The Wonder Years: Junior Year: 1993-1994

This is the third of the four posts on my high school year. I have dubbed it "The Wonder Years" series. Here is my post on my sophomore year.

After a topsy-turvey freshmen year and nightmarish sophomore year, I might have expected another dose of insanity, but instead just the opposite happened.  If I were forced to name this year, it would be One Year in Purgatory.

Although I am sure there was the day-to-day daily drama of being in high school, there just weren't many lasting memories from this academic year.

As previously covered in lovingly horrifying fashion, my lunch periods from my first two years in high school were terrible. Finally, regression to the norm occurred my junior year. I finally could eat lunch with friends. I had two good friends  (Philip and Jeff) and another pal (Matt) to share lunch with!  Our usual spot was outside on one of the concrete tables. I have lots of good memories of eating and fooling around. Our school would frequently sell slushies and I would buy them all the time. Loved me some sugar.

What Was Wrong With Me Anyway? 

Speaking of love, my love life was a non-existent. At the start of my junior year I still hadn't had my first date or a girlfriend. The last success I had was my freshman year (A girl had agreed to go out on a date with me but I never followed through to take her out). My last kiss had been when I was in elementary school for Pete's sake!  It was that bad. I felt depressed about it and it became a source of embarrassment and shame every time I thought about it.

Here are the top four reasons I think this happened.

1. Overly high-standards 

This makes no sense in retrospect given that I am not a good looking guy by most women's standards. There was a time in 8th grade that I didn't "ask out" a girl because I was afraid of what my friends would think. She was kinda geeky but I thought she was kinda cute too.  I wasn't even popular so why should I have cared about what people thought? It feels like I am talking about a different person, but it was definitely me.

It's not like I was aiming for cheerleaders but I over thought the entire process. I was overly concerned with what others thought.

2. No confidence 

When I write "No" I mean none, zero, zilch. I had zero self worth at this point in high school. It all makes sense though. I made average and sub-par grades. I wasn't good at sports and I was very average looking and self conscious of my looks. Of course I had crushes but I didn't believe any one would really want to date me. That 8th grade opportunity that I felt was possibly there - by 1994 it looked liked a golden opportunity that I should have taken. Everything was amplified by my failure to act.

I felt kind like this guy except completely aware I was a loser and had no confidence. And I didn't date rape anyone either (we all missed that in the rape culture of the 80's).

3. Afraid of rejection

Zero confidence wasn't enough. I was also terrified of rejection. I didn't want to feel embarrassed by getting rejected. I just couldn't handle it. I felt like a fragile piece of art, an ugly piece of art, at that.

4. Bad luck 

I am pretty sure that there were some (a few? one?) young ladies out there that would have given me a chance at a date but sometimes, life just kicks ya in the groin. Besides, you have to make your own luck sometimes (at least when it comes to romance).

However, there was always hope.

The Odds Were Against Me 

I had shifted my attention to a girl at church named Tiffany. I could just never get a handle on her though. She was super quiet and kinda a "tom boy". Some days I thought she looked cute, other days I didn't find her attractive at all. She went to another school but she was around on Sundays, so she gave me someone to dream about asking out.  I don't believe I even told anyone mainly because it was more like a fantasy than a thing that could actually happen.

There was also Dani, a senior that sat in front of me in my Business class. I hated the class, but I also had a major crush on her. We talked a lot but I never thought she would think of me as a actual person to date. She was the first girl that I liked that was what I would call "cool". Most of the girls I were interested in were the "girl next door" type. But Dani was a little different. She was into the alternative scene, wore hip clothes, just carried herself with a different air than the rest of the girls I was around. We had a little friendship but I could just never scrounge up the courage to ask her out.

I am sure there were other girls I had crushes on but it doesn't really matter because I didn't act on any of them. Life moves on and you forget a lot.

History Repeats Itself (Every Week) 

One great thing about my junior year was that one of my best friends Philip and I had World History together. He even sat right in front of me.  Our teacher, Mr. Borchers had obviously been teaching the same lessons for at least three decades. He had a weekly schedule that was rarely deviated from.  It was so ingrained in my soul I actually remember it.

Monday: Go over last Friday's exam, begin lecture for this Friday's exam
Tuesday: More lecture
Wednesday: Finish up lecture, begin classwork
Thursday: Finish up classwork, review for exam
Friday: Exam, once finished, start reading the chapter for next week

It might have been slightly different but this was pretty much it. It was a boring class and delivered in even more boring style and this is coming from someone who loved history! Although boring, Mr. Borchers actually inspired me.

I kinda agree but not in this history class. Besides, I needed a picture or something here to break up the text. 

