Most people get a chance to grow up and get into high school, for some it's a great time for others it's horrible. Personally, my sophomore year was my high school year of purgatory. Here are the fragments to prove it.
The Nightmare of Lunch
If I could sum up my sophomore year of high school in one word it would be: lunch. Yeah, lunch. As I detailed in the first "Wonder Years" post, I had ONE friend to eat lunch with my freshman year. Of course, going into my sophomore year, I was hoping and praying my sophomore year would be different.
It turned it it was different. My sophomore year I had ZERO friends in my lunch. Now, it wasn't like my social life was teeming with friends, but this was a bad case of bad luck. All possible 7-8 people I could have had lunch with had the other three lunch periods.
My first day, I scanned around the cafeteria, my head on a swivel. I didn't see anyone I knew. Not even a pal. Not even a good acquaintance. I spun around and headed back outside (our campus was open and the buildings connected by covered walkways). I milled around, trying to look busy. God forbid that it looked like I DIDN'T HAVE ANY FRIENDS.
That was my whole school year, lunch by myself. I was ashamed to even tell my friends or family about it. Eventually, I had a whole routine for the Loser Lunch Half Hour.
When the bell rung, I would walk as fast as I could to the cafeteria without looking crazy. Once in cafeteria, if the line wasn't too long, I would head for the "fast food/snack line". I would usually grab a chicken sandwich or hamburger (sandwiches were conveniently wrapped). If the traffic on the way to the cafeteria had been crazy and the line was too long, I would go the the snack machines and buy a pack of Lance Cracker Sandwiches (which I am still a fan of). I would then walk straight outside and covertly hide my food in my backpack. Then I would head into one of the academic buildings.
At this point, I would walk around in circles in the biggest academic building. I walked in a random pattern because, duh, I didn't want anyone to know I was a loser. I would stop in the men's room just to waste time and stop circling. If someone came in, I would have to pretend I was washing my hands and head out to my next stop. At some point, the most humiliating part would come because I was so hungry. I would find an empty and somewhat clean bathroom (usually near the science wing) and eat my food in a stall. If it stunk like poo, I couldn't do it.
Sometimes, out of sheer boredom, I would walk around in our other buildings. Occasionally a teacher would ask for a pass and I would have to confess I didn't have one and head back outside. Most of the time, they didn't even ask because I was a nerdy looking white kid, OF COURSE HE HAS A PASS. This did teach me an important life lesson though: if you look like you belong or know what you're doing, people will let you get away with a lot. White privilege plays a big role in that as well.
When I got home, I would eat way too much snack food to make up for the fact that I wasn't eating much at school. Sometimes, I would pack something from the house and eat it before lunch or in my class after lunch, as that class was out of control and the teacher didn't care.
It was basically terrible, but after awhile, I got used to it. Every so often we would have testing or something else would mess with the typical schedule and I would have lunch with my friends. What a heavenly joy that was!
Academically, my sophomore year mirrored my freshman year. I was beyond underwhelming and it was likely my low point in my sub standard academic life. I would make a mix of B's, C's and D's with an occasional A or F from time to time per grading period.
Back Row Blues
My first period English class was the most eventful and memorable of classes. Our teacher was a first or second year teacher and she was hot. She was a blonde beauty that had been a UT cheerleader. It didn't get any better than that (still didn't make up for lunch though). She was a pretty okay teacher and while I loved reading, I just couldn't get into most of the class.
I sat on the back row with a old buddy from middle school band, Marcus (saxophone), a stoner named Mike (I think that was his name), and a gang member, Fernando. We were a motley crew but we shared a love of slacking off, joking around, otherwise, being stupid. I am sure if I had sat elsewhere in the classroom, I would have done much better. I have no idea why she never moved us. I remember really hating poetry and Haiku in particular. I think I wrote a really stupid Haiku just to make a point.
