As you might have noticed, I was a fairly unusual child from the time I was born to when I was 12 years old. However, everything that made me a good little boy vanished during the early part of my teenage years.
When I was forced to spend time with my family, I was in a bad mood. I didn't want to be around them. If they were watching TV, I would go to my room to watch, even though it was on a 13" black and white set. I would do this even though I was watching the same thing that was on the TV downstairs. I spent a lot of time in my room doing homework, watching TV and listening to music.
It was even worse when we went to see the extended family. I just didn't want to go anywhere or see anybody. When greeting relatives, including my grandparents, I would quickly hug them, grumble and be on my way from everyone. Mom would get really upset at me and scold me for acting that way. My Grandma Bend didn't really seem to mind. She would say it was okay.
I guess because I didn't act like a typical kid, it probably took my parents by surprise that I was starting to act like a typical teenager. Mom would just give me lectures about how I needed to behave better when I was around relatives. It didn't help that I couldn't explain why I was acting that way.
I should add that I didn't act like this with my friends, teachers or anybody else. It was all directed at people I was related to. I guess I preferred being at school because no one from my family was there. I didn't realize until I graduated from college what was wrong with me.
And really, there was nothing wrong with me. It was normal teenager behavior. But the way Mom acted, there was no excuse for treating everyone like that. While I agree, it was hard for me to really consider other people's feelings when it seemed like they didn't really even consider mine. And probably also the Asperger thing had a lot to do with it. Who knows?
I guess my Mom couldn't really identify because she probably wasn't able to go through that phase herself. As I have mentioned before, her father died when she was 12 and that completely devastated the family. They were uprooted from the home they'd known for years and plopped down in the middle of nowhere. It was their extended family that helped them out, so my mother was always grateful to be around them whenever possible.
Yes, this is like that episode of "Home Improvement" in which Tim's middle son is being disrespectful. When talking with Wilson, Tim said he never treated his father that way. However, Wilson points out Tim's father died when he was 12, so he never got a chance to rebel against him as a teenager. I actually didn't figure out my Mom's issue with my adolescence until I saw that episode.
And again, it was my Mom who had the problem with me. My father never said anything, either to me or my Mom. As I've mentioned before, Dad just seemed content to go with the flow to see what I would do next.
Sometimes, I feel like if I had just acted like this to everyone all the time, I probably wouldn't have been regarded as such a loser. That's only because nobody would ever get a chance to really know me.
Friday, November 29, 2013
What to do the day after Thanksgiving
I can't imagine doing this when the store is full of people.
I used to work for Walmart and did five Black Friday events. Then, when I worked at the radio station, I would show up at those Black Friday lines and interview people during the next four years.
I used to work for Walmart and did five Black Friday events. Then, when I worked at the radio station, I would show up at those Black Friday lines and interview people during the next four years.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
The Kiddie Table
Since this post is appearing on Thanksgiving, I thought I would take this opportunity to talk about a problem that plagued me from my childhood all the way up into my early adulthood. This was not something that only took place during Thanksgiving, but on a regular basis on Christmas and Easter as well.
Almost every holiday, my family would travel someplace, like Grandma Bend's house. There would be a lot of other relatives there, enjoying the fellowship of family. There would be one long table set up and a smaller table for the kids. After Grace was said and done, the parents would fill the plates for the kids and let them have at it at their table while the adults would enjoy their meal at the main table.
This was fine up until I turned 13 years old. It started getting irritating with the other cousins who seemed to prefer playing with their food instead of eating it, and then picking food off my plate and throwing it to the ground. I thought that would all end by the time I got to college, but I was wrong.
In 1984, my cousin Grid, who was a year older than me, had gotten married during the summer. That Thanksgiving, he and his wife came to my parents' house, along with Aunt Pand and the rest of her family. They all got to eat at the main table. Even though I was 20 years old at the time, I still had to eat at the kiddie table. (Also note that Loyd had to eat there too, but he was a senior in high school.)
I mentioned early in this blog about the culture in which my parents were raised. They were not considered adults until they got married. I had already reached the age my father was when he married my mother. In their eyes, I was not a grown-up because I did not have a wife. I felt like the kiddie table was punishment for not being on the path to providing them with grandchildren. (As if spending time with a bunch of kids was going to create any kind of incentive for me!)
