High School Days

I spent my last summer before high school playing with cap guns. I wasn’t ready for “The Wonder Years”. I had started grade school in a small town (POP.100), but we had moved to a much bigger town (POP. 1500) by the time I started high school. I never adjusted to life in the city.

But there I was, a picky eater, making my way in the lunch line on the first day of high
school. My plan was to blend in—to go unnoticed. I then sat down at the wrong table. The guy I sat by “suggested” I get up as the seat was reserved. Taking the hint, I picked myself up and crashed into a couple of chairs on my way to another table—so much for keeping a low profile.

I then attracted the attention of a very tall senior who noticed I wasn’t a big eater. He asked for my leftovers. I was glad to get rid of the stuff as I had a firm rule: eat nothing you can’t identify. My tray had something that looked like a small tree smothered in cheese—broccoli, I later learned. My new friend checked in with me every day after that.

My cafeteria experiences were mild compared to physical education where I always had a
good chance of being maimed or killed. I was never interested in sports and was spectacularly uncoordinated. I had a knack for being in the wrong place at the right time—I was knocked down and ran over on a regular basis. I spent a lot of time passed out on the gym floor.

P. E. was particularly bad that year. I remember, for some reason, I had to tote my gym bag back and forth every day. I probably couldn’t work the gym locker combination, or
I had lost it. I kept the bag in my hall locker which I could at least open. The bag of course contained an “ athletic supporter ”which I originally thought meant a pep club booster. I was slow for fourteen.

I was always having big hairy guys—they had been shaving since they were twelve—ask me why I carried the bag every day.

Big Hairy Guy: “Hey, twerp! Taking your laundry home to Mommy?”

Me: (Inaudible.)
Second Big Hairy Guy: “ What’s that in your shorts? A peanut?” (Big Hairy guys were nothing if not witty.)

One day I opened my locker to discover the bag was missing. Just as I was about to try to find it—I had twelve seconds before the bell rang-- the school counselor handed it to me; he said I had left it in the hall. This was the most useful conversation I ever had with our guidance counselor.

Of course there were only a couple of minutes between classes. Once—I had a sudden pain—I made an emergency bathroom run which made me late. I was sent to the office to get a pass—the only time that happened in four years of playing beat the clock.

Getting sent to the office was not part of my normal school routine as I was what was known as a “good boy”. This reputation did not help me with girls of course. Girls were not a problem, as I didn’t know any.

There was one girl I had liked since sixth grade who went off my radar screen once we started high school. She became very mature and sophisticated and even took up—the shock of it—smoking cigarettes. Tobacco and alcohol were the drugs of choice in those innocent days.
I still liked her, but as a guy that had only recently given up playing cowboys I knew she was out of my league. In fact any girl I would have been attracted to would have been a problem since I couldn’t carry on a conversation and stand upright at the same time.

My fellow classmates were not good examples of boy-girl relationships. They were already too advanced for me, as they had been old hands under the table since seventh grade. Boy-girl stuff took a back seat for me—okay, actually I was never in the car. I was too busy applying band-aids and Mercurochrome to my P. E. injuries and trying not to fall down while carrying a load of books.

By senior year we had several couples that managed to beat the stork to the altar. At graduation when the roll was called it was almost like Miss America as several girls had at least four names: Susan Elaine Smith Porter, Karen Sue Williams Snodgrass, etc.

I haven’t seen most of my classmates since graduation—the official end to ”The Wonder Years”. I sometimes daydream about going to my next class reunion. I imagine that The Big Hairy Guys have just walked in. It’s all they can do to get to the table with their beer bellies.