Around this time, at the age of thirteen, I had a theory. I had just finished reading John Christopher’s Tripods trilogy and was heavily influenced by it. The trilogy is a coming-of-age story couched as the tale of a rebellion. One of the novels, The White Mountains is, in some ways, about the relationship of children to adults. It presents the age-old story of machines controlling humans. In this tome, the machines are using a sort of surgical mind-control process, called the Capping. I had a strong belief that this Capping was actually happening in a natural way to most of us who were going through puberty.

I witnessed the Capping, as my friends began to act differently. It wasn’t only their voices that were changing, but the things they were talking about. Whereas imagination ruled interpersonal conversations throughout my childhood, things of a more mature nature seemed to take over around my adolescent period. I felt that someone or something was conducting a hostile takeover of my imagination.

It was at this same time when I wrote a letter to myself about these feelings. The letter was to be read at a later date, somewhere well past the Capping period. I don’t know where that letter is now, or if it even still exists (maybe in some box that my parents have stored away) I wish I knew where it was, as I still agree with much of its position. I wonder how receptive I would be to a letter going the other way, writing to myself as a youngster from adulthood. I doubt I would have been so accepting of the philosophies presented within.

The point that I agree with in that letter is that the process of puberty does, in fact, bring about a loss in imagination. While going through it, we are expected to act less like children, full of wild and often-times uncontrolled emotions, and more like adults, stoic and sober, in our demeanor. It was a difficult time for me, as there were things I wanted to share with others, but I couldn’t out of the fear of being ridiculed. This phobia of being embarrassed by others prohibited me from continuing one of the most enjoyable activities I had as a child – writing.

At that time, I wrote a piece that will always be remembered by me as something wonderful. It was a novelette, co-written by my good friend Korman King. The story involved a group of children and an adult assassin. Korman wrote the parts about the children and I took on the assassin’s dealings.

Korman had a vivid imagination, quite superior to my own. He had great talent as a wordsmith and constructed intricate twists in his storylines. Mostly, we wrote our passages independent from one another. We only collaborated on parts where the children and assassin came together. I remember that we envisioned it as becoming a movie someday, an action movie with heartfelt warmth, sort of like The Terminator meets Lassie. Sadly, the manuscript disappeared shortly after it was written and both Korman and I gave up writing altogether.

Korman King was a natural born leader. I don’t think it is entirely necessary to be born into the role, but it does help. Learning leadership skills for someone who didn’t find it natural, as I did, was difficult. It was akin to learning how to play the guitar. Some people, like Eddie Van Halen, simply start playing by ear from childhood and sound angelic. Others, like me, take lessons and practice for more than eight years and still sound demonic.

I lost my circle of friends in elementary school due to a botched experiment my guidance counselor, Mr. Covington, attempted with me there. He did manage to elevate my social level, though, but not as high as he had expected to. I didn’t accept the individuals he proposed to be my friends, nor did they accept me. Instead, I was left to find new friends. I turned to those who were closest to me, some of the members of my Sunday school class. Korman King was chief among them.

The specifics of that time have left me over the years.  I do remember that Korman was the leader of my circle of friends, though.  Basically, he chose what we would do and when we would do it. This didn’t always work out to be such a smart thing, dictatorship rarely is.  However, I cannot remember a time when Korman ever put us in serious jeopardy.  He was, after all, a natural born leader.

I feel that I was closer to Korman than the others in our group, if but for a brief time. You see, my parents adored him and often invited him along with us to social gatherings.  Korman went with us on a trip to Disneyland. I admit that I was jealous, seeing all the attention my parents were giving him at my expense. It was nauseating, the way they pointed out his many strengths and asked me why I couldn’t be more like him. I yelled at him a few times on that trip. Still, we managed to have a good time.

In particular, I remember that it was the first year of the Space Mountain ride and we had to wait in line for almost three hours. I thought that was bad, at the time, but years later I waited in a line for Universal Studios’ Jurassic Park ride for over five hours! (That was with my son, Cameron, during one of his rare visitations after his mother and I got a divorce.)  As we finally got into the ride, we were put in the front of car.  It resembled some sort of space ship, with a control panel mockup in front of us. Behind us sat several Japanese tourists.

During the ride, Korman instigated a little game of us pretending to be the ride operators. I went along with it, pretending to push buttons on the control panel decal at the helm. Korman barked out orders like a spaceship captain and I responded as his first mate. A few times, as the ride soared through the manufactured mountain, we would hit a sharp turn and the Japanese couple seated behind us grabbed our shoulders and shook their heads to the contrary. When the ride stopped, the tourists jumped out and clapped for us. They had fallen for our trickery. They even took pictures with us, as if we were some great celebrities they had met up with. It was a happy experience.

It was good to have someone around who was my own age (we’re a little more than a month apart in age) and going through the same things I was. In fact, it is always comforting to know that I am not the only one who thinks about things in a certain way.  I feel that if everyone were more open to their feelings, the world would be a much better place. Sadly, most people live behind a curtain of deceit and choose to portray themselves as someone they are not.