Little BoxJam: AUGHH! I still can't land a 520! I can't do anything right!

BoxJam: Son, let me tell you a story...

[[A small BoxJam standing beside an older kid wearing a sash and sunglasses]]

BoxJam: "When I was a boy, being on the safety patrol was about the coolest thing you could be. You got to wear a bright orange belt slung devil-may-care-fashion over your shoulder."

[[a slightly larger BoxJam standing beside another safety patrol kid]]

BoxJam: It was your responsibility to hand out demerits if somebody created disorder --three demerits and you reported them! It was a job held with honor and dedication..."

[[a much taller BoxJam standing next to another safety patrol kid]]

BoxJam: Only sixth-graders could be safety patrols. When I was in fifth grade, I wondered if I'd be chosen. I wasn't a perfect kid, my

grades were alright, but I was the only kid going into sixth grade in my neighborhood..."

[[an older BoxJam standing next to an vanishing sash]]

BoxJam: When I got to sixth grade, they decided they'd rather

not have patrols in my neighborhood than ask me to be one."

Little BoxJam: What does that have to do with me landing a 520?

BoxJam: What's a "520"?