came over the speakers.

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“Aw, shit,” I said.

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“Come on!”

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Billy paired me up with some girl I’d never met. She was about a half-foot taller than me and smelled of cheap perfume and cigarettes. Still, it was nice when she pulled me closer and smothered my face in her breasts.

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Remember – I’m NOT a breast man.

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As we danced for a while, I don’t remember much, but I remember it was good. Bryan was dancing with Briana and she looked happy. Every so often, I caught glances of Billy and some girl, too. He nodded affirmatively as he gave me the thumbs up. I smiled. One half of my face was hot and sweaty where my cheek laid on this girl’s breast.

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About halfway through the song, there was a “Shut up!” followed by a chorus of laughter that brought the dancing to a standstill. Another guy from the 9^th grade ran off the dance floor and out the double doors at the end of the auditorium.

Billy was laughing really hard.

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“What was that?” I hissed.

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“Craig MacIntyre came inside his dress pants while dancing with Marci Reed.”

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“Holy fuck.”

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“I guess she was rubbing her hand on him or something and one of the teachers tried separating them at the exact wrong time.”

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“Holy fuck. That could only happen to Jack Mac.”

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“Hahaha! Jack Mac!” repeated Billy Barrett, “now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long, long time.”

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All I could think about for the rest of the song was Marci Reed’s out-of-pants hand job. I’m sure the girl I was with knew it, because when the song ended, she pulled away.

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“Hey Balth?”

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It was Jenny Chang.

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“Can I have this next dance?”

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The girl obliged and soon, I was arm-in-arm with Jenny Chang – my first crush.

The DJ stopped for a second as he queued up the next song. I was in luck, it was another slow song: “Our House” by Crosby, Stills, and Nash.
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As it began to play, however, a lot of the kids just weren’t that into it. Many couples separated and left the dance floor. Even Jenny, who had started the song slow dancing, was now weaving back and forth, dancing some sort of slow hippie girl dance. I smiled and did the hippie dance with her. Soon, my little hard-on faded and we enjoyed each other’s company until the song ended and we parted ways again.
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I don’t really remember much else about that night, but I remember it was good: really good.

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10 - Why Golf Courses Have 18 Holes.

Alex Vance was probably the first guy I knew who had a steady girlfriend. He was a year older so when I was in 6^th, he was in 7^th grade, which may have been the main reason.

Then again, it may have been geography.

Kathy and Kristy Elmore’s backyard was connected to Alex’s backyard by a chain link fence. It was literally the only thing in his way. Well, that and Mr. Elmore.

Once the Elmore sisters hit puberty, Alex seemed to be over at their house every day. Sometimes, I was lucky enough to go with him. Until 6^th grade, we never really did anything exciting. We played kickball or cards in the backyard during hot summer days. Mostly, we just passed the time.

On a parent-teacher conference day, we had the day off, so I walked down to Alex’s house and after a short while playing Big Time Wrestling and getting ourselves worked up, Alex suggested we should go visit the Elmore girls. I thought it was a great idea.

When we knocked on the back door, we were surprised to see Laurie McKenna there, too. The Elmore girls and Laurie McKenna were best friends. Maybe that was because the McKennas lived next door to Alex and directly behind the Elmores.

“Come on in! We’re just eating pizza and watching ‘Laverne and Shirley’.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” said Alex.

As soon as Laurie turned her back, he flashed a wry little smirk and made his infamous ‘giant bajungas’ hand gesture.

It was no secret Laurie had big breasts. She had gotten her period a few years earlier and the rest of her body was sure to follow suit.

As boys, we didn't know what periods were. We knew girls had them and we knew they were pretty yucky. However, we didn’t know much beyond that.

The five of us gathered in the family room around the pizza box and watched TV until the midday news. At that point, Kristy got up and threw away the empty box.

“Is there a chance I can get a Coca-Cola?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Alex, do you want one, too?” and Alex nodded.

She returned and we moved to the sofa sectional that wrapped along the far wall, and arranged ourselves girl-boy-girl-boy-girl.

“What do you guys want to do now?”