Mr. Borchers inspired me to be the opposite of what he was. Once I figured out I was going to be history teacher or professor he was my starting point of what not to be: stale, boring, lecture driven and tradition-bound. This isn't to say I'm the world's greatest teacher, but I'm sure I am not a "Mr. Borchers" either.

Despite being boring, Philip and I had a blast during this class. On really boring days we would have a drawing challenge and pick a student in the class to draw. The person had to guess who it was before the other person could draw the next student. We would also help each other out on the classwork, which amounted to 6-7 pages of worksheets (in the trade they call it "busy work"). We would split up the work with another student, Kevin and be done as quickly as possible.

It was cheating but it felt more like community. Besides, Mr. Borchers was barely paying attention. This was before the internet so I have no idea what Mr. Borchers was doing at his desk. He simply never walked around to see what the students were doing.  It wasn't all bad, Philip, Kevin and I would compete for the highest exam grade. We usually got A's or high B's, so I had to be on my game for the week (no, we didn't cheat on those).

El Cheato (Part II) 

The other class where I consistently cheated in was Spanish I. At the time, I hated this class with a passion. I didn't feel "good" at it and I thought the teacher was awful.

When I look back on the teachers I had in  high school it was pretty bad. If I were to break it down, it might look something like this:

Burnt out/Don't give a Poop: 5%
Angry/Mean: 4%
Eh/Passable: 40%
Good/Great:15%
Bad: 10%
Horrible: 8%
Can't Remember: Whatever number is left over.

Maybe I'm being overly harsh. Maybe I was a little jerk at the time too. Besides, I took a few remedial classes and all "regular" courses. So, there were some bad examples in my class and I definitely became influenced by their example.

Anyway, back to Spanish, Senora Beck was our teacher. She was in her mid-30's and in a weird way, I found her attractive (then again at 16 I found most women that were alive attractive). She had little control of the class, she yelled a lot and the class felt chaotic.  I also hated getting up in front of people and talking Spanish. So, I resented her for that (which is pretty stupid because that's how you learn).

I sat in front of sophomore named Trent. We would joke and usually be partners for our activities. I felt like an older brother to him as I was an upperclassman and he was short and small. In reality I am sure we were like 9 months apart. We were always coming up with ideas on how to cheat. We cheated on daily work and cheated on tests. Anything written in that class was pretty much a combo job from the both of us.

We came up with an ingenious way to cheat on the exam, I am sure it's well worn trick but felt like it was special at the time.  One of us  had one of those pens with a tiny tip, and would write almost all of our vocabulary words around the pencil.  Even from 2 ft. away it just looked like a design because it was written so small. At some point, usually he or I would drop the pencil or ask to borrow it because our "pencil broke" and he would give me the pencil with a knowing smile. Sometimes we would have two pencils and trade it covertly mid-exam.

One day fooling around in my book I discovered I could erase the ink from our book. So, being an all-around jerk, I started erasing vocabulary words that were around the pictures. I remember specifically starting with the picture of the zoo (you could see the picture of the monkey but I had erased "Mono"). By the end of the year, I had erased every single page number. It was pure evil but I found the whole thing hilarious. I have no defense other than I was a weird, sad teenager who did dumb things. That's all there is to it.

But I still find it pretty funny.

The Dancer's Test 

One day they announced juniors could take the ASVAB test for the military. The test was sold as a "must" for students who were either interested in joining the military or students who didn't know what the wanted to do. Ya know, the losers.

I KID, I KID

Anyway, you also got to get out of class and I figured this was a great way to "skip" class officially. Because it was un-timed, I took as much time as possible, including staying until 5th period (Spanish) was almost over even though I had been done for two hours.

I also really didn't know what I wanted to do, so I figured maybe this test would actually help me figure it out. The test had a series of questions about my personality and I remember questions like:

Do you like physical work?

Do you like math?

Do you like shooting people?

Do you like to learn about how machines or computers work? 

Do you like speaking in front of others?

 I made up one of those. I think you can figure it out. 

Anyway, most of my answers were like, no, no, no, NO.

 I don't like working. I don't like exerting myself. I don't like standing up in front of people and talking. I AM IN HIGH SCHOOL. I ended up revealing that I liked art, music, etc. ya know, teenager stuff.

Then the actual exam began and it had all the typical reading, math, logic, spatial reasoning, etc. While I wasted time on the test, I really did try my best on the exam. After all, I had no clue what I wanted to "be" when I grew up.

Months went by and I kinda forgot about the whole thing until I got the results in the mail. I was actually a little excited to find out what this ASVAB thought I could be. I opened the colorful results to find my recommended career field was:

Professional Dancer

Yes, that's right. PROFESSIONAL DANCER

I usually do this every morning most days anyway. So maybe I could have been a dancer....

