Chance had rewarded Josh on that day, Allysha was indeed his partner, but he would not be so lucky on other days. Still good fortune did follow him through even misadventures. I did not learn of the “B–B Gun Wars” until they were ancient history. Ten years later when he was recalling them with party friends, I overheard. “What B–B Gun Wars?” I asked. He filled in the details later still.

It was a sleep over at Paul’s house. “Remember, I went home and got my B–B gun. We were just going to do some target practicing.”

“No, I don’t remember! Go on with the story!”

One group of boys defended the “Cabin”. The others were attackers. They would shoot at each other. No one got hurt. The war was put on hold during breakfasts, lunches, and dinners, but lasted, for all practical purposes, two whole days. I imagined the boys chasing one another across fields, hiding behind trees, firing B–B guns. It would have gone on longer if not for the broken window in a neighbor’s house. The police were called, but as luck would have it, Josh had just gone home to eat dinner, so he heard no police lectures, and was never called upon to do community service. And no one told on him.

He did meet with policemen on at least two other occasions, however. He’d been riding on the bumper of a New Year’s Eve Car, throwing firecrackers on one occasion. Another time he’d climbed up a stack of firewood to the Phil and Tim’s Roof Top, just to look down on Main Street. He had meant no harm. Tim had heard the footfalls, and called the police. He’d been escorted home, no damage done, but “Don’t do it again!” was the warning delivered.

And, as with all of the children, he had a good number of adventures about which I know little. He took us some years after the fact to the place where he’d jumped across a chasm while his friend took a picture from below. The landing surface was only two feet square. He had to run, fly through the air, and stop. The fall on the other side would have been 15 to 30 feet. My two younger sons were with us at the time. Michael wanted to attempt the jump. His Mother said, “No!” I’ve been known to argue with her from time to time, but on this occasion I would not be party to such risk.

Josh made it to adulthood after taking other dares, the more obvious is well-known, but little discussed. (He had a son out of wedlock, when very young.) Though the quietest of the siblings, his exploits were of the more stunning variety. He played in a band called Sarcoffagus. He brought The Buttered Toast Society back to life after it had been abandoned, (Writers would gather to read their works in a public setting.) He played saxophone in what grew to be a famous local band that made CDs and went on two cross-country tours. (I remember well the padded cellar room of the First Street house where band members lived and practiced.) He followed a friend’s lead and joined the Army Reserve. (The friend later went AWOL.) Josh met his vivacious wife to be at a language school where he learned to speak the Uzbek language. Then he was sent to Afghanistan for a year. He’s now very happily married and earning a Master’s Degree in English Literature at the University of Oregon. He’s held a variety of exciting jobs. One was working as an announcer for a radio station. (Remember those days when he and Kevin, as six-year olds, pretended to be radio announcers?)

As with all of the children, only the outline of the story has been told. Details are theirs to tell. Here is one of Josh’s stories.