A few years back I wrote a series of posts on how I met my wife. It was written to and for my kids in mind. I was cute and titled the series "How I Met Your Mother". I am aware lots of couples have pretty good stories, but in fairness and by any measure of objectivity it's pretty epic (ya know, if you're into that kinda thing).
A few days ago I find myself thinking of the The Wonder Years and how I was almost the same age (11) as Kevin when the series started. It got me thinking back to my own adolescence and teenage years. I figured it would be nice to revisit the past and write down my memories before they are all forgotten in my old age. On an interesting note, I am writing this about my "wonder years" at around the age my dad was when The Wonder Years came out. So, without further adieu. Here are the fragments of my freshman year in high school.
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| I watched that first kiss between Kevin and Winnie with my parents on the couch and me sitting on the ground. I blushed but dare not turn around. I didn't want to break it to them I liked girls too. |
If I am going to follow The Wonder Years, then technically I should be starting with my middle school years but I don't feel like it and it's my blog. Is there really any other reason needed?
Let's get it out of the way, the 60's were a much more dramatic and colorful backdrop than the 90's. In every conceivable way. Although I do remember watching CNN on the first night of the Gulf War and thinking if that war really was the next Vietnam, I could be drafted in five years!
My 8th grade year had been a success. We had a good group of about 7-10 guys that hung out at lunch and after school. Some of us had band together, some of us played on the same YMCA basketball team and a few of us had been friends for years from church. Although, we weren't popular by any measure, we were middle-of-the-road, good kids. High school would be different and this little group would splinter into pieces.
I began my freshman year in high spirits in the fall of 1991 (about a month before the release of Nevermind). Marshall was a large high school and I didn't have any of my friends in any of my classes. Furthermore, I never even saw my friends once school started. I could wander the hallways and never see any of my good friends. As far as I was concerned, it was like I was attending a different school from my best friends.
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| This might be the tannest picture of me ever. Look at me - there's color there! I remember this because I had gotten sun burned at the beach the week before. That shirt was so dope in 1991. |
My first day of school at lunch, I found myself in a near-panic, I looked around feverishly for anyone I knew. Any ONE. There were already cliques and it became readily apparent that I didn't fit into any of them.
There were the "kickers", the tall guys that looked like they were in college, the freaks (proto-goths), the jocks, the drama club nerds, the ROTC geeks, the snobby hot girls, the ethnic tables of various types, the tough maybe-possibly-gang members, the preppy cool kids that went to parties and drank, and of course, the nerds and outcasts. It was a nightmare for a 14-year-old.
I finally found Chris, sitting at the end of a table in the middle of the cafeteria. Good ol' Chris. What a sight for sore eyes, it was Chris!!
Chris was a quiet kid that I was "pals" with back at middle school. We weren't "friends" by any means but Chris would do. Chris had saved me from utter humiliation (at least that's how it felt at the time). Chris was a good kid, a little boring and probably pretty nerdy but then again, so was I. He was a little taller than me, had braces and always wore dark polo shirts with dark jeans. At least that's how I always remember him. He sometimes mumbled when he spoke and we had little in common. Nonetheless,we forged a friendship under the banner of loneliness and we were both better off for it.
We ended up sitting together every day at this same table. Sometimes, we sat close to a group of guys further down the table and they would sorta talk with us. Man, that felt good. I don't ever remember him being absent. When he was absent, I likely scarfed down my food and walked around outside trying to look busy or at least like I wasn't alone.
My Sister, My Foil
My sister was a senior at Marshall as well, and I served as her foil in almost every way:
She was popular and out-going,
I was not popular and a natural introvert.
She was well-liked by her teachers and an over-achiever,
I was the kid that teachers forgot and an under-achiever in every way.
She was involved with school and seemingly knew everyone
I didn't do anything and kept my head down low so that no one would notice me.
My sister drove us to school in 1986 Toyota pick-up (that would later be my first car). It had bucket seats and a stick shift. We almost always picked up another friend of hers on the way to school. I didn't mind because this usually meant I was stuffed next to cute senior girl. One morning, she decided we would have to pick up an extra friend, but I'll save that story for the end.
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| It looked almost exactly like this one. I remember it fondly |
The quality of teachers I had in my freshman year were horrible. I loved history but my history teacher was awful. He was confrontational and mean. He would challenge students and always say, "How about those apples, huh?" He constantly sent people to the office and threw temper tantrums. Somewhere between weeks 6-10, he quit. No one was sad to see him go. We had about 5-6 subs and a whole grading term before finally finding a full-time sub. It was altogether a terrible experience.
My other teachers were average to sub-par and since I wasn't in any honor classes or extra curricular activities, I was around some pretty crappy kids and classrooms.
I was absolutely terrified of speaking with girls. Specifically, girls that I liked. I was scared of rejection. I was scared that word of that possible rejection would grow and that suddenly my status among my peers would be even lower. This fear paralyzed me for three years of high school and it made me miserable. Always a dreamer but never actually doing anything. Making things worse was the fact that I hated myself for feeling this way to begin with.
