Playing Hooky
We were eleven going on twelve—that magical age when you’re old enough to know better but still young enough not to care. The calendar said May, but the sun had July written all over it—hot, bold, and daring you to do something reckless. So my buddy Jim Hack and I did what any two prepubescent philosophers facing perfect weather and a long division test might do. We skipped school. Back then, skipping school felt less like delinquency and more like freedom in its purest form. The entire adult world operated according to clocks, bells, factory whistles, and schedules. But for one glorious afternoon, none of that applied to us. We wandered down toward the river carrying fishing poles and the kind of confidence only kids possess. We talked about summer jobs detasseling corn and how the carnival would be coming to town in July with its Tilt-A-Whirl, cigarette-smoking carnies, and impossible basketball games. We talked about girls a little, though neither of us really knew what t...
