The Chip Kid

Growing up in a crime-free type suburbia of engaged parents and lots of grass, I know I had a very certain childhood. I knew this more when our neighbors brought in a kid from a really bad area outside this landscaped world where horrible things were kept quiet until they were found out..and then someone’s parent went into the woods to off themselves.

This kid was in some type of program, my mother said, where they got “adopted” for a summer and lived up the street from me.  There was a good gang of us on my street so having another kid to hang out with and stuff was cool – we didn’t need some type of explanation or resume.

Another neighbor had her nieces stay over once. They left after some type of trial…anyhow…

I didn’t really get it as a child.

As an adult, I totally get how getting your young child out of the roughest part of the city during a time when there is no school or stuff to keep the kid occupied – it could be lifesaving. I don’t remember the kid’s name, but, he was younger than me. That was a big deal because I was always the youngest and…like…less fun than the other kids.

He could hang out with the older kids, though. I was still annoying.

I do remember one time, he walked around with a box of matches, he was lighting them and throwing them on the grass while he ran around with some other kids from our neighborhood. I told him I was going to tell on him, which is the worst thing you can tell another kid.

Kid: *lighting match* It’s my word against yours
Me: WHOA. Well…well…I can get evidence!

I spend most of that afternoon looking for matchsticks in the grass. I didn’t find any, as I recall. I told my Dad about it – not because the grass could catch on fire but because I could find proof to back up my story.

So, for us, he was a bad kid. He was dangerous and rebellious and funny and there is nothing better than that when you are like seven-years-old. Givin’ lip to adults and stuff. Phew. He was a blast.

But, he really wasn’t a bad kid or a dangerous kid. He was just a kid. Like us. Bored.

So, we had this neighborhood picnic once a year where we all went to the one house with the pool. Hanging out there, he was this calm, funny kid who was both out of place and so welcomed in our group. I remembered we all had burgers and the adults were asking if we wanted chips.

Kid: I want one chip
Us: What? One chip?

He held up one finger. He put the chip IN his burger and ate it. This was probably – wait – literally – the greatest thing he taught us. CHIPS IN THE BUGER! For summers long after, we would put a chip or two in our sandwiches or burgers so we could get a bite of chip with each bite.

As an adult, I can see the crunch-worthy structure. I can also see a kid who probably was taught that food was finite and by putting one chip in your sandwich, you don’t need as many. So, you have more for later or a sibling.

He never came back to our neighborhood and years later Mom told me that his brother had been shot and killed. I think everyone just lost contact in the shuffle and about a year ago the lady who “adopted” him died, too.

The thing about the Chip Kid, parents saw him as the sum of adult choices. He was become the sum of their worries and controls. They were running damage control on him. He was dealt a bad hand, no argument there. And yet, when he was allowed to just be a kid - even in the midst of all this stuff - he was...living this story.

For all the stories he had lived and all the ones he lived after - this was the story that the adults didn't see or that they couldn't see. Or that they didn't need to see.

Sometimes I tell my friends who are parents – who are stressed and trying to be all like Pinterest and over protecting the micromanaging process of living - that they are forgetting what it’s like to actually be a kid.

Childhood is inherently magical, even when it isn’t.

There is always magic.