7th Grade
We are raising a nation of wimps. Political correctness, combined with overprotective parents, is metaphorically castrating young boys all across America. To illustrate the point, I thought back about my first week in 7th grade at Madison Junior High School in Mansfield, Ohio. It was Deliverance meets Happy Days. I wondered how kids today would have coped. Here’s how I did:
Day 1:
I was fresh from St. Mary’s Elementary School. It was my first day at Madison, a public school. I was in the lunch line minding my own business. Debbie Ferguson crowded in front of me. “Excuse,” I said, politely. “You just crowded in front of me.” What followed was a long string of words, many of which I had not yet discovered. I also wasn’t quite sure what my mother had to do with the situation, but Mom seemed to be coming up a lot in Debbie’s rabid monologue. A crowd ultimately gathered … Perfect. Not only was I being berated, but I was the day’s entertainment. (Understandable, I guess, considering there was no cable TV or Reality shows back then.)
For good measure, Debbie wound up and smacked me in the face as hard as she could. Freeze: You’re 12 years old and you get smacked in the face by a girl in front of 100 kids, you, A) Smack her back and claim self defense, B) Pretend to be slightly aroused, C) Stand there like a complete dick with tears in your eyes while everyone laughs at you and says, “Ooooooooooooooo!” I optioned for C.
Lunch: fifty cents.
Apple for dessert: 10 cents.
Being humiliated in front of your classmates on the first day of school: Priceless.
Day 3
My Mom thought it would be a good idea for me to play football since they didn’t have it at my other school. “It’s a great way to meet friends,” she explained. Welcome to Abu Grab…
I tackled Jim Owens during practice — I thought that was what you were supposed to do. Apparently not. At least, not according to Jim Owens. And you definitely don’t tackle him in front of the coach who then praises me and berates him. “Nice hit, Baka! Jim, you’re playing like a little girl out there.” Yep, I’m dead.
I guess I should describe Jim: ex-con; 22 years old; full beard; two dead, brown teeth. Okay, okay, so I’m exaggerating — one dead brown tooth. Jim, too, felt the need to bring my mother into the discussion. He also informed me that after practice he was going to wait for me behind the school, break my neck, pluck my eye out and suck on it. (Not sure about the order, but you get the picture.)
I decided to skip the showers and instead tried to sneak out after practice. But there was Jim, waiting for me, with the same non-cable-viewing audience that watched the prime time Debbie Ferguson Lunch Show. (Nielson would have loved my ratings.)
Jim put his gym back down, took off his coat and started walking toward me. Freeze: You’re 12 years old, you have no friends in the school and a 12-year-old ex-con is preparing to extricate your eyeball, you, A) Run, and tell them you thought you heard the fire alarm, B) Try to reason with him C) Offer to buy his friendship D) Decide you’re going to get your ass kicked anyway, so you might as well make it look good by tackling him first. I optioned for D. We fought for what seemed like an hour. Well, actually we more like wrestled, each one of us getting the other in a headlock, catching our breath, and then wrestling again. It was so boring that even our viewing audience wandered away.
Finally, after we each promised not to take a cheap shot at one another, we cautiously got up and faced each other. I thought for a moment that we’d have one of those moments I’d seen on TV where the two ruffian fighters shake hands out of respect and walk away. “Don’t come to school tomorrow,” Jim said. “You’re dead.” Buzz kill.
Day 5
Before school started each morning, everybody would gather in the auditorium and wait for the bell to ring. In the auditorium was a stage where some of the girls would dance to records they would bring from home. (Yes, records – round things made of vinyl.) And that’s where I first saw her. Cheryl Amstutz was dancing to “Do The Locomotion.” She had long shiny blonde hair, a smile that Colgate dreamed of, and white bellbottom pants wrapped around a sinewy body. She. Was. Sizzling. At that moment, Debbie Furgeson, Jim Owens and the other 300 kids in the auditorium disappeared. It was me and Cheryl. Freeze: You’re a loner kid from the country and the only thing separating you from the hottest girl in school is about 3,000 miles of cool, you, A) Hop on stage and do The Locomotion, B) Follow her to whatever class she is in and sit next to her C) Stalk her. [It was okay in the 70s.] D) Do nothing, and then find out at a class reunion 30 years later she thought you were cute. I’ll leave that one a mystery…
Suffice to say, everything I went through in school helped shape who I am now … good stuff and bad. Lighten up parents, it’s okay if your kid’s team loses in sports, or he doesn’t make the team, or he comes home with a bloody lip, or if his grades dip below a C. As heavy as the bad stuff gets … there’s also a Cheryl Amstutz in the auditorium.