I did not get to sit at the grown-up table until I was 35 years old. It was Christmas of 1999 and I was at my Aunt Cind's house for Christmas. They actually had enough room for me. However, they wound up having Loyd sit at the kiddie table. He was 32 at the time. After the seating arrangements had been set, it was determined that there had been enough room for Loyd if they had thought it out ahead of time. I felt like it was a step up for me, even though I still was nowhere close to getting married and wouldn't be for another six years.
Almost every holiday, my family would travel someplace, like Grandma Bend's house. There would be a lot of other relatives there, enjoying the fellowship of family. There would be one long table set up and a smaller table for the kids. After Grace was said and done, the parents would fill the plates for the kids and let them have at it at their table while the adults would enjoy their meal at the main table.
This was fine up until I turned 13 years old. It started getting irritating with the other cousins who seemed to prefer playing with their food instead of eating it, and then picking food off my plate and throwing it to the ground. I thought that would all end by the time I got to college, but I was wrong.
In 1984, my cousin Grid, who was a year older than me, had gotten married during the summer. That Thanksgiving, he and his wife came to my parents' house, along with Aunt Pand and the rest of her family. They all got to eat at the main table. Even though I was 20 years old at the time, I still had to eat at the kiddie table. (Also note that Loyd had to eat there too, but he was a senior in high school.)
I mentioned early in this blog about the culture in which my parents were raised. They were not considered adults until they got married. I had already reached the age my father was when he married my mother. In their eyes, I was not a grown-up because I did not have a wife. I felt like the kiddie table was punishment for not being on the path to providing them with grandchildren. (As if spending time with a bunch of kids was going to create any kind of incentive for me!)
I did not get to sit at the grown-up table until I was 35 years old. It was Christmas of 1999 and I was at my Aunt Cind's house for Christmas. They actually had enough room for me. However, they wound up having Loyd sit at the kiddie table. He was 32 at the time. After the seating arrangements had been set, it was determined that there had been enough room for Loyd if they had thought it out ahead of time. I felt like it was a step up for me, even though I still was nowhere close to getting married and wouldn't be for another six years.
Riding the (a)bus(e) to school
Seventh grade was over and done with. On to the eighth grade. I started going to Park Junior High School, which would cover both eighth and ninth grades. I mentioned Abo Elementary and its fallout shelter in an earlier post. Park was also built to serve as a fallout shelter, but only half of the school was underground.
For as long as I could remember, my mother taught typing to ninth graders at Park. However, in 1978, she was promoted to being an English teacher at the high school. This was both good and bad. It was good because it meant I wasn't going to need to deal with her at school for two more years. I'd actually gotten used to not having either of my parents in the same building as me seven hours a day. The bad was that I was going to have to find some other way to get to school because she wasn't going to be able to drive me. I used to ride my bicycle to Zia, but Park was a lot further away and I really didn't want to ride my bike that far and back every day.
I decided to take the bus, the regular school bus. I just had to walk to Central Elementary, take the bus from there and I would arrive at Park in plenty of time.
The first couple of weeks, there was no problem getting on the bus. There were issues with some of the other students who just seemed to enjoy hassling everyone every day. (This is something I don't get about bullying: Many bullies appear to take delight in tormenting the same victims over and over again in pretty much the same manner. Does this not get old? Even when finding new victims, they will continue to provide the old ones with anguish on a regular basis.)
In the days that followed, more and more students started riding the bus. So much so that the bus driver started stranding students at the elementary school when the bus was full. Those students were not completely out of luck. There was another bus that came along a half hour later to take students to Park. However, I was told that bus frequently ran late and the school would not excuse any tardies for students who happened to be riding that bus. I guess the school's reasoning was that it was the students who were causing the bus to be late and if they started getting punished for their shenanigans, everyone would adjust their behavior accordingly. This was why the early bus started getting full.
One day, I was one of the students who was stranded. I knew I could not wait for the late bus. With the exception of my orthodontist visits, I had a spotless record. I quickly ran home, got on my bike and rode it all the way to school. I got there on time.
