Paramythia (pa-ra-mee’-thi-a): An expression of consolation and encouragement.
He was crawling through broken glass. “Go Zack!” I yelled, encouraging him to keep going and cross the line. Billy yelled: “You’ll be ok. You can make it!” Ed yelled: “You’ll feel great when it’s over and you’re all healed up.” Zack looked at him and said: “That’s easy for you to say, standing there watching like a vulture.” Zack was wearing no pants and his knees were slashed and bleeding, leaving a trail across the floor. Zach collapsed two feet short of the line. He was carried outside to the curb and an ambulance was called to pick him up.
What was going on here? I was new to the neighborhood, so I didn’t have a clue. I asked Ed, “What the hell is up with this?” Ed looked at me like I was really stupid. “We dare,” he said with a solemn look on his face. “We give and take dares. Nobody knows when and why it started. A dare is sent out each week to the group, and if it is taken by somebody, we work out the logistics for documenting whether it was successfully completed. Depending on the ‘severity’of the dare, you achieve a rank in the group from ‘Player’ to ‘God.’ Zack was going for God by crawling naked through broken glass. He failed. He can use his parents’ health insurance to get sewn up and will earn the rank of Angel as a consolation.”
That night I got a dare text message and immediately responded. I got a message back telling me I had successfully taken the dare. It was to go barefoot to school the next day.. The next morning, I took my shoes off on the front porch and headed out to school. The “Dares”were gathered around the front entrance of San Luis Obispo Middle School. I opened the door and the hallway was covered with thumbtacks.
I thought fast—the dare had been to walk to school; not go inside. My technicality was a winner. Every body cheered and I was picked up and carried to my home room. That’s when I decided I did not want to have anything to do with the “Dares.” Instead, I started my own group, “The Little Ponies.” We were modeled after the My Little Pony—we dyed our hair pastel colors and did good deeds. We had four members, but had a resounding impact. For example, we had our principal fired for taking bribes from parents. The four of us were transferred to another school where we busted the chemistry teacher’s ecstasy lab. The four of us were transferred to another school, where we decided to disband. When we returned to San Luis Obispo Middle School, it had become a dystopian educapalypse. Lightbulbs had been smashed and the hallways were like dark caves, lined with smoldering piles of books. Faculty had become fascists and drunks. The student body had become a behavioral sink—it was rat vs. rat for control of the school. The “Ponies” wanted to have nothing to do with it and we transferred to the local private school: “Immaculate Perfection.” It was wonderful. In my senior year, San Luis Obispo Middle School burned to the ground. Some people said it was done on a dare.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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