Well, why don't I just go ahead and start with one of the finalists for dumbest things we ever did. I suppose that after months stuffed with all the manly-bonding we'd been doing, it seemed only appropriate that something be done to memorialize this summer of summers when boys were becoming young men and any self respecting young women were running for safety. We never really put it in words, or realized what was going on, but an unspoken bond had formed amongst us and despite our lack of ability to understand or articulate it, there was a closeness we were clinging to, a gang to which we belonged. And unconsciously I think some of us were feeling that something should be done to signify the timelessness of these friendships - something that you could see or touch that might just be as strong and enduring as we believed those bonds of friendship would be.
Well, before diving into the plan we hatched, I think it important to back up just a little. YOu see, it wasn't just for kicks that I chose the name "PALS" as the theme for this section of memories. On the contrary, in fact, the word 'pals' meant something of significance and at that time sacred to us.
It was about this time when the "Young Guns" movies with Emilio Estevez et al had descended upon the theaters and taken the hearts and minds of adventuresome boys our age by storm. We were growing up as semi-farmers, and I think it just goes without saying that the heroes of all farm boys are cowboys, particularly the sort who are expert in the craft of causing mischief and mayhem. And when our young gang of ruffians learned of Billy the Kid and co, we knew we need look no further for heroes to emulate. I can't believe how many lines from that movie that I can quote to this day.
Now, the first of the Young Guns films was rated R, and while we were all powerfully drawn to it, we knew there was nuthin' doin' there - our folks didn't let us watch rated R movies so we were left simply to our imaginations, whatever we was in the previews, and any nuggets we could glean from our other and more scandalous friends who had seen it. Well, and say this from my perception alone, I believed God himself smiled down upon us and in reward for our abstinence from Young Guns I, He deemed it appropriate that Young Guns II should be rated PG13, meaning it was sanctioned for our viewing pleasure. Well, that movie was nothing short of scripture for us, and pretty much laid out a blueprint for how a good gang of buddies should organize themselves. Most notably in that film, Emilio (playing Billy the Kid) said to his crew, "See, you got 3 or 4 good pals, then you got yourself a tribe. An' there ain't nothin' stronger n' that". So there it is, Pals, it's what stuck. And we were indeed a tribe to be reckoned with.
Well, to revert back to the initial story and our efforts to convert something that was only an idea or a feeling, into something physical and tactile, a plan begin to take seed in our minds. And this was it: tattoos, that would certainly do the trick. Well, there were several major impediments to a bunch of 14 and 15 year old kids haulin off and gettin tattoos. First, I'm pretty sure it would have been illegal without parental consent - which was never, ever, ever, ever going to happen. That leads us to reason 2: our church frowns upon tattoos, and that frown is plenty strong enough to keep any of our parents from even considering giving their consent for a tattoo. Finally, even if we HAD parental consent, plain and simple we just didn't have the coin. Tattoos are expensive and whatever child labor pittance Gramps was paying us on the farm wasn't gonna come close to gettin us there.
But the idea was too powerful to surrender. If not tattoos, then what? I mentioned previously our resourcefulness . . . and honestly I wasn't prepared to give up on the thought. So, I suppose the line of thinking at that point probably went about like this. "Well, can't do tattoos, but the point is to mark our bodies with something permanent so we'll be brothers together forever . . . maybe we can do something ourselves LIKE tattoos?" Then would have followed the thought, "Well, our bodies are covered in scars, they seem to stick around a long time . . . where do scars come from?" Then, the connection was made - "Cuts make scars, scars last. So let's just carve something in our skin - shoot, we'll make our own tattoos". Now I don't know how sequential or conscious that stream of thought was, but if it wasn't that linear or deliberate, that was certainly where we landed on it. Not surprisingly, the next question wasn't "Should we really do this", I think the next question was simply, "So what should we carve?". Of course the word "pals" came to mind, but for some reason - perhaps it was too short or lacked that certain something, but it just wasn't the right word. Then, maybe as a nod to Johnny's heritage, and certainly because the word was just way cooler, we settled on "Amigos".
So, there we were, with Grandma and Gramps away somewhere, here are 4 boys rummaging through their home, gathering up all sorts of sharp instruments to see which would work best for the undertaking. I vividly remember 3 things - there may have been others. Those three were a razorblade, a small knife, and some sort of ice pick thing. We experimented with all of them, but If I'm not mistaken that dang ice pick seemed to be the most effective tool for the task at hand. I can't remember who went first, but either way the carving began; I believe we alternated between carving and being carved to give us reprieve from the pain. I can still remember the sting of it pretty vividly, and I can even recall in my mind quite clearly the sound of the cutting, and the feeling of tearing through the skin on our shoulders. We were determined to make it stay so we tried to get it as deep as we could tolerate. I honestly don't know how we sat and just took it. And if I recall correctly, by the time we were done, our carvings looked pretty darn good if we do say so ourselves. I'll note that I believe this was those previously mentioned times when Chet's wisdom and foresight surpassed that of the rest of us and he opted out - wisely. But if memory serves, by the time the carving was complete I believe CJ, Johnny, and I were proudly branded, fairly bloody, and feeling as manly and legitimized as ever.
Well, we were certainly proud of ourselves, our toughness, our grit, and this manly solidarity we'd immortalized on ourselves together. But for some reason when we got down to CJ's house and his mom Shar realized what had happened (I don't remember how she got the down low on us but it was remarkably quick), for some reason she was not nearly as impressed with us as we were with ourselves. No compliments on our artwork, no lauding our mental and physical toughness and endurance, simply a bootie-whoopin anger that had me back up confessing to Gramps, Chet back home, Johnny's parents on the fast train to come get him, and CJ in some seriously toasty waters.
As I write this I frankly can't remember what if any consequences actually came from that event. It was clear that our choice was not going to be endorsed by those under whose authority we operated, but frankly - and not to be cheeky - what could they do. The masterpieces were completed, and it was all over but the cryin' as they say. I know I significantly dialed back the amount of time I wandered about shirtless - no reason to pour salt the wound (pun totally intended) with our parents / grandparents, but every chance we got we all tore the scabs off the cuts, in hopes that they would really scar up nicely.
Truth is, as I look at my arm today, there is very little evidence that anything ever happened. If I ever get any real tan on that shoulder and the sun hits just right, some small marks can still be deciphered, reminding me of our brazen loyalty and teen sincerity, but moreso probably just of our ridiculous kid-brained stupidity. But truth be told, I'm 45 now and honestly, no regrets . . . while the execution was absurd and deeply flawed, the feeling was real and meant something - still does.
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