I would ride my bike to school every day after that, except when the weather got too cold and my Dad would drive me. I was always able to ride the bus home from school on those days because Park Junior High was the start point in the afternoon, so I didn't have to worry about getting stranded. Even though it's supposedly not cool to ride in the front, that was where I sat in order to avoid the twerps in the back.
The odd thing was that one of those twerps actually turned out to be a pretty nice guy a few years later and I was friendly with him. He later became a preacher. Not all bullies are doomed to paths of self-destruction.
For as long as I could remember, my mother taught typing to ninth graders at Park. However, in 1978, she was promoted to being an English teacher at the high school. This was both good and bad. It was good because it meant I wasn't going to need to deal with her at school for two more years. I'd actually gotten used to not having either of my parents in the same building as me seven hours a day. The bad was that I was going to have to find some other way to get to school because she wasn't going to be able to drive me. I used to ride my bicycle to Zia, but Park was a lot further away and I really didn't want to ride my bike that far and back every day.
I decided to take the bus, the regular school bus. I just had to walk to Central Elementary, take the bus from there and I would arrive at Park in plenty of time.
The first couple of weeks, there was no problem getting on the bus. There were issues with some of the other students who just seemed to enjoy hassling everyone every day. (This is something I don't get about bullying: Many bullies appear to take delight in tormenting the same victims over and over again in pretty much the same manner. Does this not get old? Even when finding new victims, they will continue to provide the old ones with anguish on a regular basis.)
In the days that followed, more and more students started riding the bus. So much so that the bus driver started stranding students at the elementary school when the bus was full. Those students were not completely out of luck. There was another bus that came along a half hour later to take students to Park. However, I was told that bus frequently ran late and the school would not excuse any tardies for students who happened to be riding that bus. I guess the school's reasoning was that it was the students who were causing the bus to be late and if they started getting punished for their shenanigans, everyone would adjust their behavior accordingly. This was why the early bus started getting full.
One day, I was one of the students who was stranded. I knew I could not wait for the late bus. With the exception of my orthodontist visits, I had a spotless record. I quickly ran home, got on my bike and rode it all the way to school. I got there on time.
I would ride my bike to school every day after that, except when the weather got too cold and my Dad would drive me. I was always able to ride the bus home from school on those days because Park Junior High was the start point in the afternoon, so I didn't have to worry about getting stranded. Even though it's supposedly not cool to ride in the front, that was where I sat in order to avoid the twerps in the back.
The odd thing was that one of those twerps actually turned out to be a pretty nice guy a few years later and I was friendly with him. He later became a preacher. Not all bullies are doomed to paths of self-destruction.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
An old crush that somehow rose to the surface
This was an entry I wasn't expecting to make. It will be one of the few (outside of my YouTube postings) that will get published soon after I have written it. Friday's article about me learning how to square dance suprisingly brought back a lot of memories regarding one particular girl. This would be one of the girls who didn't want to dance with me. This was another crush with unusual circumstances surrounding her, as I will explain.
I'm not going to play the name game with her because I don't want anyone to think her name is one thing and it's actually another. She was a year younger than me. She had long dark hair and was very cute. I should explain that my family had to drive 20 miles to this small community to get to the square dance lessons. This girl was there every week, and I just assumed that she went to school in that small community.
I found out I was wrong when I saw her around Zia Intermediate school. We had been going to the same school for a couple of months and I had never noticed her before the square dancing lessons. One other thing I do know about her is that she was very smart as I always saw her name on the honor roll. Since the sixth and seventh graders were in mostly separate parts of the school, it was conceivable that I would not run into her very often.
I guess she somehow knew that I was into her. I know she had caught me looking at her several times. The only time during the lessons that we wound up together was during a partner switch. One move forced us to slightly hold hands. She scrunched and twisted my fingers and laughed about it a little. I said, "Ow!" but I was really enjoying the delicate torture.
After the square dance lessons were over, I rarely saw her at school. One day, my Mom's friend (the one from the Bible Stories and Radio Christmas story), who was also Zia's guidance counselor was telling her about this one girl at school she was working with. She didn't mention her name, but it was apparent to me who she was talking about when she said that she was one of the top students in the sixth grade. She said something to the effect that she had a messed-up family life at home and was really struggling to deal with both school and family.