Alex immediately leaned towards Laurie and stole a kiss. She gasped in shock, but he leaned over and stole another kiss without much resistance from Laurie.

“No,” said Krsity, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What do you suggest?” asked Alex.

“Let’s play a game.”

“Alright,” Alex replied without missing a beat, “let’s play spin the bottle.”

He chugged down the rest of his soda and sat down in the center of the family room, plachin the Coca-Cola bottle directly in front of him and giving it a spin. Laurie immediately hopped off the couch and sat right beside him.

Alex spun the bottle again. It pointed towards the fireplace. He spun it again and it pointed somewhere between him and Laurie. He leaned over and planted another kiss on Laurie. Kristy, who was obviously jealous, sat across from Alex. I sat next to her and Kathy found a spot between Alex and me.

“My turn next!” said Laurie as she gave the bottle a spin. It pointed to Alex and she kissed him. Then, Alex spun the bottle and it pointed to Kathy, so he kissed her. So far, this game really sucked.

When Kathy gave the bottle a spin, it pointed at my right knee.

“Nope! Bad spin, spin again!”

She spun until she got the result she wanted and kissed Alex. Finally, when Laurie spun it and pointed directly towards me, she did not hesitate. She stretched over the bottle and kissed me, hard and firm. She had just been smoking and her kiss had this awful taste like grandma's old Pall Mall cigarettes. I ignored it and kissed her back.

Call me low maintenance, if you must, but I have never been one to kick someone out of bed for eating crackers and I was certainly not going to refuse a free kiss as a horny 11-year-old boy.

I must have done something right, because Kathy decided the kissers should go to the hall closet for “5 minutes in heaven”.

I spun the bottle and it pointed to Laurie.

“Alright,” she said.

She got up and stretched a hand toward me. I took it and she led me directly to the hall closet and opened the door. I went in and she followed. I forced my lips towards her and immediately grabbed a hold of her right boob with my left hand, over the blouse. It was this nylon number that felt itchy and the giant cantilever bra beneath it made a scratching noise. I was like a DJ and his turntable with that thing. Soon, though, my time for a bit of sampling was over.

“Time’s up!” shouted Kristy.

We came out of the closet to a round of applause. Then, we resumed our places and it was my turn to spin. When it came to a stop, it pointed directly at Lauren.

“Oh,, come on!” said Kristy.

“The bottle doesn’t lie,” said Lauren as she took me by the hand and led me back to the closet.

We kissed for a while, but it quickly became a rehash of the same old stuff until I decided to steal third from first. I whispered into her ear as I jammed my hand awkwardly down her pants. She did not push me away, but she didn’t offer to help, either. My hand remained wedged between denim and nylon, with nowhere to go.

Even though I only felt the two wads of fabric, I thought it was amazing, For Laurie, I can only assume it was anything but. She finally reached down and unbuttoned her pants. The zipper quickly pulled away and my hand was free. However, she carefully grabbed my hand and repositioned it near her belly button. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

I moved my hand over her belly button and put my finger in the hole.

“Stop it!” she said, “that makes me itch all over.”

“Time’s up!” called someone.

We came out and resumed our positions. When Kristy urged Lauren to spin the bottle, she refused.

“Nah, I’ve had enough,” she stated bluntly. Then, she picked up the Coca-Cola bottle and took it to the kitchen, where she returned it to the carton. She returned empty-handed.

Soon, the party broke up and we split into two groups: guys and girls. The girls stayed and played while the boys went home.

“What did you do?” spat Alex.

“I dunno.”

“You must’ve done something. She never quits once she gets started.”

I shrugged.

“Maybe you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

But…it was painfully obvious that I didn’t.. There is no such thing as a linty pinky and there is probably a good reason for that. I still don’t know.

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09 - The F List

Alex Vance lived just around the corner from my childhood home, so it was a quick three-minute bike ride back and forth between our two homes. By default, we were best friends. Both of our families also attended the United Methodist Church, which just meant rules like “come home when the street lights come on” were flexible.

More often than not, one of us would spend a Friday or Saturday night over at the other’s house during the school year. One Friday in early September, we returned to my house after the football game. After the required phone call to his mother, Alex stayed at my house. My sister and her best friend, Karen Ellis, were there babysitting and working on an article for the high school newspaper.

