Narrator: The events of battle are never quite clear. Smoke obscures the battlefield. Things get confused. Only later did historians sort out the facts. It's enough to say that that night... we met the enemy. Face to face. And the rest... is history.
Randy: The old man! Scatter!
Narrator: But it was an honorable retreat. In some way we couldn't exactly express... we'd accomplished our mission. We'd done what we had to do. By the time we got back together... our adventure had become an epic.
Paul:... babes. Oh my god, the father... at least... (gestures) ...three hundred pounds...
Kevin: And he had a shot gun. (Gestures.) I swear he had a shot-gun.
Narrator: We were entitled to a little exaggeration. Every soldier is. After all, if growing up is war, then those friends who grew up with you deserve a special respect. The ones who stuck by you, shoulder-to-shoulder, in a time when nothing is certain. When all life lay ahead. And every road led home.
Narrator: Adolescence is a battle. A life-or-death mission into hostile territory. You tiptoe through minefields. Dodge bullets. Try to do the right thing... in a crazy time. But war has another side. The noble side. Forging friendships between improbable comrades. Uniting men. Bringing together the good... the bad... the ugly. Along around ninth grade, one thing was clear. In the battle of growing up... junior high school was basic training. Not that any of us had actually enlisted in this army. Still, we'd learned one thing. We'd learned how to survive. It was all a matter of balance. Poise. Keeping your head down. Avoiding the war. Until, that is... the war came to you.
"Daydream Believer" by The Monkees
"Colonel Bogy March" by Kenneth Alford
"War" by Edwin Starr