The Frisky Mole Boy of Groton
This is the story of how I first became a Gentleman Bounty Hunter, although I was too young to be a gentleman and I was too strange to actually catch anyone.
When I was a boy, I was pretty frisky.
I don't know why that word triggers the reaction that it does.
It's always been a fairly simple and straightforward word that describes a healthy boy, somewhat husky but not overtly so, who likes to bounce around and have fun. That was me. I wore the knees out of dress pants fairly quickly by being so frisky. There were more than a few times when I would get so frisky, I would split my pants open and not even know it (I am not certain, but this may have led to improvements in children's clothing, such as reinforced knees in pants and reinforced seats in husky boy pants).
Father would comment on my friskiness and look on with disapproval, but the excitement and interests that I had were paramount for me. I had to know what was in that cabinet, under that table, over that hedge, concealed in that locked facility, behind that barn, under that car, in that public toilet or beneath the folds of that rather diaphanous skirt.
I had to burst in and investigate and jump on chairs and tables and run around and knock things over. I had to climb every ladder that I saw and slide down ever pole that I saw. I had to jump over every reasonably jumpable gap and I had to see the bottom of every hole. Drainage pipes were a huge problem for me.
When I was 15, I got lost in the downtown Groton sewer system for about two months. I fancied myself living underground and becoming a kind of mole-rat person with super-sensitive eyesight and the ability to digest stolen food from a pizza restaurant that had a loose manhole cover behind it. I should write about my time as the Mole Boy of Groton. Technically, I wasn't a mole--I was a mole rat. I didn't do any digging. I subsisted off stolen or discarded food in tunnels someone else had installed. But I solved a few bank robberies, fell in love, and invented a curved stick that allowed me to run through sewer pipes while carrying pizza without falling. It was ingenious.
Even when I was a Mole Boy, I was dressed nattily and smartly. I wore a tie, suit coat, and either long or short pants, depending on the season. I had my hair done up in a pageboy cut with black ribbons to hold it out of my eyes on either side of my head.
This was not because I wanted to look like a rather foppish little twerp. This was because of how unreasonably wealthy we were. It was not because I liked to wear such clothing. It was expected that I would wear such clothing. When you're the son of a rich man, you have to dress the part. This reinforces the class distinctions which have made this such a great country. I must confess that I have never worn jeans or sneakers. I did wear cleats when I played football, but they were brown leather cleats, the best that money could buy.