The time I broke a kid’s legs to save our way of life

Dan Huckleberry and I were the top boys on the block.

We were the oldest kids in the “gang” that roved the alleys and backyards of Heltman Avenue. That meant we picked what the rest of the kids played.

Sometimes, we played baseball in old Miss McElhaney’s backyard.

Sometimes, we played G.I. Joe or Transformers in my backyard.

Sometimes, we went on “patrol,” riding our bikes down and up the alleys looking for something. I say “something,” because we didn’t know what we were looking for. We would know it when we saw it!

Sometimes, we played “war.” The neighborhood around Heltman was “open range” and nobody had a fence. None of the homeowners (except Mrs. McLain) minded our epic battles spilling into their backyards.

Life was good in the neighborhood.

Until one summer, a new kid moved on the block.

His name was Ryan. He was only a third grader, but that is what made him such a grave threat to our way of life.

Ryan wasn’t like the other “little kids” who followed Dan and me. Kids like James, Mark, and Tim. Those kids knew how things worked. They knew that Brad and Dan know best. Brad and Dan make the rules. Brad and Dan embody the highest standard of what it means to be a kid on Heltman. Brad and Dan deserve cooperation and respect.

Ryan didn’t get that.

While other third graders were content to stay in their place, Ryan thought that he should have the same privileges that Dan and I had.

Every summer morning, I ate breakfast and then walked up the alley to Dan’s house. He would bring his cereal out on the back porch and we would make our plans for the day. The younger kids did not have a part in this business meeting; they accepted whatever plans Dan and I made.

One morning, early in the summer, I went for my customary business meeting with Dan. When I got to his house, I was alarmed to find Ryan in my place on Dan’s back porch!

Alarm turned to dismay when I found that Ryan was offering suggestions about what the day’s activities should be.

A newcomer to the neighborhood and third grader at that! Presuming to counsel fifth graders who lived in the neighborhood most of their lives!

I asked Ryan to excuse Dan and me for a private word. Behind the garage, I warned Dan that Ryan was endangering us all.

“He’s not one of us, Dan!” I said. “He doesn’t know how things work around here. If the other little kids see you and me playing what Ryan wants to play, they’re going to think they can do that, too! Can you imagine what would happen around here if the little kids could get what they want? You and I are in charge for a reason! You have to tell Ryan to go back home.”

Dan thought I was overreacting.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “He’s new around here. He’ll figure out his place and get in line.”

But Dan was wrong. Day after day, Ryan showed up at the morning meeting. He started following Dan and me wherever we went. He didn’t ask if he could join us. He seemed to think that he just belonged.

As I predicted, the other little kids noticed. They saw Ryan acting like an “insider” with Dan and me. They wanted to be “insiders,” too.

I finally took Dan aside and warned him: Ryan was a grave threat to our way of life on Heltman Avenue.

“Dan, this whole neighborhood is going to go down the toilet if we don’t stop Ryan!” I said. “Do you see what’s happening? Do we really want a bunch of little kids to be in charge of what we do around here? What’s next? Are we going to let girls start playing with us, too? Come on, man! We have to stop this!”

Dan didn’t feel as strongly as I felt, but he wanted to keep order. So, he agreed that, for the sake of the neighborhood, he would work with me to put Ryan “back in his place.”

From that point on, we made it a point to exclude Ryan. We thought that cutting him out would send a strong message: If you want to be part of things around here, you have to show deference to those who are “above you” in the neighborhood order.

Our plan worked, but not the way we thought it would work.

Ryan seemed to think that Dan and I were playing a game with him. He took our treatment as a challenge, so he tried harder to get into the middle of what we were doing.

One night, soon after Dan and I declared “corrective measures” against Ryan, he came strolling into Dan’s backyard.

I told him to get lost. Fifth graders only.

He didn’t comply. He strolled right over to us on the swing set.

I repeated the order: You are trespassing on a closed meeting. Leave or face the consequences.

He just kept hanging around, so Dan and I jumped on our bikes and pedaled off down the alley.

We stopped and looked back when we got to Heltman. Ryan was on his little bike, racing after us with all his might. A chase ensued that would be worthy of any Hollywood blockbuster. Dan and I were bigger and faster, but Ryan would not give up. No matter how far ahead we got or where we tried to hide, he always caught up.

I was furious. It was an outrage that he presumed to have a place with us. What was even more outrageous is that he seemed to enjoy the chase. Didn’t he get it? Stupid, uppity kid.

Dan and I stopped where one gravel alley made a “T” with another. While we talked about where to go next, Ryan suddenly appeared at the end of the alley and raced toward us. Dan and I were close, so it took precious seconds to separate and turn our bikes in the direction of our escape. By the time I started pushing my pedals, Ryan was almost on top of us. I barely got away, but picked up speed and made it to the end of the alley. As I turned onto Heltman, I heard a crunch and a scream come from behind me.

I turned back to see Ryan on the ground next to his bike. It looked like he went full speed into the 90 degree turn from one gravel alley to the other. The gravel under his bike gave out under him. I don’t know how he came down, but what I could see was both of his legs lying on the ground next to his body. His legs were in a < > position with one foot lying on its side next to each one of his ears.

Dan went back. In a panic, I raced home and stumbled into the house. My parents were watching the evening news, but I walked past them and out into the backyard. My ears were ringing. I was trembling all over. I came to my senses after a few minutes and walked back out to the front yard where I left my bike. Down the street, I could see an ambulance parked in the alley where Ryan crashed. I rolled back down the street in time to see the paramedics lift him into the ambulance.

Ryan never imposed on Dan and me again. The fractures in his legs were so severe that he spent the next nine months in body casts and a wheelchair. We never again saw him outside his house. He did heal, but his family moved away before he walked again.

You know the worst part? When Ryan broke his legs and couldn’t come outside anymore, I was relieved. I felt bad that he broke his legs, but I secretly gave thanks in my heart that his injury restored the proper order.

Now, when I think back on this story I have to confess: Even good, well-meaning people like me can be so cowardly and cruel.

I also have to ask myself: Who gets to belong?

And what happens when good, well-meaning people don’t know the answer to that question? Or don’t want to be bothered to think about it anyway?