“What a great game!” said Alex.

“Yeah, 13-6! Can you believe that goal line stand at the end of the game? Everyone was lined up at the one yard line, watching the Raiders hold the line for four straight plays!”

The Reynoldsburg Raiders had just beaten their crosstown rival, the Whitehall Rams. To top that, it was our homecoming game and everyone was there. We spent most of the game milling around near the Reynoldsburg bleachers, trying our best to look cool.

The thing was, I was in 6^th grade and Alex was in 7^th. How cool could two pre-teens possibly be? Sure, we wore our Izod shirts and faded denim jeans, but that was the extent of our fashion sense. Still, we were discovering our hormones as girls’ bodies were beginning to take shape and hair was feathered with large purple combs and locked into place with tons of hair spray. All the girls stained their lips with frosted bubble gum pink lipstick and their cheeks with matching blush.

“Man, Amanda Higgins and Denise Kratt looked great!”

“Aw,” said Alex, “they were nothing. They had no titties. How can you like a little 6^th grade girl with no titties when you can have a 7^th or 8^th grader with big bajungas?”

Alex illustrated his comment with two hands held out in front of his chest to resemble two large breasts. I laughed loudly.

“Not all girls need bajungas. Amanda Higgins has beautiful eyes.”

“If a girl doesn’t have bajungas, it just doesn’t matter.”

He went out to the kitchen and quickly returned with two oranges stuffed into his shirt.

“Bajungas!” he growled like Animal from The Muppet Show. The oranges wobbled back and forth as he juggled them in his hands. I was laughing hysterically, and soon, he was laughing hysterically, too.

I pulled out my collection of baseball cards and he helped sort them by year and index number. As we did, Alex fished the oranges out of his shirt and set them on the carpet beside us.

My sister Karen, who had been busy in the living room tapping away at the typewriter, came out to family room to check on us as we got louder and louder. She approached and pointed towards the oranges.

“Are you guys going to eat those oranges?” she asked.

“Those aren’t oranges,” said Alex.

“What are they, tangerines?”

“No,” I chuckled, “they’re bajungas.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry,” said Alex, “you wouldn’t know about bajungas.” He grabbed the oranges and juggled them in front of his chest. Neither my sister nor her friend Karen had grown tangerines of their own, so we both began laughing hysterically. Both of them ignored us.

“Well, were hungry, so were taking them.”

Alex frowned, but soon all was forgotten as she ate the orange and eventually left us alone.

“What do you want to do now?”

I shrugged.

We headed into the empty living room, where Alex sat down in front of the typewriter.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to write something.”

“What?’

Alex shrugged as he sat there and thought for a moment. Then, he began to type.

FIVE GIRLS I’D LIKE TO FUCK

5. Jeanie Fowler

“Who’s Jeanie Fowler?”

“Yeah, you probably don’t know her. She’s in the 8^th grade.”

“We should limit it to girls at the middle school.”

“Ugh! No!” exclaimed Alex, “that’s limiting it too much.”

“I don’t know Jeanie Fowler.”

“Trust me; she’s definitely someone you’d like to fuck.”

“Okay then, Number four is…”

We both paused for a second, lost in thought.

“What about Amanda Higgins?”

“Would you let it go with Amanda Higgins? She needs bajungas.”

“Then, who’s next, Briana Cherry?”

“Nah, how about Lauren McKenna?”

“Ah, yes! Lauren McKenna should be number four.”

Lauren McKenna was another one of those early bloomers. At age 11, it was likely she already wore a D-cup. Personally, I never considered myself much of a breast man, but Lauren McKenna’s boobs were truly a pair of things to behold – or things to be holding. She had not only developed earlier than the other girls, she was a few inches taller, and had curves in all the right places.

“Racquel Welch should be number three,” said Alex.

I shrugged.

“And Sophia Loren is number two.”

“It’s all old ladies,” I said.

“Maybe you should make your own list.”

“Maybe I should.”

