So, the first time I got in big trouble, and I’m talking grounded to the house for a few days, was when I was six. That’s right. My first time in that situation, and I’m barely in school, hanging out with my best friend, Mark Driscoll. He lived on 3^rd Avenue South, just a few houses north of mine. We hit it off from the beginning. Adventure and daring stunts were our thing. Hanging out in what we called the woods next to my house and the swamp behind our house. The older me later learned that those areas were developed and now have, I think, six or eight different homes in the same space we played as kids.

               Mark Driscoll is the same Mark you’ve heard of, at least if you were part of the Christian evangelical world. Mark founded Mars Hill Church in the Seattle area. Mark grew up catholic, something as a kid I didn’t understand. Truth be told, I don’t get it today, but everyone has to find their own way. I was grateful we grew up as friends and did our best to keep in touch via long distance. Moving from Burien, Washington, to San Ramon, California, was a sad departure, but I had zero control over it.

               Before we moved, though, Mark and I were determined to get ourselves into trouble. And we managed to do it often enough that we expected something terrible to happen. Not that we were pessimists about it. No. We were objective about it, determining ahead of time, in a few cases, what would be the worst thing that could happen? And then, knowing what it was, we’d do it anyway! That was the fun part. Seeing if the punishment would match the crime. Most of the time, it did. Once in a while, we did get away with it. But it wasn’t very often.

               Growing up in the rainiest part of the United States meant one of two things, especially for the generation whose parents insisted they play outside and were to be seen and not heard. You either played quietly in your room, which is challenging when you have three younger siblings. Mark was always outside, rain or shine, due to his baby sister and two baby brothers. I think. I could be remembering it wrong. It was forty-some-odd years ago, after all. Not that it matters that much. I was outside with him because my younger brother, James, wasn’t quite old enough to be alone. With me, he could be. But the rain stopped bothering me when I was hacking around with Mark. We were adventurers. A little rain? Stop us? Are you kidding? We’re adventurers! This is pre-Indiana Jones. Adventure Island was the closest thing we had to an adventurer, and that show starred a very young Jan Michael Vincent. Jan would later become the pilot of Airwolf, and Ernest Borgnine would be his co-pilot, Santini.

               Another thing about Burien was the winters. Harsh, cold, sometimes snowy, but almost always frozen ground for most of the winter months, starting in mid-November. Mark and I would walk to our elementary school, which meant walking roughly two blocks on a downhill slant across the overpass of state highway Route 509. The overpass wasn’t just an overpass. It wound around in a corkscrew, which, truth be told, never made sense to me. Why not build it straight over the highway? I don’t know. I was young, so adults never paid my question much mind.

               An open, empty section of land was not far from the overpass. There was nothing there except overgrown weeds, which didn’t grow taller than a few inches in the winter. What’s interesting about this part of Washington State was the water and what would happen after it rained. As a kid, the composition of the dirt didn’t concern me, not as much as the adults. I can say that the water stayed on top of the ground for a long time! And if there was an indentation or a hole of any kind? It would fill up and stay that way for quite a while. At least until it could evaporate or someone splashed it out of said hole. The open section of land was a perfect place for water to accumulate, which meant that four feet of water in an ample space could be an excellent space for ice skating or just hacking around on frozen ice. Before we got down to what we referred to as our ‘lake,’ kids, on their way to school, stopped to skate around on the frozen water. And me and Mark were the bravest of the brave. We decided it was frozen enough to traverse the distance of the pond – from one side to the other. We were laughing, joking, and in general, having a blast. Until we saw that all the kids were gone. Not like a few, but everyone was gone. The only ones left on the ice were me and Mark. Our logical conclusion – everyone else ran off to school. But I thought, for a minute anyway, that they were abducted by the Green River Killer (even though, I’d later learn, that he was targeting young women, not kids).

               We both thought, Oh crap. We are so dead! Especially when we saw a four-door brown car driving by our ‘lake’ in slow motion. Behind the wheel of said car was the principal of Cedarhurst Elementary School (I’m not sure that was the school’s name in 1970-something, but that’s what it is now). Mark pushed me to the ground along the pond’s edge, angled downward at a slant. But it was too late. Mr. Rick saw us, called out, and made us get into his car. I think Mr. Rick lectured us about the importance of getting to school on time and how we could’ve been kidnapped. In the 1970s, that was all the rage, getting kidnapped. That, and the poisoned Halloween candy nonsense. But all I could think about was how Dad was going to react. Screw Beverly finding out. I was more scared of my Dad and knew I was dead.

               As kindergarteners, we didn’t get detentions, demerits, or socially acceptable punishments. No, we got whacked with Mr. Rick’s belt. Yeah. You read that right. We were beaten with his leather belt, which he took off just to hit us, three good whaps each. Behind his closed office door, which, if that happened today? He’d be in jail or arrested with a pending court case.

               I’m sure I was in trouble for a while after that morning’s incident, but I’m not sure what happened at home. One thing was certain – I learned my lesson and wouldn’t be late to school again. But would that stop me from doing something else that was potentially dangerous? Probably not.

A few days later, when Mark and I were allowed to play together again (I’m not sure, but I think we were driven to school for a couple of days to ensure that we actually made it to school), we laughed about the experience, ready to do it all over again. We were six years old. Imagine what we could do if we were older and a bit smarter!