As I was growing up and learning of life, there was another next door to me who was doing the same on his own terms. He was a be-speckled blond haired kid who became my longtime childhood friend and went by the nickname "Sport." Looking back, Sport had a few idiosyncrasies which seemed cool at the time, but now seem a bit scary. For instance, he had a penchant for pulling out knives when it was time to leave and would forcefully attempt to make you stay at his house. Oddly, I never really felt threatened and thought it a bit funny at the time. On one occasion, I even talked him out of the knife by telling him that the handle, which was made of deer antler, was cool and that it would be great to take a closer look. The attempted hostage taking was short lived and Sport was finally set straight by his parents, after my own were advised of what was happening.
If it ever came to blows, Sport had an unusual approach to fighting and would hold his arms out-stretched with fists clenched and begin to spin in a circle. The opponent would simply have to come in low to the his mid-section and things would be over fast. Once we were in his tree house and he looked at me and matter-of-factly said "I can Fly," and proceeded to jump out of the tree. There was obviously no graceful winged moment and his was a free fall of terror straight to the ground. The end result was a compound fracture to his arm and a cast all summer long. I can't recall ever asking why he did it? I imagine because asking would have been redundant, since actions like that didn't seem that strange when Sport was carrying them out.
Sport had a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. One day my brother and I were throwing a football in our backyard completely unaware that he was in his own yard playing. A misplaced throw sent the ball sailing over the wall, which moments later was followed by a loud wail from Sport who just happened to receive the throw to the side of his head. The odds!
One day each week would be "toy day" for Sport and he would get to pick out anything he wanted - some reverse psychology his parents were attempting I suppose since it had nothing to do with good behavior. He once decided to get a gas-powered airplane which was guided by a string. I talked him into letting me fly it after convincing him that I knew how, which I didn't, and promptly crashed it into the ground after just a moment of use. Sport was enraged to see his airplane broken into pieces, but had a softer side and all was forgiven. Perhaps the funniest memory was when his parents purchased him a go cart and the engine caught fire as he was driving it down the alley. Everyone was yelling for him to stop, which wild pleadings he couldn't hear due to the loud roar of the engine. I can still see it like it was yesterday - a moving fireball with Sport at the wheel.
All in all Sport was a good friend and any crazy plan presented to him would quickly be embraced, to the extent that he might have imagined he had thought it up himself. I suppose having a friend like him was a good thing and made me realize my own life was pretty balanced after all.