I sat down with pencil and paper and began running through those girls I liked. Amanda Higgins and Jenny Chang were obviously the first two to come to mind – big brown eyes, brown hair, and cute smiles. Of course, both of them had flat chests. I tapped the eraser on my mouth as I continued to think. Karen Ellis was next, followed by Jaclyn Smith and Kate Jackson from “Charlie’s Angels.”

I produced my list for Alex’s approval. He looked it up and down for several moments before setting it aside.

“What?”

“Bajungas, man; where are the bajungas?”

“Jaclyn Smith has bajungas – I mean breasts.”

“Barely. Where’s Farrah Fawcett or Dolly Parton? Those are some high quality titties.”

Even then, Alex couldn’t say ‘high quality titties’ without using his hands to demonstrate just what he was talking about. I just rolled my eyes.

“Okay, so let’s see your list,” I said as he showed me his finished work, “Sophia Loren is two and Elizabeth Taylor is first?”

“I told you, man, bajungas.”

I inserted the paper back into the typewriter and finished my list of “GIRLS I’D LIKE TO FUCK, By Balthazar Eddings”

Then, I produced my run-down list:

5. Amanda Huggins

4. Jenny Chang

3. Karen Ellis

2. Jaclyn Smith

1.  Kate Jackson

Honestly, I would’ve put Jenny Chang first, but I was feeling a bit of pressure from Alex. After we finished, we went to the fridge and forgot all about the F List until the next morning

The table had been cleared away of journalism things and set with four cereal bowls and an assortment of cereals.

“Come on,” said my sister, “it’s time for breakfast.”

Alex and I poured large bowls of Rice Krispies and Froot Loops and began eating while my sister made banana-walnut pancakes.

Meanwhile, Karen cleared her throat.

“Number three?” she said.

Alex laughed loudly and m face turned the darkest shade of crimson red.

“I didn’t even make your list,” she said to Alex.

“No bajungas. Elizabeth Taylor has perfect bajungas.”

He illustrated it with the same regard he’s shown in front of me. My sister strode over and jerked both oranges out of his hands. When he reached for the bananas, Karen quickly snatched those away from his reach.

“You don’t need those, either!”

Unlike Andy Harmon’s sudden disappearance from my life, Alex Vance was in my life to stay.

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08 - Up Periscope

Speaking of stranger things happening: puberty and awkward situations.

Seems that everywhere I turned in the 6^th grade, something sexually awkward was happening somewhere. Hell, it was happening everywhere.

In Mr. Larson’s 6^th grade science class, he attempted to teach us about sex education. In gym class, there were all kinds of problems. First off, we all had to change into shorts and t-shirts. Now, we’d all seen each other in shorts and shirts a million times – whether it was at the pool during the summer or going out with friends on family picnics or just hanging out after school playing touch football at the playground – but, we’d never actually had to deal with the strange environment of the locker room.

We stripped down to our Fruit of the Looms and pulled on horrible nylon shorts to go with the same t-shirts we’d be wearing for the rest of the day (at eleven, we’d not made the connection between body odor and attracting girls). Still, we were semi-naked. This sometimes meant the weird slap-and-tickle moments of wedgies, purple herbies, (nipple twists), or ram-rods (flicking each other in the groin to make the other buckle over in pain). We had done that so much that the whole idea of surviving the locker room meant racing in to be first to change and using the locker door to guard your naughty bits.

After we’d survived the whole locker room ordeal, we’d line up, boys on one side and girls on the other. The girls were starting to develop a case of the mumps – but they were on their front parts, just below eye level (it was only later on that we realized this “Was” eye level for lots of guys, starting at age 13 and not ending for the rest of many of their lives). Lauren Callahan and Briana Cherry were among the first to be ‘prominent’ in our class – and they had to worry every time there was any kind of reference to chests or breasts or even milk. Truly, for them, it had to be horrifying to be first in class.

As our 6^th grade gym class started, Mr. Wallace proudly announced we’d be climbing the rope that day.  He instructed us that boys would go first. We lined up beside the mat spread in the middle of the basketball court, right next to the gym rope, which dangled from the center of the ceiling. Meanwhile, he instructed the girls to take places in the auditorium.

