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A Welcomed high school reunion

"One of the few people from the past I welcomed"

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Anyone that knows me is aware that I always hated school, and that's a hate with a capital H. Such was my disgust at the way I was treated by students and staff that I quit in my Junior year. As I said in an earlier story there were no bullying laws in place, complaints about being picked on and targeted by the school toughs were answered with a "You better toughen up".

Students that did well were praised, those of us that did not were subject to embarrassment. I had one test returned with a "You Flunked Again, Stupid" , written in red across the top of it. Complaints against a teacher unless it was an assault or sex charge were ignored. Like I said I took my leave and went to work and I flourished in the workplace.

I was making a good living and began to enjoy life while the remainder of my graduation class was still trapped in school. My anger about school has stayed with me to this day. I have avoided any and all invitations to any kind of reunions, and I could count on one hand the people I would be willing to speak to if approached. Don't let me be in earshot if someone talks about how great high school was.

Fast forward 20 years later and I am on a poker run. For those not familiar with that function I will explain. A local motorcycle club, dealership or organization will decide to raise money for a local charity and will sponsor a poker run.

Admission is usually 20 dollars per rider and participants receive t-shirts and wristbands. A map of the stops numbering 5 is issued to those participating in the event and the person operating the cycle or his rider reaches onto a box and draws a card, it is recorded on a tally sheet.

Then bikes leave in groups of 5 to 10. At the next stop you draw another card and this too is added to your tally sheet and it will continue until the final stop when you have 5 cards recorded on your tally sheet .The sheet is submitted to the organizing committee, the rider with best poker hands usually wins a great prize.

The event is not about winning a prize, that's an added bonus. It's all about riding and camaraderie. At each stop there are great discounts on food and drink, and the people you meet on the way provides the beginnings of friendship.

The final stop is usually a park, Harley dealership or a bar where a barbecue has been set up. There is always an abundance of free food and drink for the participants and live band entertains the masses.

So here I am at the end of the run, I didn't win anything but I didn't care. I am seated at the bar washing away the heat of the day and road dust with a cold beer. I just had an excellent lunch and I am waiting for the band to start and I am eyeing the lovely ladies checking out the Harleys and their riders, maybe the chance for brief romance might present itself.

I suddenly get the impression that I am being stared at, and sure enough at the opposite end of the bar a large outlaw biker is staring at me intently. He is easily over 6 foot and 3 inches tall and about 250 pounds of solid muscle.

His beard is down to his chest and his hair is to his shoulders. His massive arms are covered with tattoos and his fingers are adorned with heavy silver rings. His leather vest sport the colors of a well known club and a small patch sewn on the front announces to all that he is the President of this chapter.

I have been attending these type of functions for years and never had any problems. The bikers I encountered back when I was much younger imparted a lot of wisdom on me on how to behave at one of these functions as their lifestyle has certain codes of conduct.

So I didn't run or act nervous which could be interpreted as a sign of weakness and I stayed seated when this big outlaw stomped down and took a seat next to me. He was looking me directly in the eyes as though he was searching for something.

Then a big smile came to his face and he said my full name, and I was stunned. I asked if he knew me? He just laughed and held his large hands in front of his face to cover his beard. I then stared hard into his eyes, and saw my boyhood friend there staring back at me.

"Greg, is that you?" I said in a voice of astonishment.

He laughed out loud and threw his arms around me and I him..

Greg and I were considered the sissy boys of our elementary school days. Not interested in sports and not wanting to fight made us easy targets to those that had to assure their pre teen manhood's by picking on those that they were sure would not fight back.

Junior and senior high were no better. Even though he invited some of the altercations of not backing down, we remained friends through thick and thin. We walked home together many an afternoon and shared stories and family history.

He pushed me back at arms length and examined me.

"You dress like a biker, but are ya really one of us?" he asked.

I told him about the toy and poker runs I had been on and how long I had ridden and owned a Harley and then added I was not a biker as I was not tough enough.

"That stuff don't mean shit," he growled in response.

He then grabbed my head between his huge hands and gave me a kiss on the lips and pushed me back.

"Now do something about that," he growled.

Remembering the lessons I had learned many years ago I then grabbed his head and returned the kiss. He issued a loud cheer and so did the members of his club that had been watching intently, then placing his arm across my shoulder he walked me back to the area reserved for his club and introductions were made in outlaw biker fashion.

"Outside of you jerk-offs, this is the only person in the fuckin world I actually give a shit about," he announced to his group. "See I told ya he was one of us in spirit, and he was the only person that ever gave a rats ass about me until I met you losers.

He then related the story to me of doing the kiss routine to another schoolmate of ours from those early days. He one of our tormentors that had purchased a Harley and thought of himself as a biker. Well the guy freaked out and ran out of the bar.

"My friend and I are gonna have a seat over there, and I don't wanna be fuckin disturbed," he growled to his members.

We grabbed a couple of pitchers of beer took our seats in the back of the bar away from the din of the band and we talked for hours. We allowed our minds to drift back to our younger carefree days when the world was a different place and made sense.

As I had a long ride ahead of me I took my leave. He walked me outside and I was given his club card, similar to a business card except the club's colors are very prominent at the top and his name and title below.

"Anytime you see my bike parked here and ya wanna stop in to shoot some pool or grab a beer and talk just show this at the door and you will have no problem".

I received a goodbye hug and we wished each other safe riding. It was the end of great day...

Published 
Written by The_Count
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