I didn't know what to think of this. I remember her father was at all the square dance lessons, and he seemed like a normal person to me. I guess he worked at the refinery. I also think that her younger brother was at the lessons. I don't remember seeing the mother. Since the father brought his daughter and son to this kind of social setting, I never would have thought that there were problems at her home. At least, nothing any worse than what I was going through with my family.
I knew that I would not be seeing her the next year as I went to Park Junior High School, but I knew she would coming to the eighth grade there and I looked forward to seeing her again. In the summer of 1978 (before the ninth grade), I was riding my bicycle near Yucca Elementary. I thought I saw her outside one of the houses across the street from the school. I don't know if it was her, or even where she lived. It just looked like her.
Anyway, the start of the school year arrived and she wasn't there. I don't know what happened to her. I have not thought about her in more than 35 years. I have to wonder if she was able to get away from her home situation and make a success of her life. I'd certainly hate to think that she might have fallen into the Get Pregnant-Get Married Trap that a lot of girls in that situation were prone to.
I don't expect anyone who reads this blog to have the answer and I doubt I will ever find out. But the idea of wondering what happened to someone who actually had so little impact on my life will stay with me while she has likely completely forgotten about me.
I'm not going to play the name game with her because I don't want anyone to think her name is one thing and it's actually another. She was a year younger than me. She had long dark hair and was very cute. I should explain that my family had to drive 20 miles to this small community to get to the square dance lessons. This girl was there every week, and I just assumed that she went to school in that small community.
I found out I was wrong when I saw her around Zia Intermediate school. We had been going to the same school for a couple of months and I had never noticed her before the square dancing lessons. One other thing I do know about her is that she was very smart as I always saw her name on the honor roll. Since the sixth and seventh graders were in mostly separate parts of the school, it was conceivable that I would not run into her very often.
I guess she somehow knew that I was into her. I know she had caught me looking at her several times. The only time during the lessons that we wound up together was during a partner switch. One move forced us to slightly hold hands. She scrunched and twisted my fingers and laughed about it a little. I said, "Ow!" but I was really enjoying the delicate torture.
After the square dance lessons were over, I rarely saw her at school. One day, my Mom's friend (the one from the Bible Stories and Radio Christmas story), who was also Zia's guidance counselor was telling her about this one girl at school she was working with. She didn't mention her name, but it was apparent to me who she was talking about when she said that she was one of the top students in the sixth grade. She said something to the effect that she had a messed-up family life at home and was really struggling to deal with both school and family.
I didn't know what to think of this. I remember her father was at all the square dance lessons, and he seemed like a normal person to me. I guess he worked at the refinery. I also think that her younger brother was at the lessons. I don't remember seeing the mother. Since the father brought his daughter and son to this kind of social setting, I never would have thought that there were problems at her home. At least, nothing any worse than what I was going through with my family.
I knew that I would not be seeing her the next year as I went to Park Junior High School, but I knew she would coming to the eighth grade there and I looked forward to seeing her again. In the summer of 1978 (before the ninth grade), I was riding my bicycle near Yucca Elementary. I thought I saw her outside one of the houses across the street from the school. I don't know if it was her, or even where she lived. It just looked like her.
Anyway, the start of the school year arrived and she wasn't there. I don't know what happened to her. I have not thought about her in more than 35 years. I have to wonder if she was able to get away from her home situation and make a success of her life. I'd certainly hate to think that she might have fallen into the Get Pregnant-Get Married Trap that a lot of girls in that situation were prone to.
I don't expect anyone who reads this blog to have the answer and I doubt I will ever find out. But the idea of wondering what happened to someone who actually had so little impact on my life will stay with me while she has likely completely forgotten about me.
I see Aspie people
It seems like I see people with neurological disorders on TV all the time.
I should add that one of the best portrayals of Aspeger's that is currently on TV is on the show "Parenthood." The way that boy's character is written and portrayed is very similar to my own experience, without realizing what was going on.