You see, the gymnasium at our middle school was also part of a much larger auditorium. The hardwood basketball court was also a stage that Mrs. LaTorre used for her choirs during holiday pageants and Mr. Conners used for school assemblies when he had some important announcement to make to both the 6^th and 7^th grade classes. It was a stage – and the girls were watching from the audience.

While they watched, our show of manliness was on full display. It was more humiliation than machismo, though, as we shimmied up a thick sisal rope, our legs folded over the rope and our man-parts doing all the unspeakable things we’d been doing for the previous five years in elementary school – but something was different. Our man-parts were responding to the feeling of a rope between our legs (and that’s no metaphor).

Cheap nylon shorts and worn out Fruit of the Loom are no match for the indomitable man-parts, especially in the early stages of puberty.

Some of the kids made it up the rope, no sweat. Others struggled and still others just didn’t make it past Mr. Wallace’s reach. One kid was red-faced, struggling with all his might. There were snickers and giggles from both the audience and the line of boys itself. As I neared the front of the line, I became nervous. What if I couldn’t climb higher than the red-faced kid? What if I fell once I reached the top? There were a thousand things that raced through my mind. After Bryan Barrett took his turn, it was Andy Harmon’s turn. Then, it would be my turn.

Brian made it to the top and rang the little bell. As Andy got ready, I could tell he was nervous. He blew on his hands and rubbed them vigorously on his shorts, trying to dry his palms.

Then, he began climbing and that was it. He was up past Mr. Wallace’s head, he was half way up the rope, he was near the top. Then, he rang the bell. Loud and clear, it echoed through the auditorium.
”Come on down, Mr. Harmon!”

But, something happened on the way down…

When Andy stepped away from the rope, it was there for all of us to see. Andy Harmon had a boner.

The girls laughed and the boys laughed, too. Andy looked down at his crotch and blushed. Unfortunately, it was a blush much, much worse than the fat, red-faced kid who couldn’t climb more than five or six feet. Tears started welling in his eyes, too.

Mr. Wallace inadvertently glanced down, too. When he did, Andy immediately ran to the back of the stage and out through the door towards the boys’ locker room. He rushed by again, passing by the open door on his way to the Principal’s Office.

“Alright, everyone,” ordered Mr. Wallace, “let’s get to our locker rooms and get changed. That’s enough for today.”

I had been spared the humiliation of rope climbing – at least for that day. However, not everyone was so lucky….

Andy, Bryan and I were students in Ms. Jackson’s Ohio History class after gym, but when we went to class, Andy wasn’t there. However, when Mrs. Jackson performed roll call, she skipped right by Andy’s name. In fact, Andy wasn’t in any of our classes, and not one teacher said a thing about it. Even the next day, Andy wasn’t there. The next time we showed up to Mr. Wallace’s class, Mr. Wallace made the complete roll call.

“Harmon, Andy!”

“Here,” said Andy meekly.

Everyone laughed.

“Shuch!” said Mr. Wallace, “If I hear even the slightest chuckl about what happened the other day, I’m going to give that person a spanking so hard their great grandparents will rub their asses! Is that crystal clear?”

“Yessir,” came a low mutter.

“Is that clear?” he repeated.

“Yes, Mr. Wallace.”

Beyond that day, nobody said a thing to or about Andy Harmon’s day on the rope. In fact, after 6^th grade, I rarely saw Andy. He hadn’t moved, but we had different paths. He went to the Vocational School while I stayed with Bryan back at the regular old high school. To this day, it is rare I even hear one of our mutual friends mention his name. Strangely, some names and faces just fade away.

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07 - The Period Book

The choir class incident wasn’t the first time we, as boys, dealt with the womanly phenomena known as “the period”. Of course, for boys, it was an ever-evolving encyclopedia of conjecture and speculation on what could possibly be going on down in the mystic jungles of the female netherworld.

A year earlier, the first girl to get her period was Laurie McKenna. Laurie was the tallest and most well-built of all the girls in our fifth grade class. She stood about a half-foot taller than all the boys. In fact, she was so tall that one day when my babysitter, was taking me to school, she asked whether Laurie was a student or a teacher.

