If you were born in the 80's, you can pretty much say your whole childhood was a bad idea. We grew up ferile, learning the ways of the pack from each other. As you can imagine, this was not always pretty. Sometimes the pack decided that someone was too wimpy or too needy and they were cut off with a violence that still makes me reel as I approach middle age.
My own pack was made up of about ten kids, with me and two others as the youngest all the way up to my brother who was ancient at the time (six years older). In the early years, I was not aware of the boys and girls of it all. Not until Ryan decided enough was enough and tackled me in his front yard in front of one of the older boys and kissed me hard on the mouth. We had been best friends for half of our lives (two whole years!), but I stomped away from the scene with an indignation I only wish I could muster these days. From that day forward, Kristen was my only best friend.
Every day, Kristen and I would meet up either at one of our houses or on the Trady Track (the forest path that ran the diameter of our circular street), and we would improvise the reality of the day. Quite frequently this would involve torturing Ryan. He was simply too easy with his turtle collection to be crayoned on or sent on slow motion prison breaks and his never-ending gullibility. I have learned that I have this myself in spades, but Ryan was on a level all his own. It took Kristen and I an hour one day, but we eventually convinced poor Ryan that the two of us were our own evil twins in town for a visit. The poor kid was almost in tears when he finally broke under our relentless insistence. Good clean fun.
One day, a family with two pack-worthy kids moved in to the house down the hill. It was quickly determined that the older boy was not good material, but the girl showed promise and she was only slightly younger than Kristen and I. Everyone knows that girl power is exponential, and we had begun to suffer in our pack authority as the older boys approached puberty. So we latched onto this Stacy with a vengeance. She was mousy and had a little whine to her voice, but she had energy and seemed ready to bend to our ambitious wills.
At first, the trio showed promise. The older boys seemed to recognize and respect the threat we had suddenly become, and the potential they (but not we) could see on the horizon. Stacy and Kristen were already sprouting tiny breasts, but we weren't entirely sure what that would mean. A year in, it started to become clear. One of the older boys began to emerge as something I would now call desirable, although in those tender years it had no words, just a small fluttering. And he began to choose Stacy. Obviously, the only conclusion for Kristen and I to draw was that she was clearly a slut. Probably because her mom abused her and she would do anything for the extra attention. Well this simply could not stand. We were the leaders of our pack subset and we would decide how the spoils were divied.
It seemed so reasonable at the time, but is still something that wakes me with shame from time to time. The resolution Kristen and I arrived at was to deliver a note to Stacy's house (if memory serves me, we handed it to her terrifying mom) that essentially said, "We do not have time for your drama and cannot be your friends anymore." All over a boy who ended up fat and wasteful like the rest of the disappointed and disillusioned males of East Texas. Turns out, spite and jealousy don't have to be taught though. Maybe we picked up the subconscious cues from our elders, but mostly I think we took the initiative in hating the weaker among us simply because we could.
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