Karen: I hate to pop your bubble, Little One, but Mom and Dad are not the sun and the moon. They are people like you and me.
Narrator: Wrong-o, they were Mom and Dad.

Kevin: [to Kirk, about Winnie] She's not mad at you. She likes you. She's not sure if she likes you likes you, but she likes you. When she first liked you, she liked you liked you...unless she just thought she liked you when she really just liked you. But she likes you.
Kirk: I knew it...I'm a dead man.

Kevin: I just have to know if you like me or not. And don't give any of that... "like me" like me stuff.
Narrator: Well, that was it. A straightforward, face-to-face, yes-or-no question. And I was going to stand there until I got my answer.
Winnie: I don't know.
Kevin: "I don't know"?! What do you mean you don't know? [Frowns]
Winnie: I mean I don't know. I really don't know! I wish everyone would just leave me alone! I don't know what I'm doing.
Narrator: This was something new. I mean, I always figured girls knew exactly what they wanted. They knew - they had a plan. Or maybe they didn't. Maybe they were just as confused as we were. Isn't that great? It - it's horrible. They don't know either. That means nobody knows. As I stood there that cold night, I realized for the first time in a long time that Winnie and I were feeling the same thing. We were both completely... miserable.

Narrator: [after seeing Winnie and Kirk kiss] And so it finally happened. My poor twelve-year-old heart finally crumbled into a little pile of dust, and blew away. It was over. I was never gonna to get her back. It was time for a little self-respect. It was time to let go. Time to move on. After all, who needed women? Who needed friends? I'd just walk alone from now on. Yep, that was me, Kevin Arnold - lone wolf.

Narrator: [Playing basketball] And then it happened. It was the miracle. It was the impossible. It was the dream come true. [Paul shoots a wild hook-shot, hitting Mr. Cutlip on the head] In that instant... that brief ping of rubber against steel... basketball... became fun again. Well, we still got slaughtered. But for the first time in a long time, it just didn't seem to matter. And Paul and I got back to the way things used to be. The way they would stay... for many years to come.

Narrator: And so it turned out to be a great birthday after all. I slow danced with Paul's Aunt Selma. I ate more than Mrs. Pfeiffer could have dreamed possible. And in a funny way... when I look back on it... I sorta feel like it was my bar mitzvah, too.

Narrator: And that's how I started the great Kennedy junior high peace walk out of nineteen-sixty-nine. As I said... some men pursue greatness... and some men have greatness thrust upon them... while they're in the bathroom. I'm not sure we really changed anything that day. I suppose the war would have gone pretty much the same if we'd stayed in home room. But one thing would be different. We wouldn't have the memory to carry with us today, of eight-hundred children on a football field, singing. And... it wouldn't all be on our permanent record.

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: But then... something inside me... snapped. From deep inside I felt rage! Not just for me, but for every kid who had ever been picked on... humiliated... bullied. For every kid who'd gone home ashamed. I put every shred of dignity and self-respect I had into that punch. Unfortunately... my aim was bad. Even more unfortunately, Eddie's wasn't. Those next ten minutes were... kinda a blur. Still, as Eddie worked out his deep-seated feelings of inadequacy, I began to realize something. Sooner or later this would be over. And I... would survive.

Narrator: Ever since I could remember, the Coopers' annual barbecue had been the first event of summer. It was a neighborhood tradition, the herald of good times. Japanese lanterns glowed in the dusk. And warm breezes carried the smell of burgers sizzling on the grill, and the sounds of kids having the time of their lives. But maybe the best thing about it was that it happened the first week of summer vacation, one day after the last day of school. It was kind of a solemn moment. Eight months of relentless education were finally erupting in a blast of summer madness.

Narrator: Every kid needs a place to go to be a kid. For Paul and Winnie and me, that place was Harper's Woods. It was ten minutes from home if you walked it. But to us, it was a world all its own. We'd grown up there together. Playing games... catching fireflies on long summer evenings. Sure, they called it Harper's Woods, but we knew better. Those woods... belonged to us.

Narrator: I didn't sleep. I laid there... thinking about what had happened to Karen... to me... to all of us. About how big the world is, and how full of strangers. And how I might never see my sister again. In nineteen-sixty nine, people tried so hard to find themselves. Sometimes they got lost. Sometimes they found their way home again.

Narrator: I don't even remember what I got for Christmas that year. But Dad gave Mom a bracelet that knocked her socks off. Oh, yeah... and he did get us that color-TV... two years later. For me, that year Christmas stopped being about tinsel and wrapping paper, and started being about memory. At first I was disappointed. Until I learned that memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you wish to never lose. And I learned from Winnie, that in a world that changes too fast, the best we can do is wish each other Merry Christmas. [Kevin opens Winnie's present, which is a four-leaf clover] And good luck.

Narrator: I guess that's when it hit me, Winnie wasn't going to forgive me for the things I said. It could only mean one thing: she wanted me bad.