You Might as Well Jump

I've got 45 minutes to kill and I figure telling a childhood story will eat that up no problem.


In my neighborhood bikes were the mode of transport even during a time of skateboards. We rode dirt bikes, BMX style, all over our neighorhood and into several others. Skateboards were more urban, bikes more rural for a simple explaination.

Besides the obvious our bikes were our pride and joy, they were tools for tricks, and jumps. Where I lived was surrounded by woods, until one day when progress came to town. New homes needed to be erected and my dear escape "the woods" were set to be leveled. What I didn't realize was that by leveling my refuge, it opened the door to some excellent dirt and a world of other kids found there way to my house. We would do tricks in the newly laid dirt, race in the clay and generally act like real BMXers.

But the ultimate rush came when we had new piles of clay or dirt dumped on a site. Construction companies would dump a pile on Friday and it would sit till like Monday. This was pure entertainment. We were at an age where we knew what we could do, and weren't afraid to take it to its extreme. Some of these piles were as tall as four feet, others must have hit fifteen. Sounds crazy? Ask me about it, I'll supply witnesses. I don't know who the first was, probably a high schooler, but someone started jumping these mounds of pleasure. One after another we started lineing up. And one after another we bounded into a new stratosphere. It was the most simple and dangerous fun I'd ever had. I was ten or twelve, I was hanging with the big kids, and the young kids held us in the highest esteem.

From sun up to sun down we raced these hills, finding the next one and conquering it. We would jump and ride for hours, developing new tricks and making new friends. But we also protected our turf. We became territorial. It sucks bad enough you gotta wait for ten other guys to go the last thing you need is to double the population. So as necessary the older kids ran off the outsiders.

One day that duty fell to me and a peer named Darryl. Darryl and I are no longer friends, not that we don't get along, I just lost touch well into high school. Anyway Darryl was a tough kid from a rough family. He was brash and full on crazy...for a ten year old. Darryl and I were winding the day down when this loser from school named John rolls up. John is what I would call a tool now, but back then thought of as a butthole. He is an exact life size replica of Nelson Muntz. John was threatened and told if he didn't leave he would get his clunky ass stomped.

Well John left middle finger in the air, and cursing something fierce about our mothers. Darryl spontaneously grabs a stone and hurls it at John hitting him in the back or leg or something. John ducks down behind some trees and hurls some more F U's and so on. We both pick up some rocks easily the size of golf balls, and up to the size of tennis balls and launch on him. After about four throws, we hear a blood curdling scream and see John raise up with a busted forhead. A dead hit, right in the face. I had never laughed and been so scared in all my life. John burst into tears and sprinted away. He had been pelted with rocks for a minute, until the money shot was landed.

Neither Darryl or I knew who hit him, but we both could agree we were throwing hard and from pretty good distances. John never returned, and as karma would have it Darryl had a pretty bad accident trashing his bike on one of the jumps. I won't say I'm sorry for what happened though I do feel bad. I was a dumb kid and if nothing else I learned that sticks and stones will break bones, but words will never harm me.