Throwing Stones

When my family moved to Florida, one of the first friends I made was with an 8 year old who lived across the street named Nathan. He wasn’t like the other boys in the neighborhood. When we played basketball on my driveway, he’d hang out with the neighborhood girls on the sidewalk and watch. When we played whiffleball in Ryan’s backyard, he’d hang out with the girls in the neighboring yard and watch. When we played touch football in the street, he’d sit on the curb with the neighborhood girls and watch. Sometimes, we’d wrestle on Dusty’s trampoline and he’d join in, but he never tried to win. He’d just let you pin him and then he’d giggle. He seemed to enjoy losing a wrestling match like no one else. We tried to get him involved in a baseball game once, but he refused to throw the ball overhand. He didn’t like how it felt. We argued for almost two hours one time over how to throw a ball, but he was too stubborn. He wasn’t throwing overhand. Not only that, but he was trying to convince me that I was the one throwing the ball wrong.

From the age of 8 until my family moved to another neighborhood at age 13, he was my best friend. We hung out every day. We had sleepovers with the other neighborhood kids. We walked to and from school together. We played with all the same kids. There were no divisions at that age. We were all just kids trying to balance the very uncomplicated life of trying to find something fun to do and trying not to get in trouble with our parents. Even though he was clearly unlike the rest of us guys, between the ages of 8 and 12, no one cared. He was still just one of the boys. It wasn’t until we all entered adolescence that things became awkward.

His older brother, Benny, had a large collection of adult magazines which Nathan borrowed and brought back to share with me and some of the other neighborhood boys. As me, Mike, and Dusty were gawking at a particularly raunchy edition of Hustler, Nathan continually interrupted with remarks like “Ew, that’s gross!” And “I don’t like that.” any time the photos focused on reproductive organs. He liked breasts, but who doesn’t? Snooch, however, wasn’t his cup of tea.

This lack of vagina awe gave him the ability to talk to teenage girls as if they were regular people. It allowed him to think clearly and behave naturally whenever he was around girls and the neighborhood girls were crazy about him because of this. While we were fumbling around, searching for the right words, nervously trying to find something to say, he could just walk up and start a meaningful conversation. At first, there was a lot of jealousy, but eventually, it became evident he wasn’t competition. In fact, he was an excellent go between. If he knew one of his guy friends liked a certain girl, he’d walk up and talk to her on his behalf and try to hook them up or at least get the scoop and report back.

I was keen on a girl named Kelly who lived in the Mariner’s Wharf apartments a few blocks from our street. Nathan picked up on it, so he’d walk over to my house and tell me he was going to see Kelly and invite me along. We did this several times. He’d do most of the talking. I’d stand a safe distance away nervously and eventually he’d bring me into the conversation. Once me and Kelly were talking, he’d excuse himself and leave. However, I never made my move. I’d talk a little more, lose my nerve within a few minutes, and then walk home feeling stupid.

One night, Nathan talked me into sneaking out late and go over to Kelly’s, get her to sneak out, and then other fun stuff would happen. I don’t remember the exact plan, probably a midnight dip in the hot tub at Mariner’s Wharf. So we walked up to her family’s apartment and he handed me a small rock and said

“Toss it up to tap her window, but don’t throw it too hard.”

Then he made an underhand throwing gesture.

“I’m not throwing like that! You throw it.”

“Don’t throw it overhand. You’ll break the glass.”

“Well, I’m not throwing underhand! You do it.”

“I can’t toss it that far. You do it.”

So I threw the rock.

Overhand.

As we were running away at top speed after inadvertently smashing Kelly’s window, Nathan couldn’t help but laugh as he noted “See? I told you underhand was the right way to throw!”

He had a point. But to this very day, I still refuse to throw underhand. What I don’t do is sneak out at midnight and try to wake up neighborhood girls with rocks.