When I turned seven we moved to Peoria Heights. Because of my
inquisitive nature it didn’t take me long to deduce the origin of the
name. They called it the heights because it was perched on a hill.
Sherlock had nothing on me.
Even after the Heights was incorporated into the city of Peoria its inhabitants still referred to it as Peoria Heights. I started second grade in Lincoln Elementary School in the Heights. My very first day was a disaster. I was a true believer in the goodness and charity of the human condition. I assumed whatever anyone told me was true. Boy, was that a false assumption.
The boy sitting next to me asked to borrow my pencil. The lead had broken in his. He said he would give it right back. Then he refused to return my pencil. He just laughed and said, “Sucker!”
I was a trifle distraught. I decided I would teach him a lesson. The fact that someone could steal from me and then laugh in my face was annoying. I decided to kill him. I began fomenting plans but immediately discarding them. Most of them would happen too quickly. I wanted him to suffer before he died.
When the final bell rang I had devised a careful plan of action. When no adults were looking I jumped on his back and knocked him to the sidewalk. Before he could regain control of the situation I grabbed him by the hair and banged his face into the concrete sidewalk. Twice. Blood flew everywhere. He was larger than me. And stronger. He threw me off and began running for home.
He ran like a lumbering elephant. I quickly caught up with him and landed on his back again, knocking him to the ground. He threw me off before I could grab his hair. He jumped to his feet and began running faster. But he couldn’t outrun the speedy pencil-avenger.
I caught up with him two more times but he knocked me to the side with a wild sweep of his arm. I finally trapped him. He had run into a cul-de-sac. He was at my mercy. But my mercy evaporated when I recalled his contemptuous sneer and the charge: “Sucker!”
“Well, who’s the sucker now you pencil-thieving snit?” I taunted.
He was backed against a concrete wall. The wall was about five feet tall and had a wire mesh fence on top that extended another eight feet. He turned and leaped. He grabbed the fence and pulled himself up onto the concrete ledge. He thought he was safe. I smiled an evil smile.
I backed off a few paces and relaxed. I wanted him to feel complacent. “I guess you win this time, Billy boy. I’m late for supper so I reckon I’ll mosey on home.”
I turned slightly, as if to leave. But suddenly I ran forward and leaped upward clutching for his leg. He kicked me in the teeth.
Oh, the shame. Oh, the ignominious proof of a failed attempt at justice. I ran home with blood streaming down my shirt. Three of my front teeth were loosened. Guess who ate soup for two weeks?
That’s when I learned my great lesson of life. It’s fun to chase ‘em but there’s sometimes no pleasure in catching ‘em.
My brother Leonard asked me, “How could you have been so stupid? You never give anyone the advantage of height.”
“Let me show you how it happened,” I said. “Help me up onto the counter by the sink.”
I was standing three feet from the floor. I determined to turn the “stupid” remark back on him. “Now,” I said, “leap up and grab my leg…”
My brother Leonard was not stupid. He grabbed a broom instead and knocked me off the counter. I bumped my forehead against the kitchen table on my way to the floor. Now the whole front of my face was hurting.
“You’re building up quite a debt, brother,” I yelled from the floor. “One of these days I’m going to collect. With interest!”
He laughed.
Even after the Heights was incorporated into the city of Peoria its inhabitants still referred to it as Peoria Heights. I started second grade in Lincoln Elementary School in the Heights. My very first day was a disaster. I was a true believer in the goodness and charity of the human condition. I assumed whatever anyone told me was true. Boy, was that a false assumption.
The boy sitting next to me asked to borrow my pencil. The lead had broken in his. He said he would give it right back. Then he refused to return my pencil. He just laughed and said, “Sucker!”
I was a trifle distraught. I decided I would teach him a lesson. The fact that someone could steal from me and then laugh in my face was annoying. I decided to kill him. I began fomenting plans but immediately discarding them. Most of them would happen too quickly. I wanted him to suffer before he died.
When the final bell rang I had devised a careful plan of action. When no adults were looking I jumped on his back and knocked him to the sidewalk. Before he could regain control of the situation I grabbed him by the hair and banged his face into the concrete sidewalk. Twice. Blood flew everywhere. He was larger than me. And stronger. He threw me off and began running for home.
He ran like a lumbering elephant. I quickly caught up with him and landed on his back again, knocking him to the ground. He threw me off before I could grab his hair. He jumped to his feet and began running faster. But he couldn’t outrun the speedy pencil-avenger.
I caught up with him two more times but he knocked me to the side with a wild sweep of his arm. I finally trapped him. He had run into a cul-de-sac. He was at my mercy. But my mercy evaporated when I recalled his contemptuous sneer and the charge: “Sucker!”
“Well, who’s the sucker now you pencil-thieving snit?” I taunted.
He was backed against a concrete wall. The wall was about five feet tall and had a wire mesh fence on top that extended another eight feet. He turned and leaped. He grabbed the fence and pulled himself up onto the concrete ledge. He thought he was safe. I smiled an evil smile.
I backed off a few paces and relaxed. I wanted him to feel complacent. “I guess you win this time, Billy boy. I’m late for supper so I reckon I’ll mosey on home.”
I turned slightly, as if to leave. But suddenly I ran forward and leaped upward clutching for his leg. He kicked me in the teeth.
Oh, the shame. Oh, the ignominious proof of a failed attempt at justice. I ran home with blood streaming down my shirt. Three of my front teeth were loosened. Guess who ate soup for two weeks?
That’s when I learned my great lesson of life. It’s fun to chase ‘em but there’s sometimes no pleasure in catching ‘em.
My brother Leonard asked me, “How could you have been so stupid? You never give anyone the advantage of height.”
“Let me show you how it happened,” I said. “Help me up onto the counter by the sink.”
I was standing three feet from the floor. I determined to turn the “stupid” remark back on him. “Now,” I said, “leap up and grab my leg…”
My brother Leonard was not stupid. He grabbed a broom instead and knocked me off the counter. I bumped my forehead against the kitchen table on my way to the floor. Now the whole front of my face was hurting.
“You’re building up quite a debt, brother,” I yelled from the floor. “One of these days I’m going to collect. With interest!”
He laughed.
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