I should add that one of the best portrayals of Aspeger's that is currently on TV is on the show "Parenthood." The way that boy's character is written and portrayed is very similar to my own experience, without realizing what was going on.
Monday, November 25, 2013
Infected by the acting bug
I managed to skip over a minor event in this blog that took place in the sixth grade. It actually had a major impact on my life. I got to take part in a school musical production. However, since I did it again in the seventh grade, I'll just let it count for this year as well.
In the sixth grade, the choir teacher (the one from the fire drill story) announced that since it was the Bicentennial (this was 1976), we were going to do a musical about the Boston Tea Party called "The Party that Shook the World" or something like that.
I had mentioned earlier how I got mad at seeing other kids my age on TV and wondered why I wasn't on TV. However, I was aware I was plain scared of getting up in front of an audience. The teacher said that she needed volunteers for the backstage crew. I volunteered. A few days later, she cast the show with two (almost) separate casts and needed to fill a few spots. There were some bit parts with one or two lines and she asked me to be one of them. It was like "Second Patriot." I thought I could handle this.
Then about a week later, the student she had cast as the lead character's son was unable to take part and she asked me to do the part. It was considerably larger, but I decided I thought I could handle it. However, I about freaked when the script called for me to sing a solo number. But then I got ticked off because the teacher turned it into an ensemble piece. I was actually was looking forward to doing that solo.
We performed the show for a few classes at the school in the cafeteria. While there were times that the other cast performed for the classes, our cast was the one selected to perform the production before a local civic group. The fun part was the actual Tea Party scene. We had a limited number of boxes that we could work with, so instead of bursting open the boxes and throwing them overboard like it was really done, we sort of played volleyball with them. When I was sitting in the audience watching the other cast, it only looked like they were throwing the boxes back and forth.
The next year, the teacher decided to do a musical called "The Saga of Dead Dog Gulch." It took place in the old west and was about a small town that was being taken over and re-designed by the women. They get scared at the end after they see a bunch of guys in their underwear. I got chosen for the largest role, which was the narrator. But I didn't really get to do much except recite my lines and sit on the stage most of the time watching everyone else do stuff. But it's not like the play had guys kissing girls or anything, so I wasn't really missing out on much. I still did not get to sing a solo. Dang it! I had a great voice, too.
However, this was a major production compared to what we had done the year before. We got to perform at the high school auditorium and had the setting painted on this huge backdrop. We felt like we had made the big time. However, it meant we had to yell all our lines in order to be heard. The choir teacher didn't know how to teach us to properly project.
So this is how I got started being interested in live theatre. I would do more once I got to high school and I eventually took Theatre as my second major when I was in college. However, I have never been able to make any kind of real living at it. I'll be tell you more about my exploits in theatre in upcoming blog posts.
Interestingly enough, when Loyd was in the seventh grade in 1980, his choir teacher (a different teacher) also decided to do "Dead Dog Gulch" and he wound up playing the same part I did. (The funny thing is that his class used the same backdrop we did because no one painted over it.) He did not get as bitten by the acting bug as I did, but that's because the high school completely did away with the drama department by the time he got there.
In the sixth grade, the choir teacher (the one from the fire drill story) announced that since it was the Bicentennial (this was 1976), we were going to do a musical about the Boston Tea Party called "The Party that Shook the World" or something like that.
I had mentioned earlier how I got mad at seeing other kids my age on TV and wondered why I wasn't on TV. However, I was aware I was plain scared of getting up in front of an audience. The teacher said that she needed volunteers for the backstage crew. I volunteered. A few days later, she cast the show with two (almost) separate casts and needed to fill a few spots. There were some bit parts with one or two lines and she asked me to be one of them. It was like "Second Patriot." I thought I could handle this.
Then about a week later, the student she had cast as the lead character's son was unable to take part and she asked me to do the part. It was considerably larger, but I decided I thought I could handle it. However, I about freaked when the script called for me to sing a solo number. But then I got ticked off because the teacher turned it into an ensemble piece. I was actually was looking forward to doing that solo.
