Moving to Wendell.

Moving was a pretty big deal to me at 15. I didn't want to leave Twin and what I had going there. I really didn't have a choice though. My grandfather had died that summer and my parents were moving 20 miles away to the town that they had been raised in. I had spent a lot of time in Wendell growing up since I had lived there when I was younger and both my grandparents lived there. It wasn't like this was a foreign place to me but it was quite a bit smaller then what I had been use to. Even though Twin is still a small town I considered myself to be a city kid. I hadn't ridden a horse or raised livestock and I had no desire to do so. I wanted to move to California and I was pretty sure that I would fit in there. I knew for a fact that moving to this small town was a step in the wrong direction.

Marc and I started by driving to two a day football practices in Wendell from Twin every morning and night. We didn't mind it since we were able to take my dads Honda Del Sol. The Honda Del Sol was my dads mid-life crisis. It was a little two seater convertible, white with black interior. He would loan it out to kids to take their dates to prom. I use to love this car and had he not wrecked it I am sure that I would have. I borrowed it one night to go to a party and when I pulled up a bunch of girls asked if they could have a ride. I said sure and before I knew it I had 12 girls packed in that car, some in the trunk, one on my lap and a bunch packed into the other seat and area behind the two seats. It was crazy and I had a blast.

Well one morning after football practice Marc and I got on the freeway to head back to Twin to continue packing and a little 280-Z from Colorado passed us doing 100 mph. I told Marc that we were going to follow him and we headed right behind him. By the time we hit Jerome we were doing 110 mph and just flying home. We made it home in 10 minutes that day and never did see a cop.

Marc and I loved football practice because the coaches always pitted us against each other. This wasn't new to us, our dad had given us football pads for Christmas one year. We would go out to the back yard and pretend that one of us were kicking off and the other returning. We would get on either side of the yard and run as fast as we could at each other. The hits were vicious, but we always got up for more. We loved hitting each other and one was always trying to out do the other. I am not proud to say it but Marc was the one who usually conquered but I tried not to let him know it. As the oldest you don't want your younger brother to know that he is getting the best of you.

The coaches always made us do drills against one another and I loved it. We had a blast but we would fight often because of dumb things and it would carry over to the football field. I think that is why we would go so hard at each other, we were mad and we really were giving it all we could to beat the other. One of our coaches once told my dad that we loved to hit and we did.

Another thing that we liked to do was get into trouble. This was the whole point of this whole thing in the first place. Trouble seemed to come natural to the two of us. It was not uncommon to hear people say it was those two Vipperman boys, they did it. That is the reason that even years after Marc and I had moved away we were blamed for holding up the local gas station at night, and everyone believed it. It ended up being my two cousins but they were in my parents car so everyone in town thought that it was Marc and I. We got into quite a bit of trouble and this is where my story really starts.