In the far corner of our second-grade playground, near the chain-link-fence, a massive tractor tire lay on its side. That tire was the perfect place for certain kids to congregate, to gossip, tell stories and shoot the breeze (despite the fact that it smelled like urine).
On one fine day, four of us were sitting in a circle, conversing as we watched the world go by.
First, there was Gretchen. She called herself a “tom-boy” and was one of my best friends. She lived a few houses down from where I lived; we played together all the time.
Gretchen was cool.
Then there was Johnny, a dark-haired boy from our class. He wasn’t exactly a great friend, but he was decent enough.
Lastly, there was Sam, a boy from another class. I rarely saw him. He had buggy eyes, short-chopped hair and seemed a bit needy.
I don’t remember which one of us introduced the idea of becoming blood brothers. I’m guessing it was either me or Gretchen: we both loved risk and high adventure! Once the idea was presented, it took less than a minute for all four of us to agree. We had no time to waste… recess would be over soon.
One small problem: we had no knife.
But I was a boy scout and I had learned to be resourceful in the most dire situations. Because when you’re out there in the wilderness, trying to survive, you have to make do.
Quickly, we searched around the tire. In a matter of minutes, we found a small shard of glass. It felt like a sign!
Note: The four of us had no idea of the grave danger we might have potentially caused ourselves. If you read the following and think the activity sounds fun, please bear in mind, the sharing of blood is a great way to catch all manner of diseases. Or die.
The glass was razor sharp. With a light skimming of the glass across my index finger, blood began to drip. Johnny and Sam followed suit; blood dripped from their fingers.
So far, our plan worked perfectly.
But when Gretchen held the glass to her finger and yanked, nothing happened. She tried again. And again. At last, she came to the realization that she couldn’t bring herself to do the deed. No matter how hard she tried… no matter how much she wanted it… Gretchen could not make her right hand damage the left hand.
Finally she did the only sensible thing and she asked me to take care of it for her. I was honored
I took the shard in one hand and I held her finger in the other.
I am sure this will be as easy as slicing my own finger. Easier!
But I did not account for the fact that I couldn’t feel the pressure of the glass “blade” against her skin. I yanked… delicately. Or so I thought, but I instantly knew something was wrong. I gazed in horror. The wound was deep. Very very deep. At first, there was no blood. In the next second, blood… everywhere. Endless amounts of blood.
To this day, I still recoil whenever I think of the gash in Gretchen’s finger.
Gretchen was not immune to the pain. But she was not going to loose this opportunity and we all pushed our fingers together—more blood continued to pour out of her wound. She did not shed a tear. BAM! That was it. We were blood brothers. No more ceremony. No words.
At that age, from our pout-of-views, becoming a blood brother was the deepest bond one can make with another person. We would live and die for our fellow blood brothers. This bond cut as deep as any family bond (maybe deeper). All four of us understood the meaning of this.
The problem is that, on a whim, I had become blood brothers with three kids, one of whom I barely liked… or actively disliked. The needy, buggy-eyed Sam was now my blood brother. Now, if he wanted to play with us, we had to go out of our way to include him. We shared an eternal destiny with Sam. It didn’t matter that he was annoying. Or strange. He was one of us now. We were a family.
From time to time, I wondered about the folly of having not more carefully chosen my blood brothers. Gretchen was a perfect choice. But what about the other two? Wouldn’t my good friend, Casey, have made a better blood brother? Or my best friend, Matthew? Why had I jumped into this whole blood-brother thing, without thinking of the long-term impact?
One day, I was sitting in class and a teacher came to the door; she asked for Gretchen, Johnny and myself. I was so sure that we were in big MASSIVE trouble. We were led down the long hallway while it was explained to us that once a month, Sam gets to invite three friends to his special class.
Special class? What kind of special class? What could this mean?
I’ll be honest: all I remember is the trampoline. We all bounced and bounced on that trampoline for two hours, maybe more. Blood-Brothers-Four, in harmony!
Why was there a trampoline in Sam’s classroom? As an adult, I have made educated guesses but, as a child, I only learned one lesson from this encounter: becoming blood brothers with someone you don’t like pays off in the long run.
Our family moved from Albuquerque the following year.
It was a relief to leave my blood brothers behind.