We performed the show for a few classes at the school in the cafeteria. While there were times that the other cast performed for the classes, our cast was the one selected to perform the production before a local civic group. The fun part was the actual Tea Party scene. We had a limited number of boxes that we could work with, so instead of bursting open the boxes and throwing them overboard like it was really done, we sort of played volleyball with them. When I was sitting in the audience watching the other cast, it only looked like they were throwing the boxes back and forth.
The next year, the teacher decided to do a musical called "The Saga of Dead Dog Gulch." It took place in the old west and was about a small town that was being taken over and re-designed by the women. They get scared at the end after they see a bunch of guys in their underwear. I got chosen for the largest role, which was the narrator. But I didn't really get to do much except recite my lines and sit on the stage most of the time watching everyone else do stuff. But it's not like the play had guys kissing girls or anything, so I wasn't really missing out on much. I still did not get to sing a solo. Dang it! I had a great voice, too.
However, this was a major production compared to what we had done the year before. We got to perform at the high school auditorium and had the setting painted on this huge backdrop. We felt like we had made the big time. However, it meant we had to yell all our lines in order to be heard. The choir teacher didn't know how to teach us to properly project.
So this is how I got started being interested in live theatre. I would do more once I got to high school and I eventually took Theatre as my second major when I was in college. However, I have never been able to make any kind of real living at it. I'll be tell you more about my exploits in theatre in upcoming blog posts.
Interestingly enough, when Loyd was in the seventh grade in 1980, his choir teacher (a different teacher) also decided to do "Dead Dog Gulch" and he wound up playing the same part I did. (The funny thing is that his class used the same backdrop we did because no one painted over it.) He did not get as bitten by the acting bug as I did, but that's because the high school completely did away with the drama department by the time he got there.
Friday, November 22, 2013
Only a square learns to square dance
One thing that my parents liked to do was go square dancing. When I was in the seventh grade, they decided it was time that Loyd and I learn so we could go out as a family and square dance. Yeah, square dancing is for losers. That's part of what makes me one, even though I don't do it anymore.
I was okay with it up to the point that Loyd was going to get to learn at the same time. He just barely missed the cutoff for the lowest age they would accept. That meant I was going to have to put up with his nonsense.
Learning how to square dance gave me my first indication of how I was going to do with girls. At first, it wasn't that hard getting girls to be my partner. However, as the weeks wore on and more of my quirks became apparent, I couldn't get anyone close to my age to dance with me. I had to settle for asking the older women to be my partner. I kind of didn't like that. (I should also add that Loyd had similar problems.)
During your average square dancing song, everyone changes partners. The women move over to the men on their right side. This process continues until you get your original partner back at the end of the song. The first time the instructor pulled this switch after about a month's worth of lessons, he forgot to explain that changing partners is what's supposed to happen. So when the switch occurred, the experienced dancers knew what was going on, but we newbies were all, "What's going on?"
The one thing about doing that switch is that all those girls who didn't want to dance with me wound up being my partner at some point anyway.
However, the important thing about square dancing is that you absolutely have to have a partner if you are an adult at an actual dance. I feel sorry for someone who shows up solo at one of those things. It's one thing to be a teenager going with your parents. You can at least ask your mother to be your partner for a few dances. (Yes, I had to do that. I was such a loser.)
But I attended my last square dance when I was 13. And now, I can't even remember 90% of the calls. I would have to go through the whole learning process again. I'm not planning on doing that.
I was okay with it up to the point that Loyd was going to get to learn at the same time. He just barely missed the cutoff for the lowest age they would accept. That meant I was going to have to put up with his nonsense.
Learning how to square dance gave me my first indication of how I was going to do with girls. At first, it wasn't that hard getting girls to be my partner. However, as the weeks wore on and more of my quirks became apparent, I couldn't get anyone close to my age to dance with me. I had to settle for asking the older women to be my partner. I kind of didn't like that. (I should also add that Loyd had similar problems.)
During your average square dancing song, everyone changes partners. The women move over to the men on their right side. This process continues until you get your original partner back at the end of the song. The first time the instructor pulled this switch after about a month's worth of lessons, he forgot to explain that changing partners is what's supposed to happen. So when the switch occurred, the experienced dancers knew what was going on, but we newbies were all, "What's going on?"
