The Most Feared Gang in West Hempstead

Growing up in West Hempstead, we had gangs.

Los Angeles had the Crips and the Bloods. New York City had the Latin Kings. But at Marion Delaney Elementary School, we had a group so feared that boys would fake illness just to avoid encountering them.

They operated in broad daylight. They took prisoners. They had a designated area behind the school where captives were brought.

They were ruthless.

They were organized.

They were approximately nine years old.

We called them The Kissing Girls.

Their mission was simple: chase boys, catch boys, and kiss boys.

Every day at lunch, my friends and I knew what was coming. We'd sit in the cafeteria eating our sandwiches, knowing that in a few minutes we'd be sent outside for recess and become potential victims.

Some kids probably worried about math.

We worried about being taken alive.

The Kissing Girls didn't need weapons. They didn't need handcuffs. They didn't even need a getaway car, which would have been difficult because none of them could see over the steering wheel.

All they needed was the recess bell.

Once we were released into the schoolyard, the chase began.

Boys scattered in every direction while The Kissing Girls selected their targets and went after them. Occasionally, one of us would be captured.

The unlucky boy would then be marched across the schoolyard in what can only be described as a perp walk. His captors would bring him to the fire escape behind the school, where his sentence would be carried out.

He would be kissed.

I'm not sure why we found this so terrifying.

Today, a woman chasing me across a parking lot yelling, "I want to kiss you!" would probably be the highlight of my week.

But when you're nine years old, being kissed by a girl is apparently worse than death.

Some boys would even complain of stomachaches in hopes of getting sent to the nurse's office rather than face another afternoon in the schoolyard.

I never resorted to that.

I ran.

I ran as hard as my little legs would carry me.

Looking back, this may have been one of the great tactical errors of my childhood.

If I had been thinking clearly, I wouldn't have run faster.

I would have faked a pulled hamstring.

Maybe stumbled a little.

"Oh no! My leg! Save yourselves!"

Then I'd wait for The Kissing Girls to take me prisoner.

Unfortunately, there was one flaw in this plan.

It assumes they wanted me.

I wasn't particularly fast, but somehow, I remained remarkably difficult for The Kissing Girls to catch.

For years, I attributed this to my speed and evasive abilities.

Then, as an adult, I finally figured out what was really happening.

They weren't chasing me.

They were running past me to get to my better-looking friends.

Apparently, even The Kissing Girls had standards.