Recent adventures regarding YouTube videos featuring incidents of acts of kindness and their lasting results had me visiting long-buried memories that show some of the better moments of my life. Times when I chose or realized that, in the end, I was and wanted to be a good person. Someone who, despite a sketchy background and running with a questionable mix of delinquents. I had a solid moral compass. At the age of sixteen, in my junior year of high school. My mom and stepdad decided to pick up and move from our Jackson Heights, Queens Co-Op, to the suburbs of Wayne, NJ. More on that later. For now, I’ll skip to my senior year and meet a girl worth proving I wasn’t the average street kid.
While her name escapes me after forty-plus years, her short, curly blonde hair and the confident way she conducted herself still loom large. We met in a class where we often shared our opposite opinions on the world and its people. Somehow, despite being on opposite ends of just about every subject, our bitter relationship soon became a friendship. It was like a scene out of a John Hughes 80s teen movie.
As senior year evolved. She would go on to make the honor roll while I struggled with my grades and the strong possibility of having to repeat the year. Still, I looked forward to passing her in the hallways and exchanging a few words between classes. It never went much further than that. I worked at the mall while she was volunteering at the local hospital. I remember visiting her on occasion. Trips that always put me in a positive state of mind. Thinking back, I spent much of my spare time convincing her that I was a decent guy.
Then it happened. The perfect opportunity presented itself. Our town and the hospital where she volunteered were hosting the Special Olympics. I can’t recall exactly how I caught wind of it. It was likely posted on one of our high school message boards in search of volunteers with determination and an honest will to be a part of it. I convinced her to volunteer together. Her agreement ensured that she was finally going to see me in action. We both had a great time. Being involved and interacting with special needs kids felt good. Shaking hands with the governor and being thanked for our hard work and participation was pretty rewarding for a seventeen-year-old kid. Above all, though, was convincing an intelligent and pretty girl that her, from the other side of the tracks friend, had a kind and thoughtful spot. At the same time, I think I needed to prove something to myself. That I wanted and was already a good person who wanted to help others while leaving a positive footprint on the people I met and places I went. Senior year soon ended, and I left Wayne for my old neighborhood. I don’t recall ever speaking or writing to her after parting ways. Perhaps for the best. In the end. I was just happy for the short time as her friend, proving that despite being a street kid, I wasn’t bad by any means.
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