:: The triumphant return of Herr Samuel Coleman "Fats" Brown ::

Wednesday, July 24, 2002

Before my freshman year of high school, my family moved to a new city. Having to adapt to a new town as well as a new school proved quite daunting and emotionally troublesome for my fragile adolescent ego. The teenage mind is hard-wired to feel insecure and confused, and when combined with a massive shift in environment, it shorts out. (goooooo metaphors!)

Adding to my dismay, my school insisted that all students participate after-hours in an organized sport sanctioned by the omnipotent athletic director for at least one trimester (fall, winter, spring) of the year. I abstained during my inaugural trimester (fall), and opted for Karate in the winter. I had previously taken Ju-Jitsu classes, and thought it would be a little more my speed than say, Lacrosse.

The ragtag bunch who chose to participate in this venerable art was diverse, to say the least, but shared the common mindset of consciously rejecting the more traditional sports offered by the school. Every day we would cram into a stuffy, overcrowded Chevy Suburban from the Carter administration and ride over to the dojo. Predictably, the less-than-salubrious combination of shared self-imposed rejection and daily pilgrimage resulted in a strong outsider mentality. This in turn fostered a strong sense of community between the participants, and our own rituals soon followed.

One of them was the daily mock-beating of yours truly.

These play fights were without malice, and quite innocuous, so I took no offense. Besides, given my status as the new kid on the block, I was happy just to share in something communal. The faux altercations took many forms, from one-on-one theatrics to festive battle-royals. The faces of the pugilists would change, but the objectives and attitudes held constant.

There was one particular fellow who was able (through charisma, humor, and eloquence) to incite the others sufficiently to catalyze the sporadic mass rumble. His name was Sam, and he too was a newcomer to the school. Whereas I had remained shy and aloof, Sam had already garnered a reputation as an easy-going, comedic, and altogether likable chap due to his outgoing and sometimes histrionic nature. As he was one of the more avid supporters of our daily routine, however, I had held off from agreeing with the general consensus.

One day, a few weeks into our lessons, we arrived at the dojo and proceeded downstairs to change into our uniforms (or Gi's). I kneeled down to remove my shoes, and Sam took full advantage of my defenseless position, gently tipping me over. As I lay on my side, Sam stepped up on my shoulder but quickly lost his balance. In an effort to regain stability, his foot flailed out and struck the sharp edge of a stone fireplace. Blood proceeded to gush from Sam's foot. Almost before the platelets had time to clot the flow, Sam found himself medically excused from the entire required trimester of athletic activity. The smug grin which settled on his face further exacerbated the collective envy we already felt and I longed for karmic re-equilibration, especially since his get-out-of-jail-free card had been issued at the expense of my dignity.

It's been 8.5 years since this fateful day, and I now realize that things have more than evened out in my favor. As recompense for the karmic injustice of that single trimester, I have been given 8.5 years of irreplaceable friendship and a bond that will last a lifetime.

Welcome back Sammy.

Posted by morland @ 04:28 PM

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