“She’s a student.”

“Did she get held back?”

“Nope.”

“Oh.”

And that was the extent of the conversation. So, it was really no surprise when Laurie was the first girl in our class to get her period. The real surprise was that she announced it to her friends at a slumber party. By the time recess came around late on Monday morning, everyone had heard the gossip. Everyone, of course, except me.

As usual, I hung around at the kickball diamond with Bryan Barrett and Andy Harmon during lunch. It was a large dirt patch that had been worn as big as an actual baseball field. The dimensions were easily the same as those of a Major League infield, if not a little bigger.

We sat on the grassy mound just behind home plate, waiting for our turn at-bat.

“Did you hear about Laurie?”

“You mean Laurie McKenna?”

Bryan nodded.

“Yeah,” said Andy, “I heard about it in Reading class.”

“About what?” I said.

“Everyone’s been making such a big deal.”

“Talking about what? What’s a big deal.”

“Yeah,” said Andy with a shrug, “every girl’s gonna get the curse sooner or later.”

The curse – what a peculiar turn of phrase that was. Still, I wasn’t quite sure how or when Laurie had been cursed and who cursed her.

“She’s cursed?”

Bryan nodded, “you don’t know what it is, do you?”

“Yeah, sure, I know.”

“What is it then?”

“I know what it is. Why don’t you tell me what it is if you know everything.”

“I don’t have to tell, I already know.”

 “She said she has to keep track of them now,” said Andy.

“You think she has a book where she keeps track? You know, one dot a month…”

“Oh, Lauren got her period.”

“Now you’ve got it,” said Bryan.

“I knew it all along.”

“Yeah, right.”

“”No, really, I mean…everybody knows Lauren got her curse.”

Andy rolled his eyes, “Well, whatever you say, Jake.”

That incident rolled quickly into a similar yet different incident just about a year later.

“Lauren missed her period…” Kristy Elmore whispered across the aisle of seats in Miss Ladner’s English class. She was talking to Mandy Callahan, who sat right in front of her, but Bryan Barrett and I heard every word. During our next period, we had lunch. We, of course, made sure to tell our friends so they could tell all their friends so everyone in school would know by the time everyone returned to their normal classes.

“So,” said Andy Harmon with a chuckle, “Who would’ve figured Lauren McKenna would miss her period at ten years old? Who do you think got her pregnant?”

Bryan and I both shrugged.

“I bet it was Marcus Webber. He’s always trying to put his joystick in any girl that passes by.”

“Yeah,” I said, “but he doesn’t hang around with the sixth grade girls. He’s always out with the 8^th and 9^th graders at the Junior High.”

“I thought he was dating some girl from High School,”’ said Bryan.

“Eh, who knows.”

“How do you think she knows she missed her period?” asked Andy.

“She just counts from the day she had her last period,” replied Bryan, “They get ‘em like once a month. I heard it was like the cycles of moon.”

“So, they get them whenever there’s a full moon?”

“Nah, just once a month. You can also tell because it’s when they wear pants.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s how they do it.”

“How do you suppose they keep track? Do you think they have a little notepad where they write down the dates and put little dots beside it?”

Bryan and I started laughing.

“What?”

“You know, to keep track of things.”

“You gotta be kidding.”

Andy shrugged, “it could happen.”

“That’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” said Bryan.

“It’d be convenient,” said Andy, “You put it in your purse and if you can’t remember when you had your last period, you just look in your period book and ‘Voila!’ all your questions are answered.”

Bryan and I put our hands on our hips and stood there, thinking for a good long moment. Andy had a point. It was pretty practical, and what boy wouldn’t grab blindly at the fact that being practical would be the way to go with your menstrual cycle.

Then again – we were talking about girls – and the word ‘practical’ was probably nowhere to be found in a girl’s dictionary.

Within the week, all these matters were resolved when Lauren got her first drops of salvation – her period had come and gone and her worries would have to wait another day. In the meantime, the boy who put the scare into her never did come to light. Then again, Lauren was a girl. Maybe there was no boy involved. Maybe, just maybe, she was worried about something somehow related to Immaculate Conception.

Stranger things have happened.

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