At the end of one grading period, our teacher was calling us up to her desk to show us our grade for the term. I was excited because I might get to look down her blouse (and I did). I figured I had a D. This was no big deal to me - it was still passing! However, I was more shocked to find I had a 58. "There's gotta be a mistake!" I said. "You honestly should have been even lower than this - you have six zeros!" the teacher said softly so that the class couldn't hear. "Oh...." I said and stumbled back to my desk. My parents were furious about the 58, I had failed before, but never this bad. The last grading term, however, I would have a turnaround and have one of my few high school victories (more on this later).
The Hopeless Romantic, Hopeless
My love life pretty much mirrored everything you've seen above. It was non-existent. I had crushes on 10 different girls but didn't talk to many of them and most of them probably didn't know who I was or if I liked them. There were no leads in my classes, just losers and students who didn't much care.
My biggest crush of the year was ironically, Stacey's friend, Marissa. This is ironic because all of my freshman romantic interest had been centered on Stacey. However, she was taken and I became quite taken with her friend (clever, eh?). She was very cute but the most I did was make awkward small talk with her. I'm pretty sure she didn't have a clue I was interested in her. What made the crush less likely to go anywhere is that she went to a different school, so if I was going to see her, it had to be at a youth event for church. It didn't stop me from putting her on a pedestal and dreaming about her constantly.
Although our church probably had over 500 members, the youth group was pretty small. There were four older girls that I wasn't much interested in and a few more our age that were also not interesting or exceptionally pretty. Then there was Stacey, who, again, was off the market at this point. My friend Doug and I were so bummed. We dreamed about a new girl showing up some random Sunday. When we would go to city wide events, we would stare at the pretty girls but were much too shy to actually talk with any of these girls.
The Fight
Meanwhile, back at school in PE, we played basketball almost every day. Six different hoops surrounded the court and we would divide into 12 teams of 3 on 3 or 4 on 4. There was no instruction in class and no supervision. The coaches would just call roll, open up the bins with the balls and the coaches would head back to their office. Needless to say, the coaches were stereotypical douche bags. However, I loved basketball so this set up was fine with me.
We settled into some familiar teams. Of course this would lead to serious, epic basketball games. One guy in particular I remember banging with in the post nearly every day. He was bigger than me and a little taller, but I somehow I was one of the taller guys that could play in the post. Holy cow, those were some battles. Think Celtics-Pistons 86-90 or Bulls-Pistons of 87-91.
One day it got real heated and as everyone else was headed back to the showers. We squared off as we insulted each other. I didn't want to fight him as he was bigger than me. I knew would likely lose but what was I to do? He came towards me and I kicked him as hard as I could in the groin. It was a direct hit. I remember one of our teammates say something like, "Woah!". Most of the class and even the coaches hadn't seen anything. I waited for him to respond but the guy was hunched over in serious pain. My battle was over. I jogged back into the locker room, got dressed quickly and within seconds the bell rang. While I am not an advocate for violence, he never challenged me again to an actual fight. We even teamed up a few times, and usually, when we played together, we would win.
The Trouble with Notebooks
Just like in English, I sat in the back row in history class (with another crappy teacher), I really hammed it up with this Puerto Rican kid. He was tough and kinda gangsta cool so, I kinda admired him. One day I found a way to impress him. Some poor sap had left his notebook in my desk from earlier in the day. He was in ROTC and I hated ROTC guys, because well, I was just wired that way. I took his notebook and wrote all sorts of obscene things on it. I mean, really, really bad, weird stuff. Things that didn't make any sense just to laugh it up with this cool kid that sat next to me. My plan was to leave this folder in another desk or somewhere else, but I was stupid and forgot all about it. I ended up leaving it right in my desk.
The next day, our teacher began class and she said, "N, does this look familiar?" "Huh?" "Did you do this?" My cool friend laughed out loud. I couldn't deny it and I was sent straight to the office. One of the VP's took me in and looked at the notebook. "Do you know him?" "No." "Why did you do it?" "I don't know." "Well, you're going to call your mother and tell her what you did right now. Then you are going to replace this notebook and bring me a new one tomorrow." I called my Mom at work to tell her and she was upset. Like the quiet shocked upset. The kind that makes you feel really bad because you let your mom down. Ouch.
