Everyone in Thief River Falls, Minnesota, gambled on everything,
so it’s not all that shocking, maybe, that when we were 6, 7, or 8,
Lon Anderson (not Loni, just a boy in my class) bet me two dollars
that he could jump from the top of the jungle gym, and like a dummy —
what did I know? — I took the bet, which caused problems at home
that I had not anticipated, when I asked for two dollars, explained
why I needed it. My parents chose that moment to be piously Protestant,
to abhor gambling, or at least, their daughter taking part in it
at such a young age. After much hushed discussion, they decided
I would have to go to school empty-handed, explain to Lon Anderson
that I wasn’t allowed to gamble and should not have taken that bet,
and that I was sorry. Why don’t I remember following through?
Did I secretly borrow two dollars from my brother or find it in my room,
or did I break my promise to Lon, and it turned out to be no big deal?
In any case, now I know not to bet against someone who says they can
do something; every Lon has jumped off that jungle gym many times before.