Memories of Childhood (The Challenge)

Ten year old boys have a way of spurring you to heights you would other wise not even imagine. Their cruelty as well would surpass the most evil of men.

Brent Phraser had charm, smarts and natural leadership skills. He had the looks of an elite German Arian: cropped blond hair, cold blue eyes and spoke with the authority of a SS officer. He was handsome, brave and intelligent, and we all looked up to him – he was also a Master bully.

Brent was the leader of the Belford Drive gang. A group of ten year old boys who thought they ruled the territory of our one block street. As most boys at that particular age will do, Brent would put up dares or dangerous challenges, usually directed at a single member of the gang. If you complied and succeeded, your membership and acceptance in the gang was assured. Non-compliance or failure, however, resulted in banishment – an unthinkable fate worse than death.

The days of summer that year, 1967, were hot and long. Our small gang roamed the outer fringes of suburbia known as the field, the ditch and the lake. We swam in the lake to escape the heat, played war games at dusk in the field using rocks and dirt clods as weapons in the field, and along the ditch, constructed secret fortresses made from pieces of wood and clay.

One sweltering afternoon the gang decided to head for the lake to catch a swim. Upon our arrival, we found Brent standing beneath the largest tree at the shore of the lake with a coiled rope lying at his feet.

We all knew instantly that a challenge was about to be proposed.

“What’s that for?” one of the gang asked.

Brent smiled. “It’s a swing you idiot!”

“Cool”, David exclaimed. “What a neat idea!”

“And one of you pansy asses gotta climb that tree to tie it: Any volunteers?”

No one uttered a word.

Brent smiled. “See that branch up there – that’s where it’s gotta be tied.”

Our gazes followed Brent’s pointing finger to the thickest, highest branch of the tree. From the lake’s surface to the branch, it had to be at least twenty meters. (Sixty feet).

“Well, Brent shouted, who’s it gonna be?”

“Why don’t you do it, Brent? You’re bigger than all of us.” I said.

To this day, Brent’s sardonic smile remains firmly in my memory.

“I don’t think so, bubble butt. You do it!” Brent shouted.

The gang burst into laughter of embarrassment.

“Craig the little wimp. Forget it. He’ll fall and break his neck.” Tim said in a cruel tone.

“Shut-up ass hole!” Brent shouted.

“C’mon, Craig. You’ve been putting up a lot of dares lately, but not taking any!” Danny exclaimed.

“Yea, man!”

C’mon, pussy!”

“Yea, faggot – let’s see you break your skinny neck.”

The exclamations and insults reached a crescendo as I peered upwards towards the intended branch as the late afternoon sun blinded my vision.

“Well?” Brent asked. “Are you gonna do it or not?”

Brent’s eyes scanned over the whole gang. He picked the rope up and walked towards me, smiling like a professional executioner, whose pleasure in life resides in seeing someone else’s pain. He tied the rope around my waist and pushed me towards the tree.

“You got a choice, faggot. Either you climb the tree or we’ll kick your skinny ass. It’s up to you.”

Let’s face it, my honour was at stake. There was only one place to go, and that was straight up.

Small wooden boards acting as a makeshift ladder extended up the trunk of the tree, but only about two meters, the rest was an improvised guessing game between life and death.

Then something very strange happened.

Closing my eyes, Captain James T. Kirk from Star Trek began his preamble:

“Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the star ship Enterprise. Its five year mission, to explore strange new worlds, seek out new life and new civilizations – to boldly go where no man has gone before!”

Opening my eyes slowly, I found myself horizontally wrapped around the highest branch of the tree.

I could hear David below saying, “Hell, I’ve never seen anybody climb a tree that fast before.”

Either by the hand of an angel or the extraterrestrial help of Captain James T. Kirk, I found myself hanging for dear life around the highest branch of this 300 year old tree. In an instant the realization dawned on me: my angel or Kirk may have helped me up here, but they sure as hell were not going to help me down!

“Don’t just lay there, stupid. Tie the rope!” Brent ordered.

My body had frozen – I couldn’t move even my little finger.

“Are you gonna stay up there all day pansy ass?”

“He looks like he’s dead or something.”

Brent yelled, “Tie the rope you little shit!”

Tim yelled, “Should we call the fire department or something?”

The gang all laughed in unison.

As afternoon turned to evening and slowly into night, each member of the gang wandered off one by one, leaving me alone to deal with my own plight.

A cool wind skimmed across the lake and the rustling of the leaves around me soon was the only sound…

“Damn if I’m leaving my friend alone in some fricken tree.”

Looking down through the shadows, I could see Dave pacing around the trunk of the tree.

“You gotta do something, man! You gotta jump. The water looks deep enough. Jump, man. Friggen JUMP.”

A gust of wind thundered across the lake. I shut my eyes tightly and slowly loosened my grip around the branch. Letting go, my decent was fast and painless. I found myself submerged in the cold, murky water of the lake.

Coughing and spitting, my body finally surfaced. Dave had jumped in after me, and now was dragging me to the shore.

We now sat side by side on the shore of the lake in the dark. Both drenched to the bone, we began to shiver from the cold.

“You wimp! Why didn’t you jump four hours ago?”

“I don’t know. I was just, you know…stuck.”

We left the lake and walked home on that clear and warm summer’s night. We talked about important matters like Cathy, Jenny and Sharon – the three “fox’s” in our grade. We also talked about football and the last Star Trek episode on T.V., and for some reason, nothing about the day.

Later that night, after a hot shower and a beautiful dinner, I laid in bed thinking about Brent Phraser, Dave and the Belford Drive gang. Was it important to have a lot of friends? Or was it alright to just have one good one? I fell asleep that night without answering my thoughts.

As I grew older, the answer to these questions started to become clear.

Although now living continents apart, Dave and I are still close friends.