I was pretty mad at myself. I thought about what my Mom and Dad would do when they would see this crazy, curse word-filled notebook.. I mean, the F word was scrawled all over it. THE F WORD. I don't think I had ever cursed in front of them at that point in my life. This was going to kill them. What's a boy to do?
Then, waiting for the bus after school, it struck me like lighting. I started drawing over the worst of it. I remember making weird ugly faces out of the words and drawing sharks and crazy monsters that covered over the curse words. Of course, I kept some of it, but I had saved myself serious trouble. No one ever found out about that one. Until NOW. (Lost "Boom" sound effect).
The Try- Out
Another big event happened early in the fall when I tried out for the basketball team. My freshmen year, they only allowed the kids that signed up for the special Basketball class try out (my 8th grade coach was an asshole (I don't use that word lightly either) and refused to sign me into that class, because I wasn't in "athletics" period of 8th grade). Anyway, it was me and maybe 6-10 other guys.We were invited in to a JV practice one Saturday morning. I knew my chances were slim, even though there were clearly guys on the JV team that were only on the team because they played football or because they were big. There were even a few short players and I knew I could take some of them one on one. Even still, I knew my only shot was to play up a particular role.
So, I went balls to the wall playing the hustle/crazy-defense-white-guy-that-will-likely-never-play-in-the-games-unless-they-are-blowouts. I had to guard a very good player and I made his life a living hell, I was draped all over him and I am sure I probably fouled him quite a bit. I think I got the ball twice, and the one time I got it, of COURSE I shot it, and missed. I got a few boards, played good D (my man scored once on a tough shot in 20 minutes) and you can guess what happened.
(I didn't make it, in case you couldn't figure it out).
The Shame
Some time during the year, probably when I was in some dark place I started listening to country music. I still look back in shame. You have to understand that country music in San Antonio in 1992 was HUGE. To my credit, I did like some credible stuff like Dwight Yoakam. Look, don't hold it against me, I was young and stupid. I grew out of it by the summer before my senior year.
Actually, this is a pretty solid song. I would listen to this one on my Walkman, over and over and over.
Still with all my defeats, my life wasn't all bad. I was reasonably happy. I had friends. We had fun. I have a ton of memories of spending the night at friend's houses and renting a NES, Genesis or SNES game and staying up really late. We played a lot of street basketball after school and my YMCA basketball season was fun. I was involved in our church youth group and we had a lot of good times. My family life was mainly good (except when my report card would come in).
The Victory of '93
Even though I didn't act like it, I really did like English class. I loved Animal Farm, An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge and Julius Caesar, but I just wasn't consistent in my efforts. I was stupid (Exhibit A: the fact I was a fan of country music). A few years ago, I spotted my sophomore report card at my parent's house. My grades for each term in English were something like this: 82, 73, 91, 71, 58, 84. I am sure I was a perplexing student for my teacher.
Anyway, at the end of the year I finally found a project I could get into. The assignment was to present a novel to the class as one of it's characters. We would basically summarize the plot, characters, etc. and have the class ask questions about our story. I had just read Micheal Crichton's Eaters of the Dead (which, I recently re-read this past May and discovered that over 20 years later - it just isn't that good). So, I went with the lead of the book. I also borrowed a costume from my dad that he had made for a church VBS production (he was David in his prime). Because the main character is from the Middle East, I began practicing my Arabic accent, although looking back it probably sounded more Indian. I spent hours getting my facts down straight about the novel and practicing my accent. I figured everyone was going to do that sort of thing.
Boy, was I wrong. Most everyone held their note cards in their hand and just read off their report in first-person. It was boring. I think one other student dressed up, but I was the only one to give it in an accent as an actual character. Looking back I am proud I wasn't afraid to perform. I guess I knew I did a hell of a job and wanted to show off. The students in class looked shocked when I came into the room to present (I had stepped out to change in the restroom). They were even more shocked when I started talking. After all, I was pretty quiet in class and didn't answer too many questions. No doubt about it, I did great and it felt good. I ended up getting 110 for dressing up and a nice note from my teacher on my score sheet. I kept that sheet for a long time. It was a small victory but small victories in purgatory sure do mean a lot.
