I have always thought of my junior high school days as among my most forgettable, but now that I recall them I see that I had some pretty good times then. Schoolwork was never a burden for me and I was easily in the upper 1/3 of my class scholastically, even as lazy as I was. I didn‘t attend many school functions or join clubs. I didn’t like or participate in sports. I wasn’t in the popular crowd and never held an office. I had a couple of friends, no serious enemies. I felt a marked increase in peer pressure, as so many more kids were there.
I had so much energy then. I had a Denver Post newspaper route and would ride my bike everywhere for as long as I could. I was sailing down the sidewalk once (which was a no-no, but we all did it anyway), having just bought myself pockets full of M-80’s and Black Cats and Cherry Bombs (also no-no‘s), and all sorts and kinds of fireworks, when a lady turned into her driveway and ran me over. She was hysterical, and all I could think of was my bike. When I finally snapped to, I realized that I might be able to squeeze something out of this lady, considering her condition seemed to be much worse than mine. And I was right. She took me to Pete’s Bike Shop, where I had all kinds of modifications done to my bike, at her expense, and then she bought me a chocolate ice cream cone and took me home. Nice lady.
In the three years I attended Sinclair Junior High School, only two of the teachers I had there made enough of an impression on me that I remember them now, and they were my Biology teacher, Mr. Milsom and my Science teacher, Mr. Winger. I remember them not because of any personal attention they showed me, but because they cared about their subject and their students, and whether or not their students were comprehending the subject matter, and they weren‘t taken in by the lame excuses so good-naturedly proffered by the slackers, as even these characters knew, like everyone else did, that these teachers cared; there were no excuses.
Sheryl Yonkers was the most beguiling creature I had ever seen. She wore one of those dainty gold ankle bracelets that make me so hot, and she had a bobbed haircut and the darkest brown eyes, and she possessed me, mind, soul and body. After school one day, Sheryl asked me if I wanted to have a Coke with her at Freddy’s, the after-school hang out. I was so paralyzed that she had spoken to me, so utterly terrified of her standing there, in the flesh, that close to me, actually talking to me, that the very best I could do in spite of all of my fantasies about her, was to stutter out the words “IIII‘m bbbbusy“.
She stood there looking at me for a moment, waiting, I imagine, for me to come to my senses, and when it was painfully obvious that nothing was forthcoming but the dumbstruck look on my face, she quietly said, “What?”. What indeed. What I wanted to say, I couldn't, and what I didn't want to say was said before I could get it back. She turned and walked off with her giggling friends. But Sheryl, to her credit, understood and wasn't offended. We were friends, but I was never able to overcome how lovely she was and how inadequate I felt in her presence to take it any further. Her unassailable confidence was beyond me, and so was she.
Junior high is where I first encountered bullies. Most of them either liked me or left me alone. Whether this was because of Sheryl or because I helped them with their homework, I don't know, but one of them, Jim Kinghorn (who was too ugly to care what Sheryl thought and too stupid to care if he flunked), would slug me in the arm every time we were within striking distance of one another. His locker was right next to mine, naturally. Coward that I was, I would never slug him back. I've always been inordinately afraid of getting hit in the face, so much so that I’ve never been in a genuine fist fight in my life, which is amazing to most people, even me. I should have had a few, at least.
Junior high is also where I started smoking cigarettes and got drunk for the first time (on blackberry wine...it was disgusting). After making a scene at an all night cafe, we were arrested and thrown in jail. My parents were called and my mother showed up crying her eyes out. Bill slung me over his shoulder (I couldn’t stand up) and threw me in the car and when we got home took me by one arm and one leg and tossed me downstairs, where my bedroom was. Then he told my mom to stop with her blabbering, I was just drunk. I was exhilarated.
I had so much energy then. I had a Denver Post newspaper route and would ride my bike everywhere for as long as I could. I was sailing down the sidewalk once (which was a no-no, but we all did it anyway), having just bought myself pockets full of M-80’s and Black Cats and Cherry Bombs (also no-no‘s), and all sorts and kinds of fireworks, when a lady turned into her driveway and ran me over. She was hysterical, and all I could think of was my bike. When I finally snapped to, I realized that I might be able to squeeze something out of this lady, considering her condition seemed to be much worse than mine. And I was right. She took me to Pete’s Bike Shop, where I had all kinds of modifications done to my bike, at her expense, and then she bought me a chocolate ice cream cone and took me home. Nice lady.
In the three years I attended Sinclair Junior High School, only two of the teachers I had there made enough of an impression on me that I remember them now, and they were my Biology teacher, Mr. Milsom and my Science teacher, Mr. Winger. I remember them not because of any personal attention they showed me, but because they cared about their subject and their students, and whether or not their students were comprehending the subject matter, and they weren‘t taken in by the lame excuses so good-naturedly proffered by the slackers, as even these characters knew, like everyone else did, that these teachers cared; there were no excuses.
Sheryl Yonkers was the most beguiling creature I had ever seen. She wore one of those dainty gold ankle bracelets that make me so hot, and she had a bobbed haircut and the darkest brown eyes, and she possessed me, mind, soul and body. After school one day, Sheryl asked me if I wanted to have a Coke with her at Freddy’s, the after-school hang out. I was so paralyzed that she had spoken to me, so utterly terrified of her standing there, in the flesh, that close to me, actually talking to me, that the very best I could do in spite of all of my fantasies about her, was to stutter out the words “IIII‘m bbbbusy“.
She stood there looking at me for a moment, waiting, I imagine, for me to come to my senses, and when it was painfully obvious that nothing was forthcoming but the dumbstruck look on my face, she quietly said, “What?”. What indeed. What I wanted to say, I couldn't, and what I didn't want to say was said before I could get it back. She turned and walked off with her giggling friends. But Sheryl, to her credit, understood and wasn't offended. We were friends, but I was never able to overcome how lovely she was and how inadequate I felt in her presence to take it any further. Her unassailable confidence was beyond me, and so was she.
Junior high is where I first encountered bullies. Most of them either liked me or left me alone. Whether this was because of Sheryl or because I helped them with their homework, I don't know, but one of them, Jim Kinghorn (who was too ugly to care what Sheryl thought and too stupid to care if he flunked), would slug me in the arm every time we were within striking distance of one another. His locker was right next to mine, naturally. Coward that I was, I would never slug him back. I've always been inordinately afraid of getting hit in the face, so much so that I’ve never been in a genuine fist fight in my life, which is amazing to most people, even me. I should have had a few, at least.
Junior high is also where I started smoking cigarettes and got drunk for the first time (on blackberry wine...it was disgusting). After making a scene at an all night cafe, we were arrested and thrown in jail. My parents were called and my mother showed up crying her eyes out. Bill slung me over his shoulder (I couldn’t stand up) and threw me in the car and when we got home took me by one arm and one leg and tossed me downstairs, where my bedroom was. Then he told my mom to stop with her blabbering, I was just drunk. I was exhilarated.
posted by Steve at
9:48 PM