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| My self-confidence was a 1.5 out of 10 from 1991-1994. Luckily, I had enough friends to keep me laughing and busy and a little bit of hope that things would one day be better. Hey, I was right! |
Of course my lack of self confidence didn't stop me from day-dreaming of asking a girl out to go steady. Ever the hopeful romantic, I was always on the look-out for love. Sometime in the late fall, I found myself in my first serious high school crush.
It was Stacey from church. We rarely spoke to each other at church but I figured this connection had to help me. She was a tiny little brunette with freckles and beautiful blue eyes (or were they green?).
We passed each other every day in the passing period between fourth and fifth period.
This was the moment I looked forward to every day, if somehow we missed each other, it felt like a bad day. I planned my hair grooming around the event and would try to round this specific corner everyday at the same exact time. It was actually a little stressful.
We would see each other, smile and say "Hi". To my recollection, the first 20 times or more this happened, I was too scared to say anything but, "Hi". But eventually, this would change....
High School football is a big deal down here in Texas and our school in 1991 was pretty darn good. In fact, we had future NFL star in Priest Holmes and another NFL Vet ND Kalu on our team. Holmes was known as Anthony back in the day and he was a pretty nice guy. One time I found myself walking right next to him on campus and to my surprise found him about as tall as me! He was amazing to watch every Friday or Saturday night. How many times, we wished for instant reply but to no avail.
I had another crush on a girl in my English class. It's getting a bit hazy but I think her name was Crystal. Crystal or Jessica. Or maybe something else. I may have forgotten her name, but I haven't forgotten her face. Or her hair. She sat in front of me so I would sit there staring (and smelling) her long, straight, black hair. She had big brown eyes and looked a little like Princess Jasmine (ya know, but human). She was different from most girls that I had liked. Very stylish and less of the girl-next-door vibe than usual.
I thought she was hot and eventually we got to talking from time to time. To my surprise, we got along pretty well and eventually for some crazy reason she asked me if I could buy her a Cosmopolitan magazine because her mom would never let her get one. I had no idea why she was asking me this or if it was just a game to see how much control she had over me, but it got my brain running. I would have to somehow procure some cash (of course, I had no money), and then walk to the grocery store and then (gulp) actually buy a Cosmo magazine. When would I have time for this? I usually walked to the neighbor basketball court, so that could be my cover-story. Could I bring myself to actually buy this magazine? I figured the checker would think I was buying it for myself for uh, well, "entertainment purposes". I thought about it for weeks but never had enough gumption to actually do it. Even for love, I was too embarrassed.
Soda in the Time of Love
English was my last class of the day, so sometimes, our teacher let us go out and get sodas from the machine at the front of the school (which wasn't too far from our room). I have no idea why she would do this and just imagining a world where the high schools have soda machines again is pretty crazy. As I bought my Dr. Pepper (my drink of choice from 1988-2002) and noticed that the machine strangely spit my fifty cents out again. I put my two quarters back into the machine and once again, I got a Dr. Pepper and the two quarters came spitting back at me. I did this about 10 times or so until I couldn't carry anymore sodas. When I returned back to class, I was the hero for the day. I went back after school, made sure no one else saw me and managed to get another 5 or 6 and put them in my backpack.
The Epic of Stacey (or "How To Screwed Up A Sure Thing)
I really did like the girl in English, but I was "in love" with Stacey (yeah, I am pretty sure I thought that). Eventually, the "hellos" would grow into small talk in the hall way or at church. I was young and stupid and I had no idea if she liked me or if she was just being nice. In retrospect, it's pretty obvious she liked me but as they say, "hindsight is 20/20". Even with doubts, I decided I would call her.
I was paralyzed with fear but had a huge advantage. The church directory. Having the directory downstairs by the family phone in the kitchen allowed me to skip the whole awkwardness of asking for a number and just move on the the anxiousness of making a cold call. I thought rejection by phone would be easier to take than rejection face-to-face.
My sister usually hogged the phone most nights, so I had to time my call carefully. As far as I was concerned I was on a SECRET-OPS MISSION. No one could know how this went down, not friends and definitely not family. My worst fear was that my sister would pick up the phone and start to dial or worse still, she would pick up the phone and (horrors of horrors) actually listen. Yeah, those were the days, when you heard a click and were like, "I know you're on the phone -- hang up!!" I think I waited until she was watching TV or doing something for school.
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| Yeah, this was actually my phone in 1992. Take careful note of the cord. I was so excited when I got this phone and then when you plugged it in the cord was like 8 inches long. |
I took a deep breath and called her phone number. Stacey picked up and after just a few seconds, I asked her on a date. My idea was to ask her to the movies and I suggested The Addams Family (this was in the winter of '92) on the following Saturday. I was pretty surprised when she said.......yes. Wonders of wonders, miracles of miracles, it was actually happening! I was beyond thrilled. I don't think we talked much after that I figured the less I talked the less likely I could screw it up. Up until this point, I think we had spoken for maybe a total of 45 minutes, but I was sure we had a LOT in common. I mean, we went to the same church, the same school, oh, and she wanted to see The Addams Family with me, so, there was that.