It turned it it was different. My sophomore year I had ZERO friends in my lunch. Now, it wasn't like my social life was teeming with friends, but this was a bad case of bad luck. All possible 7-8 people I could have had lunch with had the other three lunch periods.
My first day, I scanned around the cafeteria, my head on a swivel. I didn't see anyone I knew. Not even a pal. Not even a good acquaintance. I spun around and headed back outside (our campus was open and the buildings connected by covered walkways). I milled around, trying to look busy. God forbid that it looked like I DIDN'T HAVE ANY FRIENDS.
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| Not really but my sophomore year really could be summed yup pretty well with Awkward Penguin. |
That was my whole school year, lunch by myself. I was ashamed to even tell my friends or family about it. Eventually, I had a whole routine for the Loser Lunch Half Hour.
When the bell rung, I would walk as fast as I could to the cafeteria without looking crazy. Once in cafeteria, if the line wasn't too long, I would head for the "fast food/snack line". I would usually grab a chicken sandwich or hamburger (sandwiches were conveniently wrapped). If the traffic on the way to the cafeteria had been crazy and the line was too long, I would go the the snack machines and buy a pack of Lance Cracker Sandwiches (which I am still a fan of). I would then walk straight outside and covertly hide my food in my backpack. Then I would head into one of the academic buildings.
At this point, I would walk around in circles in the biggest academic building. I walked in a random pattern because, duh, I didn't want anyone to know I was a loser. I would stop in the men's room just to waste time and stop circling. If someone came in, I would have to pretend I was washing my hands and head out to my next stop. At some point, the most humiliating part would come because I was so hungry. I would find an empty and somewhat clean bathroom (usually near the science wing) and eat my food in a stall. If it stunk like poo, I couldn't do it.
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| This isn't my high school but it captures the feeling. Just picture it more dingy, dark and depressing - as my high school was older and less well-lit. Just seeing this takes me back, to those icky, awkward days. |
When I got home, I would eat way too much snack food to make up for the fact that I wasn't eating much at school. Sometimes, I would pack something from the house and eat it before lunch or in my class after lunch, as that class was out of control and the teacher didn't care.
It was basically terrible, but after awhile, I got used to it. Every so often we would have testing or something else would mess with the typical schedule and I would have lunch with my friends. What a heavenly joy that was!
Academically, my sophomore year mirrored my freshman year. I was beyond underwhelming and it was likely my low point in my sub standard academic life. I would make a mix of B's, C's and D's with an occasional A or F from time to time per grading period.
Back Row Blues
My first period English class was the most eventful and memorable of classes. Our teacher was a first or second year teacher and she was hot. She was a blonde beauty that had been a UT cheerleader. It didn't get any better than that (still didn't make up for lunch though). She was a pretty okay teacher and while I loved reading, I just couldn't get into most of the class.
I sat on the back row with a old buddy from middle school band, Marcus (saxophone), a stoner named Mike (I think that was his name), and a gang member, Fernando. We were a motley crew but we shared a love of slacking off, joking around, otherwise, being stupid. I am sure if I had sat elsewhere in the classroom, I would have done much better. I have no idea why she never moved us. I remember really hating poetry and Haiku in particular. I think I wrote a really stupid Haiku just to make a point.
At the end of one grading period, our teacher was calling us up to her desk to show us our grade for the term. I was excited because I might get to look down her blouse (and I did). I figured I had a D. This was no big deal to me - it was still passing! However, I was more shocked to find I had a 58. "There's gotta be a mistake!" I said. "You honestly should have been even lower than this - you have six zeros!" the teacher said softly so that the class couldn't hear. "Oh...." I said and stumbled back to my desk. My parents were furious about the 58, I had failed before, but never this bad. The last grading term, however, I would have a turnaround and have one of my few high school victories (more on this later).
