Thursday, December 6, 2012

The Poor Kid

In the dawn of my youth, my family moved to a small town in Iowa named Adel.  Adel is a really special town.  And it's special in the way that small town Iowa smells like shit for the first 400 yards of town, and then smells like flowers everywhere else.  My house was stationed directly in the center of shit smell due to the proximity of the Raccoon River.

Even the raccoons won't touch the water.
My parents used to keep our playing area our block which looked a little something like this:

So my friends and social circle consisted of Allison and Hillary, who's mom ran a daycare and liked to parent both her kids and my family's kids.  When Allison and Hillary couldn't play, I moved down to the 2nd tier of the social circle.  (Okay, I get that the description just made some sort of 3D shape so... think of it like a very small parking garage of friend tiers.)  On the 2nd Tier, there was a small boy named Todd.  Todd lived in the achingly small house with a sign on the front that said "Adel Apartments".  The amount of apartments in that tiny shack, I will never know.  Because I was scared of it.  And you at 7 years old would be afraid of it too:

Todd was a hillbilly kid who had the IQ of a spinach omelet.  At first, he was cool and we got along, but then I realized that I was hanging out with someone who couldn't recite the pledge of allegiance without spitting out a blackened tooth.

Our favorite activity was to come to my house and play Super Nintendo.  To be specific, we played Speedy Gonzales Los Gatos Badidos. For hours and hours.

Before long, I started to realize that Todd was using me for my Speedy Gonzales game.  Isn't that always the way?  I began to resent Todd and his awful, poor, and stupid situation.  He didn't care about me.  He once told me that I sounded too much like a grown-up and that I needed to shut up when he was playing my video game because he couldn't concentrate (on the very racist things Speedy says).

I told my parents that I didn't like Todd anymore, and they were more than happy to discourage my friendship with the boy.

But our friendship break up did not go as smoothly as one would hope.  It was a fight of logical statements, argued with unintelligible anger.

Even my dad got involved.

--literally, the smartest thing he had ever said.  ever.  And undoubtedly, he probably learned this fact in a very white trash way, like his mom arguing with her latest ex-boyfriend who had a restraining order against her.  Or something.  I'm just spewing out white trash possibilities here.

If someone made this stamp for me, I would love them forever.
Eventually, Todd went home.  I like to think that he cried about my lost friendship, but let's face it: I'm just not an entertaining person for white trash kids with the word "challenged" written across his IQ test where a number is supposed to go.