Ah, the beginning of summer always brings back memories. Memories of Slim.

I was a gawky, geeky kid, shipped off to summer camp so my parents could concentrate on launching their barbecued reptile-meat stand. I’d been assigned the worst bunk in the cabin, and I’d have to share it with a large extended family of wasps. My campmates were the worst kind of buff, blond roughnecks – somebody gave me a wedgie before I’d even gotten out of my mom’s car. This summer was going to be hell.

Then I saw Slim. He was scrawny, like me: not even an inch thick. And he couldn’t have weighed more than, say, four and a half pounds. But he carried himself like a titan. I didn’t know about his Radeon HD 4330 video card, or his 512MB VRAM, or his Intel Core 2 Solo Processor SU3500. But I could sense something. This kid radiated a feeling of power so strong not even the jocks dared to mess with him. I knew I wanted to be his friend.

I wish I could say I was. We spent a lot of time together that summer: two misfits sneaking off to browse the web with his integrated 802.11n wireless capability, or listen to music on his four-speaker HD Audio system while the other kids paddled their canoes. But I never really got close to him. He didn’t talk much. His attitude, his quiet strength, his refusal to cower before the bullies: that said it all.

At the end of the summer, we were all waiting along the circle drive for our moms and dads to pick us up. I asked Slim to keep an eye on my bedroll while I went to use the bathroom. When I got back, he was gone. I didn’t know where he lived. I didn’t even know his last name. Of course, I never saw Slim again. But I’ve also never forgotten what he taught me: being scrawny on the outside didn’t mean you had to feel scrawny on the inside. I never took crap from the jocks again.

So if you make a move on me, punk, you’ll get a shiv between the ribs, see? You won’t even have time to scream for the guard. Just keep that in mind and we won’t have any trouble, OK, cellmate?

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