The Hopeless Romantic, Hopeless
My love life pretty much mirrored everything you've seen above. It was non-existent. I had crushes on 10 different girls but didn't talk to many of them and most of them probably didn't know who I was or if I liked them. There were no leads in my classes, just losers and students who didn't much care.
My biggest crush of the year was ironically, Stacey's friend, Marissa. This is ironic because all of my freshman romantic interest had been centered on Stacey. However, she was taken and I became quite taken with her friend (clever, eh?). She was very cute but the most I did was make awkward small talk with her. I'm pretty sure she didn't have a clue I was interested in her. What made the crush less likely to go anywhere is that she went to a different school, so if I was going to see her, it had to be at a youth event for church. It didn't stop me from putting her on a pedestal and dreaming about her constantly.
Although our church probably had over 500 members, the youth group was pretty small. There were four older girls that I wasn't much interested in and a few more our age that were also not interesting or exceptionally pretty. Then there was Stacey, who, again, was off the market at this point. My friend Doug and I were so bummed. We dreamed about a new girl showing up some random Sunday. When we would go to city wide events, we would stare at the pretty girls but were much too shy to actually talk with any of these girls.
The Fight
Meanwhile, back at school in PE, we played basketball almost every day. Six different hoops surrounded the court and we would divide into 12 teams of 3 on 3 or 4 on 4. There was no instruction in class and no supervision. The coaches would just call roll, open up the bins with the balls and the coaches would head back to their office. Needless to say, the coaches were stereotypical douche bags. However, I loved basketball so this set up was fine with me.
We settled into some familiar teams. Of course this would lead to serious, epic basketball games. One guy in particular I remember banging with in the post nearly every day. He was bigger than me and a little taller, but I somehow I was one of the taller guys that could play in the post. Holy cow, those were some battles. Think Celtics-Pistons 86-90 or Bulls-Pistons of 87-91.
 |
| In high school, I wanted to play like Charles Barkley. In reality, I was more like Bill Laimbeer without the height or shooting touch. Although when I got hot, my good buddy Eric would call me "Larry Legend" (but that's just because I am really white). |
One day it got real heated and as everyone else was headed back to the showers. We squared off as we insulted each other. I didn't want to fight him as he was bigger than me. I knew would likely lose but what was I to do? He came towards me and I kicked him as hard as I could in the groin. It was a direct hit. I remember one of our teammates say something like, "Woah!". Most of the class and even the coaches hadn't seen anything. I waited for him to respond but the guy was hunched over in serious pain. My battle was over. I jogged back into the locker room, got dressed quickly and within seconds the bell rang. While I am not an advocate for violence, he never challenged me again to an actual fight. We even teamed up a few times, and usually, when we played together, we would win.
The Trouble with Notebooks
Just like in English, I sat in the back row in history class (with another crappy teacher), I really hammed it up with this Puerto Rican kid. He was tough and kinda gangsta cool so, I kinda admired him. One day I found a way to impress him. Some poor sap had left his notebook in my desk from earlier in the day. He was in ROTC and I hated ROTC guys, because well, I was just wired that way. I took his notebook and wrote all sorts of obscene things on it. I mean, really, really bad, weird stuff. Things that didn't make any sense just to laugh it up with this cool kid that sat next to me. My plan was to leave this folder in another desk or somewhere else, but I was stupid and forgot all about it. I ended up leaving it right in my desk.
The next day, our teacher began class and she said, "N, does this look familiar?" "Huh?" "Did you do this?" My cool friend laughed out loud. I couldn't deny it and I was sent straight to the office. One of the VP's took me in and looked at the notebook. "Do you know him?" "No." "Why did you do it?" "I don't know." "Well, you're going to call your mother and tell her what you did right now. Then you are going to replace this notebook and bring me a new one tomorrow." I called my Mom at work to tell her and she was upset. Like the quiet shocked upset. The kind that makes you feel really bad because you let your mom down. Ouch.
I was pretty mad at myself. I thought about what my Mom and Dad would do when they would see this crazy, curse word-filled notebook.. I mean, the F word was scrawled all over it. THE F WORD. I don't think I had ever cursed in front of them at that point in my life. This was going to kill them. What's a boy to do?