The one thing about doing that switch is that all those girls who didn't want to dance with me wound up being my partner at some point anyway.
However, the important thing about square dancing is that you absolutely have to have a partner if you are an adult at an actual dance. I feel sorry for someone who shows up solo at one of those things. It's one thing to be a teenager going with your parents. You can at least ask your mother to be your partner for a few dances. (Yes, I had to do that. I was such a loser.)
But I attended my last square dance when I was 13. And now, I can't even remember 90% of the calls. I would have to go through the whole learning process again. I'm not planning on doing that.
Fun in the doctor's office!
My time waiting for the doctor is worth at least a little something.
I'll let you know if I'm ever able to score a dialysis machine.
I'll let you know if I'm ever able to score a dialysis machine.
Braceface! (Redux)
(A note to readers: I had used the Blogger App on my phone to publish this on 11/21/13 because I was spending a lot of time on the road. However, the post, which was accessible because I shared it on Facebook and Twitter, seemed to completely disappear from my list of published articles and was not retrievable from my list of drafts. It ceased to exist on my profile. I copied and pasted the text below into a new blog post because there is a reference to it in the final sentence of the previous article.)
This is probably the main thing that affected my life the most when I was in the seventh grade: Having to get braces. I had seen lots of TV shows in which kids get braces. I never thought I would be one of them. (I should note that "The Brady Bunch" flat out LIED about braces. In one episode, Marcia has to wear braces for only TWO WEEKS! There is NO WAY that would happen in the real world! Braces for two weeks would be a waste of time AND money. I wonder how many kids watched that episode and were shocked to find out how long they were really going to have to wear braces.)
I never thought my teeth were that incredibly crooked, but I guess my Mom thought so, and she took me to see an orthodontist. At this time, in 1977, there was only one orthodontist in our region of the state. His regular practice was in Roswell. What he would do was work four days a week there and then spend one Friday a month in the surrounding towns. This meant that EVERY SINGLE PERSON IN ARTESIA WHO HAD BRACES ALL HAD TO COME SEE THE ORTHODONTIST ON THE SAME DAY!
He probably saw between eight to ten people an hour. Most of the time, the patients just needed a quick adjustment. If I was able to get in at 8am, I could make it to school on time. But I rarely got that slot, so I would be late for my first class at least once a month.
When my Mom took me to see him for the consult, he said I would need to wear braces for two years. He also said that at some point, I would have to wear a night brace for a while. The cost was estimated at $2,000. This was back before dental insurance would cover braces. In fact, dental insurance started paying for braces about one year after I had mine removed.
Before I got the braces put on, I had to have four teeth extracted. I went to two separate appointments at my regular dentist. The first time, I kept my eyes closed the whole time. I could feel the dentist doing a lot of pushing and pulling in my mouth. The next week, I opened my eyes once. Big mistake. I could see the dentist was using what appeared to be a pair of pliers to remove my teeth. That freaked me out.
To have the braces put in, I had to go to Roswell and miss some classes. They didn't feel too bad. In the gaps where my extracted teeth used to be, there were these little springs.
The first few monthly appointments were fairly smooth. I would just go in and he would adjust the springs. However, after he removed the springs, the real torture began. Every month, he would tighten the wires strung through all the braces and my mouth would be in severe pain the entire weekend. I would not be able to eat anything solid. Mom got mad at me because all I wanted were milkshakes. After the weekend, everything felt normal again and I could eat regularly.
I never did have to wear the night brace. However, I did have to wear a rubber band that connected the top and bottom teeth of my left side for a couple of months. I had to keep the band in at all times, even when I was eating. I was given a small bag of rubber bands and was told to replace them if they broke. I sort of got into the habit of chewing on the rubber bands while they were in my mouth. This made them break more often. It got to the point that I was breaking one every hour. I had to start being more careful with them.
Almost two years to the day I had the braces put on, I got to have them removed. Two weeks later, I had to go back to get the retainers. He put a permanent one on my lower teeth and the removable one for the upper part of my mouth. I had trouble removing the upper retainer on my first day. I coughed up some phlegm and it got stuck between the retainer and the roof of my mouth. Once I actually got the retainer out for lunch, it was permanently stained with the phlegm. I could not remove that stain no matter how much I brushed the retainer.