Maybe this is only funny if you know me but me as a professional dancer makes about as much sense as me as a solider. At that point in my life, I had never even danced in public.

It made sense though in a weird way.  I was bad at math, I told them I didn't like hard work, or that I never took apart computers or put together model airplanes, I liked to play basketball, enjoyed reading and the arts. Wa-la, must be a DANCER.

I was pissed. The even funnier part is the US military would send me recruitment materials for years afterwards. I think it had to deal with the great Navy shortage of dancers in the late 90's.

Vroom Vroom

My junior year my friends started getting their driver's licences. Maybe it was because of a lack of maturity or a clinging to my childhood but I was not motivated to take driver's ed.

I still remember our first Friday I went out with a friend in a car. Philip came over to pick me up at some ridiculously early time I think it must have been 7:20. We drive through the drive-thru at Burger King. Why? I have no earthly idea. I vaguely remember thinking we felt rushed, so we ate in the car or maybe it was just me eating and Burger King was on the way. I dunno but I remember mayonnaise was on my burger and that ANGERED me at the time.

Then we went to Pear Apple County Fair, a huge arcade, mini-golf type place where tons of kids went to. A girl asked me if I had a lighter and I felt so cool. It felt so dangerous. I think we were back home before 10:00.

We would later learn to leave later in the evening to feel like our night was more eventful.

Driver's Ed with Larry 

In the spring I finally decided to take driver's ed with my friend Eric (who was a sophomore).  Eric went to church with me and while it took awhile for us to warm up to each other, by the spring of 1994 we were starting to become best friends. We shared a warped sense of humor and we just got each other. He's the brother I never had. We would become each other's best man at our weddings.

Anyway, we had a blast in driver's ed together. Our class instructor was super boring and had a Texan drawl that could put you to sleep. He brought up the same stories over and over, including one about a young man that was "6"4, 240" he would say this in such a way that it just sounded like a thing into itself (6-4 240). It became an instant inside joke for us.  Ya see that guy over there? He's probably about "6-4 240"? I know, hilarious...but you have to hear it and you had to be there.

Our actual driving instructor was so gross. His name was Larry and he had the worst reputation. He was a such a prev. He had to be pushing 40 but he seemed to be interested in all the girls at the driving school. I remember him just checking them out, right in front of the other guys. Granted, he was a decent teacher for us. He treated us like men and young men eat that kinda of stuff up. So, we tried to sign up for Larry every time we had hours to drive.  Larry was just a gross guy. I remember sharing fart jokes with him (when we first introduced the idea of "Pizza Happy"). We actually looked up to him.

We had heard rumors that if you signed up for the late shift, he would eat with you at Hooters. We had signed up for the late shift one time but nothing had happened, until later that night.

Larry: (casually)  "You guys heard of Hooters?"

Both: "Yeah."

Larry: "Next time you guys sign up at 9;00, we'll drive down to Hooters, hang out and I'll give you credit for driving."

Both: (in hushed awe) "Ok."

So, the next time around we drove down to the nearby Hooters (which was new to our area). We felt like such rebels and we were so excited. We were getting away with something!!! All the Hooters girls knew Larry and he introduced us. "Woah!"

I think we had a couple of sodas and Larry ordered fries.  It all felt so scandalous. For a 16-year-old, Hooters did not disappoint. Given that 16-year-old's have the internet today, I don't think the impact could be properly understood by anyone under 30.

I remember thinking our "final" was pretty cool. He just told us he had to get to the airport, on a certain airline at a particular time for a flight. He did not tell us how to get there either, it had to be by memory and we just had to work it out (we were a couple of dopes that had never been to the airport so, we felt sufficiently challenged).

So that just about covers it, my junior year left me with enough hope of what was to come. I was right to be hopeful, as 1994-1995 was one of the best years of my life and easily my favorite school year. All the hard times were going to be paid off for one magical senior year.... .

The Wonder Years: Sophomore Year 1992-1993

This is the second of four posts on my high school year. I have dubbed it "The Wonder Years" series. Here is the first post.

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.

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.

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.  

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.

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.

The Wonder Years: 1991-1992: Freshman Year

"Growing up happens in a heartbeat. One day you're in diapers, the next day you're gone. But the memories of childhood stay with you for the long haul. I remember a place, a town, a house, like a lot of houses. A yard like a lot of other yards. On a street like a lot of other streets. And the thing is, after all these years, I still look back... with wonder." - Last episode of The Wonder Years

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. 

 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.

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.

Lonely at Lunch

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.

It looked almost exactly like this one. I remember it fondly

Typical Freshman Fare - Random Memories 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.