We were on the swing set, each on either side, pumping our legs to go higher and higher.  We screamed, we shouted.  The neighbours must have thought some children were falling into a bonfire.

There was also a children’s park within a five minute, fun and walk.  It was like an enlarged play pen without fences and railings.  We loved it here.  We could climb life-sized jungle-gyms and feel brave being several feet higher than the top of our parents’ heads.

It was easy to shout at each other and not think we were breaking rules or being vulgar, whether it was being vulgar for a girl, or ungentlemanly for a boy.  If we began playing tag on the equipment, there would be screaming on top of it all as we ran from playset to playset.  We didn’t want to get stuck on the sandy gravel without the purpose for running.  The “It” had to come chase!

These were the days when I was at most eight years old.  Most of my playmates were the same age.  We loved to see how far each other would go.  We were daring them as much as we were daring ourselves.

One of my favourite friends was a boy named Lucas.  He was beautifully lost.  And he wasn’t afraid to say some things, unlike some of the other boys…., and, even, some of the girls.  Surprisingly, for his straight-forward, unabashed, daring, he did not get beat up…  or bullied, or called any name that was derogatory.  There was some magic in this, my childhood friend.

Then, one day, just the usual late spring day, at the time we were in the school yard during recess, we found ourselves in the sand underneath a wooden playset that was high enough to have a slide.  In this space, covered by the floor made of wood, Lucas and I were squatting.  We had sticks in our hands and were dragging them through the moist gravel.  I was scraping words I knew into it, and, from what I could see, Lucas was just dragging his stick to make parallel lines.

All of a sudden, Lucas asked me a question I had never heard before.  He asked, “Do you want to have a staring contest?”  As he asked, his stick stopped moving and he tilted his head up, and level, to ask.  I hesitated….  Not sure what exactly would happen in a “Staring Contest.”

“Okay,” I said, after a pause, looking at him a little lost and expecting him to continue his explanation to make the situation clear.  Lucas, at this point, looked back down at his stick and started to draw straight lines again.

I continued to look at him, and becoming patientless and frustrated with the situation, I asked him how to play again.

Lucas looked up, and through his glasses, in the dimness of the covered sandbox, I saw his eyes focus on me….  and just stare.

I became extremely frustrated, and threw my stick at him.  If I had known what “Idiot” meant I would have shouted it at him, but the word I knew and understood, was, “Stupid!”

It is now possible for me to say that Lucas has probably gone on to other things, other girls, and got himself a nice job to make some nice money.  Now, I do not regret that silly day, or the fact that we moved away from each other.  I feel lucky to have had a favourite friend  who was a boy at such a young age.  He is forever the definition of an eight-year-old boy for me.  Thank you, Lucas!