The Lost Letter

by Arlyn Stewart

Most of life's lessons make such a soft footprint that the teaching event is forgotten or hardly noticed.  There are however a few never forgotten.  One, happened my sophomore year of high school and illustrates those peer pressure years. 

A quiet lad raised on a farm, I enjoyed the outdoors and sports but farm life sometimes made playing school sports difficult.  In the fall, football was not a possibility because there were crops and winter heating wood to get in.   Dad also worked what farmers call an outside job, and drove the single family car to work, usually in an opposite direction than our school.

Hunting and fishing satisfied some of my sport interest,  but during the winter of my freshman year, I desired to go out for wrestling and obtained mother's blessing even though she had concern about the hitch-hiking needed to get home after practice.  The first ten miles on the US highway usually was not difficult, leaving only three miles that more often than not comprised the hiking part of hitch-hiking.  Winter in Michigan however can be harsh and a few weeks into the season, I found myself having to walk eight of the thirteen miles in very frigid mid winter conditions with no hat and inadequate outdoor clothing.  It of course gets dark early in the North country and I made the mistake of taking a ride from the well lighted section of town that only offered five miles.  Youngsters playing sports usually had no problem hitching home, but out on the dark highway at cruising speed, even a friend can't be identified.   The few who were on the roads passed me by, even the older gentlemen with the slow truck that had given me a ride several times that would have halved the distance remaining.  It was late and long past supper when finally trudging into the warm and safe refuge of home half frozen to confront a very worried mother.

I think she had lobbied dad to come looking for me, but dad believed in rugged independence and was always hesitant to provide an easy path.  Mother had power however, and against protest I was instructed that there would be no more hitch-hiking during the dead of winter.  I'd won my first match up and enjoyed the wrestling and quitting the season came hard.

When spring came, I argued that track or baseball were my best sports options but the frozen hitch-hiker memory was too fresh, maybe next year when older.  Physical education coaches had several times encouraged me to come out for sports.  One of those times happened as spring track season approached during my sophomore year and mother consented.

A few weeks later, I was out for track and assigned to run the 880.  There didn't seem to be too much to it, a start, keep a pace, and kick the last 220.    At the first track meet, the pace was set by last years lead 880 runner but to my surprise, when it came time to kick, I had much more to give than the pace setter.  The rest of the season went well and two more wins and other places were added.  Placing in district meets earned points towards a letter and near the end of season the letter was earned and I'd even come within a second of the school record.  After the first race, last years lead runner had moved to another event leaving me as the pace man and all that was needed was to continue to increase the pace and perhaps the  school record next year. 

The season was winding down with one out of town relay remaining.  We arrived early and with a couple of hours to kill, three popular athletes invited two of us 880 guys to traipse to town with them.  There, we visited a variety store to check out the latest in the current yo yo fad.  To my surprise, the popular boys suggested we five finger discount one each.  Neither my fellow runner or I were inclined, but pressure was put on and we all stuffed one in a pocket and headed for the door.

After exiting, the loud stern word, "Stop" echoed from behind.  We'd been busted for shoplifting.  To my surprise, the three popular boys were commanded to never come back to the store and sent packing and my racing friend and I ushered back into the store to reveal our pockets and be led to an office to answer questions and get a stern scolding. 

The store official explained that the other three boys weren't apprehended because he'd watched them  shuck their takings before even getting out of the toy department.  After a few questions and explaining that we'd been asked by those other boys to come and pressured to take the yo yos, the store detective had the picture that we'd been set up for some entertainment, deciding not to pursue the incident further or contact our school. Detained long enough however to miss our running event, coach would want an explanation.  We got lost was an option, the three other boys would keep quiet.  Neither were happy with lying however, so a mutual decision to tell the truth and face the music was agreed upon. We also agreed to keep quiet about the other boys unless asked.

The music was a tough chorus.  There was no conversation with the coach beyond our simply affirmation that we had been detained for shoplifting.  He was within his rights to be mad and disappointed and in a second told us we were kicked off the team, get on the bus and say not one word.  At school on Monday, we were summoned to the principal's office to face punishment.  It was explained that an "example" for our behavior was in order.  Because we'd been kicked off the team before the official end of the season (we hadn't yet arrived back at school after final meet) all points earned that year were forfeited.  As only a few days remained in the school year, we were banned from all athletics the following year as well prohibited from being on school property at any time other than normal school hours.  I'd miss my sister's graduation the next year.

The price for my poor behavior left one window of opportunity to earn a high school letter, track season my senior year.  It wasn't easy to earn the points to letter in one season, but I'd done it before and with hard work and luck it could be done again.   Going out, the coach questioned why and offered that my senior year was too late, his demeanor was an easy read, he didn't want me on the team.  The warmness given when I won races had turned to ice.    I left, leaving behind a dream of lettering.

The impact of that event helped shape who I became, forever skeptical when feeling pressured.  I see that event in many of my life's passages.