Secrets of The Ninja

Growing up in my town, as with most everywhere else, nicknames were popular. Charlestown was predominantly Irish so a lot of people tended to use last names. My brothers were both known as "Walshy." I eventually earned the same name but for a good deal of time, in my youth, I was known by a much simpler title: "Spaceshot." I suppose it beats: "Sausage,""Bucket Head," or "Pickles." (One time when my great and fellow space cadet, Marc Sawyer, passed "Pickle" in the street he yelled, "YO! PICKLE! Dill out, man!" -still one of the funniest lines I've ever heard.) As I've grown older, what was once a pain in the ass nickname has now become a badge of honor. Also, in looking back, I deserved it.

There was a weird period of time going from childhood to teenage years when everyone started getting way to serious. They turned their thoughts from silliness to dating and sports and I didn't want all of that crap. I wanted to go on adventures. I would often try to get my friends to explore the unchartered territories of our town or climb through people's backyards. This caused no end of ridicule. I knew then that I'd have to keep some secrets to myself. The most important of all is that I was a Ninja.


I know. Ninjas have become the rage, kitsch and all that, but at the age of twelve I was really a Ninja. Minus the killing. I was more interested in the martial arts, agility, and stealth. Stealth and Balance were my strong suit. Ask anyone in my family. (That's one of my favorite phrases, by the way, because who in your family wouldn't lie for you?) I would spend most time in my house trying to be as quiet as possible.There was even a time when I would skulk around my town wearing a Ninja uniform, scaling sheer walls and keeping to the shadows. My only enemy: potential embarrassment, if anyone ever caught me. But no one ever did.

Imagine my delight, then, while reading "The New Yorker" this week and heard tell of a Ninja Thief on Staten Island. (Also, home to my favorite rap group "The Wu Tang Clan.") It seems that the borough is having problems with a cat burglar who dresses up like a Ninja and who, as yet, hasn't been caught. The NYPD has got better things to do than get killed. (Besides, the last time I checked they didn't own a Sherman Tank.) Also, he made a Hundred and Thirty Thousand Dollar heist from one house. So, we may never get to know his identity. That is, unless, someday he decides to blog about it.

I'm waiting for my call from the NYPD. Sometimes you need a Ninja to catch one.