I used to do a lot of stupid shit before I hit about 13 or so (when most kids START doing stupid shit...that's me, always ahead of my time), but I never really got caught doing any of it. One such incident took place at the Little League field in my hometown. My dad would be down there practically every day, talking it up with parents while looking at their teenage daughters. Since baseball never interested me, even when I was playing it, I always had to pursue other entertainment options. Mud was always good for entertainment, and there was always plenty of it, seeing as how the field was built on a flood plain. Most years at least half the season was cancelled because the field was always (literally) about 10 feet under water. They actually had the concession stand on a platform that would float when flooding occured.

Anyway, that day I was playing over in the drainage ditch at the end of the parkinglot when I noticed a little red Datsun with its windows rolled down. I snuck a peek inside and found a nice, clean, white pair of faux-sheepskin seat covers.

Somehow, in my mind, I figured it would be a really fun idea to hurl mud right in the front seat. So, of course, I did. But that wasn't enough. More mud went in, all over the back of the seat. Then the passenger seat. Oh, what the hell, I'd come that far so I continued to smudge it all over the steering wheel, dasboard dials. Soon enough I had a really nice mess going on in there.

I was still hanging around the scene of the crime when the owner came back. The games were over and I knew whoever it was would be back soon, so some fatalistic instinct in me made me hang around to see who it was and how they would react. It turned out to be someone that knew me, as least enough to know who my dad was. No surprise there, EVERYONE dwn there knew my dad. This one was one of the high school football players. I'd never had anything against him, and he'd always been fairly nice to me, as far as I can remember.

He saw me and said, "Hi, lil T______." I told him hi just about the time he reached the car and found the mud. So, there I was, standing there all alone, no reason to be over there, and probably still with mud all over my hands. Instead of jumping to the obvious conclusion, he turned to me and was like, "There's mud all over my seats! Did you see who did this?" I told him no, I'd just gotten over there. then I proceeded to watch him try to clean up the mess.

So, yeah, I got away with plenty when I was little. Being the "quiet kid" often had its advantages. Quiet kids don't throw mud through car windows. It was probably someone that had something against the guy. Why would anyone else do such a thing?

Why, indeed?

And that's what makes this an anecdote, rather than a story. At the end of a story, the main character should be changed in some way, or some inner truth should be revealed about him. None of that here.

Wooderson

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