Narrator: And then sometimes, you knew you shouldn't do it, but you just couldn't help yourself. You gave him lip. I guess we really didn't understand why he was so hard on us sometimes. Because sometimes, and I remember these times so distinctly, my dad could be great. He could be so much fun. You never wanted that feeling to end. And then, for some reason, it always would.

Narrator: And then that man... "Mr. Pencil stubs and Alka-Seltzer"... "Mr. Pay the bills and go to work"... said something I'll never forget.
Jack: Let me tell ya something, Kev... it's not easy being a hero.
Narrator: And I knew he wasn't talking about Bobby Riddle. He was talking... about himself. Some heroes pass through your life and disappear in a flash. You get over it. But the good ones, the real ones, the ones who count - stay with you for the long haul. The thing is, after all these years, I couldn't tell you the score of that game. What I remember is... sitting in that diner, up late... being young... drinking coffee with the only real hero I ever knew. My Dad - Jack Arnold. Number one.

Narrator: And there you have it. The awful truth, the bottom line. When it comes to love... there's no simple fix. You're out there, on your own, and maybe all you can do is hang on...and hope for the best. And lead with your heart. When you're sixteen, passions run high. A simple misunderstanding becomes a matter of life or death. You live from moment to moment. And sometimes, when you're sixteen, the only way to get your love back... is to take it.
Season 6

Narrator: And, there ya had it. Lunch. Where romances bloomed and died... and returned again. Like last weeks leftover tuna casserole. Where the fondest dreams and aspirations of young adults reached their zenith... and the quest for knowledge became its own reward. Sure... maybe all those dramas played out over lunch weren't really dramas after all. Still looking back... they sure seemed that way.

Narrator: Any kid who's ever been to junior high school knows one great universal truth. Image is everything. Who you are is pretty much who you appear to be. And who you appear to be is pretty much a matter of hard work and careful planning. For most kids, anyway.

Narrator: Around the end of 1969 a funny thing happened: 1970. Not that anyone was paying much attention. Still, with a new decade on the books, maybe it was time to heal old wounds, get over old hurts. It was possible. After all. I'd gotten over Winnie Cooper. Yep, Winnie and I were friends now. That incredible smile, the way she tossed her hair, the heart-stopping lilt of her perfume... I was over that.

Narrator: As I looked at that blank page, I knew that whatever I wrote would be a lie - or at best, a wild guess. It didn't matter. Whatever life lay ahead of me - a life of hope, of possibility, of uncertainty - I felt sure I knew what it would take to survive. I guess what I'm saying is... for the first time, I understood that some things are bigger than death and taxes. Like family. Like faith. I could only hope Miss Stebbins would understand, too.

Narrator: As I sat there, listening to my brother's pain... and the lies he told to cover it... I didn't know what to do. I knew I wanted to be with Sandy. Holding her in my arms - dancing with her. But in the end... I stayed with my brother... because, after all... he was... my brother.

Narrator: As I stepped back up to the plate... all the cares, all the worries, all the burdens I'd carried around for the past few days just disappeared. Suddenly, the outside world fell away. It was just me. And baseball. My moment had arrived. And I knew what I had to do. I'm not sure how I did it. My memory begins with the crack of the bat, and the sight of the ball rising. Maybe that's not exactly the way it happened. But that's the way it should have happened, and that's the way I like to remember it. And if dreams and memories sometimes get confused well... that's as it should be. Because every kid deserves to be a hero... every kid already is.

Narrator: As I stood outside that window, I watched the easy give-and-take of two new friends. And I realized something. Doug Porter was no longer the odd man out. It was me. But I guess in a way we're all odd men out. Until we find a match that makes us even. Someone who challenges us to be our best. Someone who understands us. Even at our worst. I was beginning to appreciate how rare a thing that was. I wanted to tell him I was a better person for knowing him. That I hoped our friendship would endure the trials of a lifetime. But... I knew he understood.

Narrator: As I took that test, I thought about a lot of things: about how I knew him, and yet I didn't. About how he treated me like a man, and how I'd acted like a child. About how I'd let him down, and now I wouldn't. The thing is, even though I could almost feel him in the room, I knew I didn't need him for the answers, or the praise. I was on my own now.

Narrator: As my brother and I walked home that day, I guess we both knew that things would never be quite the same between us. Everything would be more complicated now. Now, we both knew... that I could hurt him. The funny thing was, I'm not sure I was glad about that.

Narrator: As seventh grade wore on, I began to have nightmares. I'm walking into a sort of a - a cave. A long dark tunnel. I think Paul and Winnie are with me. But then - then - they're not. I'm all alone. I don't even want to go into the cave - I'm, I'm terrified. But I just know that I have to keep going - deeper, and deeper. So deep, it's like I can't even remember what the daylight is like anymore, and suddenly - I'm in second period math class. In pajamas. With feet! I guess I was under a lot of stress. There are a lot of things about junior high life that might seem simple to an outsider... but they're not. Take the fifteen minutes before homeroom every morning. What you do with those fifteen minutes says pretty much everything there is to say about you as a human being.

Narrator: As we drove home in silence... we began to realize the absurdity of our situation. We were two people, with almost nothing in common... thrown together by circumstance. The harder we struggled against that fact, the more tightly we were bound together. That night, the gap between thirteen and sixteen... got a little smaller. I didn't make it back to the mall for several weeks. Somehow I just didn't feel like gettin' in a car. As for Wayne and me... we'd reached a new understanding. We didn't have to be friends or anything. But we'd always be brothers.

Narrator: At some point in your teenage years, if you're lucky, you make a discovery. You find out you're actually good at something. It's that critical juncture, where talent becomes...expertise - kinda. It's your chance to start or, end up flat on your face.
Coach: Why'd you let him pin you like that?
Narrator: Course, looking back, I probably just should have promised to do better. But instead -
Kevin: Yeah, well...you know, these shorts are really hard to wrestle in.
Narrator: ...I made excuses.