Chapter 1: A Little Trouble

"I got into a little trouble when I was fourteen."

I've repeated that sentence forty-some times over the past twenty years; it has become my standard answer, regardless of how the question is phrased.

"To what do you contribute your success?" This comes from reporters, media of the printed or electronic variety.

"I got into a little trouble when I was fourteen."

"What makes you an expert on child abuse?" Chairwomen of charity committees often pose this question.

"I got into a little trouble when I was fourteen."

"Why do you negotiate as if your life depended upon the outcome?" This comes from clients and business associates.

"I got into a little trouble when I was fourteen."

"Where did you learn how to please a woman?" This comes from reporters, charity committee chairwomen, clients and business associates after being seduced.

"I got into a little trouble when I was fourteen."

"Have you considered running for office?" This comes from reporters, charity committee chairwomen, clients and business associates who are trying to be seduced.

"I got into a little trouble when I was fourteen," I offer as a teaser, with the suggestion there is more. But I've always resisted the temptation to tell more, possibly because I don't know what propelled my life from mediocrity to one of privilege and power.

Even when pressed by trusted school chums, I don't reveal more. Sometimes, in the wee hours of the morning, when I'm in the company of a curious lady friend, I may give her a song and dance about what a loser I was. The more she does for me the worse I make it sound. Some of the women I know eat that stuff up. They confuse personal disclosure (bullshit) with intimacy.

But as the years pass, I realize that no matter how despicable I describe my life back then; it is impossible to replicate its atrociousness in words. In short, I was a deceitful little shit, scared of my own shadow and too dumb to recognize that the path I was taking would lead to disappointment. And, I was too lazy to take corrective action even if my future had suddenly appeared before me.

The reason I never divulge more about my first fourteen years is that I don't like to think about how my life would have turned out if it were not for the way the dominos fell that day. I do, however, like to contemplate the sequence of events and try to determine which domino caused the others to fall. Sometimes, when I'm alone in the car or in the air on a business trip, I pass the time by picturing the pieces of the puzzle as dominos set up on a table, just so. And then, in my mind, I push one and watch the others fall. What made them fall that special way? Was someone looking out for me that day? Or, was it dumb luck?

My name is Sammy Kovel Oldham and this is my story:

Like most every day that summer, I rode my bicycle to the edge of town where I was to meet the kids I hung out with. Bobby was about my size, small, Sid was a little taller and his brother, Freddy was taller than Sid, and more muscular than any of us. Sid was our leader. He would call me on the telephone and tell me what time to meet him and it would sound like it was just the two of us going that day, but I knew differently. Bobby lived next door to the Connors brothers so he would see them leaving and naturally tag along. I don't remember ever talking to Bobby on the phone; we were never close like it was with Sid. There was no way to shake Freddy. As far as I was concerned he was a bully who did not fit in with kids his own age since he was held back the year we went into the sixth grade. The four of us gravitated together because we were under-achievers.

I was surprised to see a girl from our class riding behind Bobby. He was grinning, clearly relishing the feel of Becky's hands attached to the bare skin just above his swimming trunks. It was puzzling to me why she was with us. She was the smallest kid in our class and one of the smartest. I suspected that she was the only one in the group looking forward to entering the ninth grade in September. I didn't like it: girls are trouble. I especially didn't like the way Bobby was smirking at me.

Since Sid didn't object to Becky coming with us I guessed it was okay. I had to admit that she looked sexy in her two-piece swim suit. It wasn't a bikini but the bottom part was short enough to show lots of thigh and her little tits looked like they might fall out of the top. Sid was pumping hard, his brother seated leisurely behind him.

Freddy took exception to me riding next to Bobby and Becky. "What are you looking at runt? Ain't you ever seen a girl before?"

So I backed off and let the others lead the way. I don't think Becky knew I was there anyway. It was as if we were back in class, Becky wide-eyed, waiting expectantly for the teacher to call on her, me at the back, keeping a watchful eye on her every move. She was wearing sneakers, her legs sprayed out to give Bobby space to peddle. I enjoyed the view, almost forgetting that girls are trouble.

We parked the bicycles in the ditch and Sid held the strands of the fence open for Becky to crawl through. She pointed out the 'no trespassing' signs and it took him five minutes to assure her it was okay to ignore the signs. We had the farmer's permission. Daniel Olsen told us we could use the pond as long as we didn't disturb his cattle. And then she complained about the mud around the edge of the pond. Again, Sid convinced her that the mud would wash off of her feet and the cool water would be worth getting a little mud between her toes. I just knew that she was trouble.