There’s something about the art of adolescent banter that I miss dearly. Perhaps it’s the quick witted, thinking on your toes aspect. Or maybe it’s just the notion of pubescent one upmanship, self aggrandizing and boisterous displays that is both timeless and amusing. Does every male go through this stage in their life? Do young girls? I’d be hard pressed to believe that intelligent, well mannered pillars of purity such as 14 year old females would stoop to such sophomoric actions. But man, guys certainly do. At least my circle of friends did.

Picture, if you will, a lunch table full of high school freshman. All it takes is one mildly agitating or grandstanding comment thrown into the open like an grenade with the pin pulled. The game has started. Early contributions tend to be trivial, off the cuff and inherently rookie in nature. Typically containing references to “biting,” “your mother,” or most assuredly some anatomical part of your body, these comebacks are easily dismissed by the participants. It’s as if all present realize the unprepared nature of these preliminary words and all equally disregard them as such.

As the game progresses, the true stars rise to the top. By the end, only two or three remain, with the others adding a soundtrack of “oooohs” and “daaaangs.” With comebacks and retorts that are supposedly witty and ingenious, boys throw them out into the arena for approval of their peers—the highest test possible. And all lines are delivered with the greatest sense of apathy possible. You cannot show that you care for what you’re talking about. The odd thing is, that the intention of the comments tend to be less about hurting the targeted victim as opposed to merely outdoing what was said before (in both cleverness and delivery). It’s as if an unspoken ranking is established in a group of friends by this process. Could it be the equivalent of physical fighting? I know that in my group verbal tussles always seemed to determine who was more aggressive and who the weaklings were. But believe that not a scratch was found on us from actual fighting.

Perhaps this indicative of a new breed of males. Less schoolyard tomfoolery, less physical intimidation and more verbal swashbuckling. Or maybe my group of friends is atypical and just plain nerdy. Both are equally probable.

But nonetheless I miss this playful sparring. I miss having to think defensively, having to improvise sharp retorts even while eating or walking to class or in front of girls we liked. Or perhaps I just miss my high school friends. Or maybe I miss your mom.