Yes, I was indeed on cloud nine the next few days, but.....there was something still hanging over me. My secret mission now had to be disclosed to everyone else, and most especially, my parents. I thought about just telling my sister and somehow concocting a cover story to hide the fact I was on a date. But no matter how many times I tried coming up with something, nothing seemed to make sense. Looking back, I have no idea why I was so scared to tell them this was happening. I mean, they would have been happy it was with a girl from church! In my crazy head, I figured I would be hounded by embarrassing questions, innuendo about how "cute" it was, I just felt totally uncomfortable with the whole idea. I was paralyzed by shyness and awkwardness.
Saturday kept getting closer and closer and I growing more and more terrified. kept putting off telling my folks about the date and suddenly, it was Saturday afternoon. I couldn't do it. It started to rain outside and I had these crazy ideas to somehow trick my sister into driving us to the theater but I froze up. Unbelievably, I called Stacey and cancelled our date. I have no idea what excuse I made up, but I was so ashamed of myself, I never even called her back.
This little episode was re-lived over and over in my head for the next few months (and years). I deconstructed it, made excuses for it and I probably even dreamed about it. Eventually, I got enough gumption to ask her out again in the summer of 1992. And then one Sunday, she brought a boy to church named Dorian. In that instant, I knew I had waited too long.
Oh, how I hated Dorian. I hated his cool hair, the fact that he was older than me. I especially hated his name. Dorian. Looking back it's easy to see I hated Dorian because I hated myself for what I hadn't done. That should have been me!
Stacey dated Dorian for a little over a year. I waited around thinking I could wait their relationship out. However, as soon as she broke up with Dorian, there was an immediate replacement, Chris (no, not my friend from lunch). He was even older than Dorian and was actually in college. I was stunned. The guy was 6"2 and looked like he was 30 to my 15 year-old eyes. There had been no gap, no chance for me to even know she had been single! I was so mad. I felt like life had kicked me when I was already down. Stacey went on to marry Chris after my freshman year in college.
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| The good news is I never had to sit through The Addams Family. Never did see this crappy movie. |
I was heartbroken but I knew that was a part of life. I've always been blessed with a laid back, reality-based attitude. I knew these things happened and the rules of probability would eventually fall my way. After all, Kevin and Winnie had a rocky path as well.
My grades were pretty average. An occasional A, more B's, lots of C's and a sprinklings of D's. I didn't really care about school all that much except to pass my classes. I forged a few progress reports because I would be failing at least one class per 6-week term and I didn't want my dad yelling at me. My grades would only get worse in the next two years.
My freshman year wasn't all bad. I had a great group of friends. Philip, Adam and Steve at Marshall and Doug from church (who went to one of our rival schools, Taft). I was busy with basketball after school (we had some epic games), hanging out at the mall on the weekends, talking about girls and sports forever, having sleep-overs and playing video games late into the night. I also stayed busy with youth group activities at church, Doug and I had a blast being goofy and hanging out. Without my friends I honestly don't know how I would have made it out of high school without the need of therapy.
The Story of the Bumpy Ride
I am sure there are many more drama-filled stories to tell but they are forgotten in the mists of time. But there is one more story to tell and it goes back to that old Toyota truck.
As I said above, my sister would always give rides to her friends to and from school. One day, she told me she had to pick up two girls on the way to school. It was cold outside and I knew we would get in trouble if I rode in the bed of the truck, so this meant one thing: a girl was going to to have to sit in my lap in this tiny truck.
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| I saw this picture and the memories came flooding back. Even the little imperfections of our particular truck came back to me. |
My sister's friend lived a few streets down from us and she was very pretty. Understand that this 1986 Toyota pickup did not have what I would call "good shocks". I was a 14 year-old young man, riding with a beautiful (did I say pretty? Because I meant beautiful) young lady in my lap in a pick-up truck bouncing around the road on the way to school.
To explain the challenge further would be to belittle it.
I fought so hard that morning. With ever fiber of my being I thought of every NBA statistic that I could muster. All-time leader in points? Blocks? Which top-ten statistical categories was David Robinson in? I thought of school, even the music playing on the radio (that is, until I realized it was a sexually suggestive song). About half way to school, I was in in total check but somewhere along the ride, something happened.
It was half-mast.
I was sweating like never before all the while pretending nothing was amiss. Maybe she could feel it, maybe not. I couldn't be too sure. But half-mast it stayed. Somehow I had willed it.
Luckily, there were only a few minutes left. My torture was over. I quickly exited the car and got the heck out of dodge.
Next year would be worst of all high school years. If you're still reading this one, I have no idea why you wouldn't read the next one, as you must be easily entertained.
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