by Manfred Koehler

Recess at Delnor School meant only one thing: tackle tag. Sure, it was a little dangerous, but we had invented the game and were proud of it. The playing area was half the soccer field. Nineteen of us guys and seven girls smirked like we were never going to get caught.

Gator the Gimp was “It.”

“Ready or not, here I come!” Gator yelled, preparing to tackle the world.

Everyone spread out, racing around the field. The Gimp held his arms wide, as if he was getting ready to hug somebody.

Hobbling along, he chased one person, then another, then another. Everyone ran past. The Gator couldn’t touch them—him and his short leg.

Tagged

The Gimp had his arms out as he slowed down, chest heaving.

“Hey, Gator!” Brian, the class bully, shouted. “What’s wrong? Can’t you slither fast enough to catch us?”

“Yeah,” someone else shouted. “Do you want us to play in the swamp?”

We all laughed. Gator, slither, swamp. Hah!

The Gator pretended he hadn’t heard and started running toward Brian. His hands were opening and closing like the claws of a crab.

Brian laughed and started running. No, he hobbled. We all watched. His one leg swung to the side, knee hardly bending, toes barely touching the ground. The other leg took huge steps forward. He gimped just like the Gator.

The Gimp growled and went after him. The two bobbed toward each other, heading for a crash. Then, at the last second, Brian spun on his good leg. The Gator missed him completely. Brian limped the rest of the way across the field, his hands opening and closing like a crab.

We were so busy watching Brian that we almost missed seeing Gator dive for Little Billy. He was only 7, but everyone let him play because Brian was his brother. Caught by a shoe, Billy fell in a cloud of dust and grass. Then he started wailing.

“What’s the matter with you, Gimp?” Brian screamed as he ran to Billy. “You have to pick on my little bro? Can’t you catch anyone bigger?”

“He was playing, wasn’t he?” The Gator didn’t flinch.

Brian gave the Gimp a shove. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you have to tackle him.”

When Brian got mad, he didn’t make much sense. I mean, we were playing tackle tag.

“He’s the only one I can tackle, and you know it!” A big tear popped from each of Gator’s eyes.

Brian wouldn’t let it go. “Why do you even play then? What are you trying to prove, Gimp?”

The Gator held out his hands, looking for that hug again. Then they fell to his sides with a helpless slap.

“I just want a friend.”

Feeling Like “It”

The recess bell rang. Brian threw the Gimp one last scowl, brushed the dust off his little brother and walked away.

The Gator stood alone, head hanging. That’s when I realized Ernie Gatoral was not just some kid with a short leg.

I should have seen it sooner.

“Yo, Ernie! Hang on a minute.” I waited for everyone to drift off, then put my arm over his shoulder. We headed for the school.

“My name’s Aaron,” I started to say, but Ernie cut me off.

“I know who you are,” he said as he looked sideways at me, wondering if I’d bite. I don’t imagine too many kids at school called him by his real name.

“I’m wondering, Ernie. What happened to your leg?” I couldn’t believe my mouth, but now that I realized Ernie was human, I wanted to know.

Ernie didn’t seem to mind my question. “Tornado. I was only 3, hiding in the bathroom with my parents. A 2-by-4 came smashing through the wall. I’m lucky to have a leg at all.”

“Wow, that’s rough,” I muttered.

“It’s not too bad,” Ernie said, smiling. “I’m used to it. I’m just glad all the operations are over.”

Being the queasy sort, I didn’t want any more details. Besides, Brian watched us as we approached the glass doors. That made me even more nervous. I pulled the handle, let Ernie through, then rushed past him.

“See you around, Gimp,” I called, without looking back. I hoped Brian would hear.

Then I spun around and gave Ernie a friendly wave.

Ernie just stood there, staring as if someone had died.

Boy, did I feel gross. I think it was Ernie who died, at least inside.

I should have said something—like “I’m sorry”—but I just slithered into my classroom.

Getting in the Game

Math and geography were my favorite subjects, but they seemed to last forever.

Now it was my turn to die. My hands shook. I couldn’t breathe right. The teacher even asked if I needed to see the nurse. I shook my head and pretended to work on my assignment.

I had only felt this bad one other time. It wasn’t that long ago, either. I had $20 in my hand and was headed for the store. But with each step the knots in my stomach had grown bigger.

The money wasn’t mine.

I was convinced Dad would never miss them. That may have been true, but it wasn’t the real problem.

Jesus had seen me.

It took all the guts I had to give my dad back the money and tell him what happened. Dad forgave me, and so did God—thanks to Jesus—but here I was again.

Surely Ernie would recover. He’d been called “Gimp” a million times. But that wasn’t the real problem.

Jesus had heard me.

I stared at the clock, wishing lunchtime would get here faster.

Tag Team

I found Ernie sitting in the corner of the lunchroom by himself. I bought two sodas and walked over, trying hard to smile.

“Peace offering,” I said, handing him a soda.

Ernie ignored me.

“Look, I’m real sorry about what I said. It was wrong.”

Ernie didn’t move.

I shrugged my shoulders and dug around in my lunch bag. “Doughnut?” I offered, gently placing it in front of him.

Ernie slowly pushed the soda and my doughnut to the opposite end of the table. Then he stood up to walk away.

I dropped my forehead to the table. It connected with a bang, but I didn’t mind the pain. I’d obviously caused a bigger hurt somewhere inside of Ernie.

Suddenly I heard shuffling feet and scraping chairs. Lifting my head, I saw Ernie backed against the wall. Brian stood front row, center. And he was surrounded by some of the biggest guys in school.

“So, Gator, you wanna tackle somebody after school?”

“Whaddaya mean?” Ernie sounded scared.

“We’ve got a special game lined up for you, me and all my friends here.”

Ernie’s eyes went cold. “I’d rather play with rats in a New York sewer.”

“What?” Brian’s mouth hung open.

“You heard me.” Ernie didn’t seem scared at all now. “If you’re going to beat me up, go for it. I’ve been there before.”

“Whoa! Did you hear that?” Brian recovered his cool. “Well, maybe we’ll just take you up on your offer, Gimp.” Turning to his friends, Brian smiled. “How ’bout we shorten his other leg?”

Before I knew what I was doing, I pushed my way through the mass of muscle and stood between Ernie and Brian.

“Back off, Brian. Ernie’s no threat to you.” This was taking all my guts. I was no sissy, but no one told Brian what to do—except maybe the school principal.

“What asteroid did you jump off?” Brian blinked like he had a bunch of sand in each eye.

“Ernie is my friend.”

Brian turned back to me, his eyes evil. “You wanna walk like your friend?”

My heart bouncing, I thought carefully about what to say. “If that’s what it takes to prove it, I’m ready.”

“Prove what? That you’re his friend? I thought I heard you call him ‘Gimp’?”

Ouch. I wasn’t ready for that.

Suddenly, Ernie pushed one of my arms down, then stood between me and Brian.

“I don’t mind what my friends call me. Now if you’ve got something to prove by beating on a helpless cripple, get it over with. Otherwise, let me and my friend finish our lunches.”

Brian was speechless.

The crowd behind him looked nervous. “Come on, Bri,” one boy said. “Let’s get out of here.” The mass of muscle moved off, dragging a silent Brian with them.

Ernie turned. We looked at each other for a long time, and I gave my new friend a big hug.

	Q: Why did the football coach walk into the telephone store? A: He needed a receiver. Jessica S., 10, Texas Clubhouse Jr. Click here to subscribe