Then, waiting for the bus after school, it struck me like lighting. I started drawing over the worst of it. I remember making weird ugly faces out of the words and drawing sharks and crazy monsters that covered over the curse words. Of course, I kept some of it, but I had saved myself serious trouble. No one ever found out about that one. Until NOW. (Lost "Boom" sound effect).
The Try- Out
Another big event happened early in the fall when I tried out for the basketball team. My freshmen year, they only allowed the kids that signed up for the special Basketball class try out (my 8th grade coach was an asshole (I don't use that word lightly either) and refused to sign me into that class, because I wasn't in "athletics" period of 8th grade). Anyway, it was me and maybe 6-10 other guys.We were invited in to a JV practice one Saturday morning. I knew my chances were slim, even though there were clearly guys on the JV team that were only on the team because they played football or because they were big. There were even a few short players and I knew I could take some of them one on one. Even still, I knew my only shot was to play up a particular role.
So, I went balls to the wall playing the hustle/crazy-defense-white-guy-that-will-likely-never-play-in-the-games-unless-they-are-blowouts. I had to guard a very good player and I made his life a living hell, I was draped all over him and I am sure I probably fouled him quite a bit. I think I got the ball twice, and the one time I got it, of COURSE I shot it, and missed. I got a few boards, played good D (my man scored once on a tough shot in 20 minutes) and you can guess what happened.
(I didn't make it, in case you couldn't figure it out).
The Shame
Some time during the year, probably when I was in some dark place I started listening to country music. I still look back in shame. You have to understand that country music in San Antonio in 1992 was HUGE. To my credit, I did like some credible stuff like Dwight Yoakam. Look, don't hold it against me, I was young and stupid. I grew out of it by the summer before my senior year.
Actually, this is a pretty solid song. I would listen to this one on my Walkman, over and over and over.
Still with all my defeats, my life wasn't all bad. I was reasonably happy. I had friends. We had fun. I have a ton of memories of spending the night at friend's houses and renting a NES, Genesis or SNES game and staying up really late. We played a lot of street basketball after school and my YMCA basketball season was fun. I was involved in our church youth group and we had a lot of good times. My family life was mainly good (except when my report card would come in).
The Victory of '93
Even though I didn't act like it, I really did like English class. I loved Animal Farm, An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge and Julius Caesar, but I just wasn't consistent in my efforts. I was stupid (Exhibit A: the fact I was a fan of country music). A few years ago, I spotted my sophomore report card at my parent's house. My grades for each term in English were something like this: 82, 73, 91, 71, 58, 84. I am sure I was a perplexing student for my teacher.
Anyway, at the end of the year I finally found a project I could get into. The assignment was to present a novel to the class as one of it's characters. We would basically summarize the plot, characters, etc. and have the class ask questions about our story. I had just read Micheal Crichton's Eaters of the Dead (which, I recently re-read this past May and discovered that over 20 years later - it just isn't that good). So, I went with the lead of the book. I also borrowed a costume from my dad that he had made for a church VBS production (he was David in his prime). Because the main character is from the Middle East, I began practicing my Arabic accent, although looking back it probably sounded more Indian. I spent hours getting my facts down straight about the novel and practicing my accent. I figured everyone was going to do that sort of thing.
Boy, was I wrong. Most everyone held their note cards in their hand and just read off their report in first-person. It was boring. I think one other student dressed up, but I was the only one to give it in an accent as an actual character. Looking back I am proud I wasn't afraid to perform. I guess I knew I did a hell of a job and wanted to show off. The students in class looked shocked when I came into the room to present (I had stepped out to change in the restroom). They were even more shocked when I started talking. After all, I was pretty quiet in class and didn't answer too many questions. No doubt about it, I did great and it felt good. I ended up getting 110 for dressing up and a nice note from my teacher on my score sheet. I kept that sheet for a long time. It was a small victory but small victories in purgatory sure do mean a lot.
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