I continued to wear the retainers through high school and I never lost the upper one. I made certain to wear it every day and my teeth stayed straight. I only had to see the orthodontist about once every three months at this point. I basically came in, sat down, he'd look in my mouth, say everything looked good and told me to come back in three months. During my senior year, he told me that my next appointment would be the last one I would have with him.
I assume that he was going to remove the bottom retainer at that last appointment, but I didn't go for some reason. I think it had to do with me forgetting what date the appointment was and his office never called to confirm it. I stopped wearing the upper retainer less and less, but kept the bottom retainer in.
That bottom retainer would stay in my mouth until I was 36 years old. Because I didn't have dental insurance, I didn't go see a dentist for more than 13 years, even though I could see and feel the wisdom teeth on the right side of my mouth decaying away. The dentist who cleaned my teeth said they would need to remove my bottom retainer so they could clean my teeth better. They would also have to create a new Invisalign retainer so I could keep my bottom teeth straight. I said I didn't think I needed a bottom retainer because I was pretty certain everything was going to stay in place. They said they could do it, but it would cost $150. I told them I didn't want them to do it.
I had planned a vacation home to New Mexico. I decided to look up my old orthodontist. I found out he had retired and someone else had taken over his practice. I was able to see that orthodontist and he said he could remove the retainer and make the Invisalign for $70. When I told him the retainer had been in my mouth for 22 years, I'm pretty certain his assistant was thinking, "Wow! That's longer than I've been alive!" I wore the Invisalign retainer for a few weeks, but I got fed up with it and stopped using it. Nothing ever happened to my bottom teeth.
An amusing follow up to this story is that about 15 years after I graduated from high school, Mom decided she wanted to get her teeth straightened and she went to see the same orthodontist Loyd and I did. She chose to get the regular braces and not the Invisalign. She soon found out what it was that me and my brother went through. She said, "I was not sympathetic enough with you boys. I had no idea it was this painful."
This is probably the main thing that affected my life the most when I was in the seventh grade: Having to get braces. I had seen lots of TV shows in which kids get braces. I never thought I would be one of them. (I should note that "The Brady Bunch" flat out LIED about braces. In one episode, Marcia has to wear braces for only TWO WEEKS! There is NO WAY that would happen in the real world! Braces for two weeks would be a waste of time AND money. I wonder how many kids watched that episode and were shocked to find out how long they were really going to have to wear braces.)
I never thought my teeth were that incredibly crooked, but I guess my Mom thought so, and she took me to see an orthodontist. At this time, in 1977, there was only one orthodontist in our region of the state. His regular practice was in Roswell. What he would do was work four days a week there and then spend one Friday a month in the surrounding towns. This meant that EVERY SINGLE PERSON IN ARTESIA WHO HAD BRACES ALL HAD TO COME SEE THE ORTHODONTIST ON THE SAME DAY!
He probably saw between eight to ten people an hour. Most of the time, the patients just needed a quick adjustment. If I was able to get in at 8am, I could make it to school on time. But I rarely got that slot, so I would be late for my first class at least once a month.
When my Mom took me to see him for the consult, he said I would need to wear braces for two years. He also said that at some point, I would have to wear a night brace for a while. The cost was estimated at $2,000. This was back before dental insurance would cover braces. In fact, dental insurance started paying for braces about one year after I had mine removed.
Before I got the braces put on, I had to have four teeth extracted. I went to two separate appointments at my regular dentist. The first time, I kept my eyes closed the whole time. I could feel the dentist doing a lot of pushing and pulling in my mouth. The next week, I opened my eyes once. Big mistake. I could see the dentist was using what appeared to be a pair of pliers to remove my teeth. That freaked me out.
To have the braces put in, I had to go to Roswell and miss some classes. They didn't feel too bad. In the gaps where my extracted teeth used to be, there were these little springs.
The first few monthly appointments were fairly smooth. I would just go in and he would adjust the springs. However, after he removed the springs, the real torture began. Every month, he would tighten the wires strung through all the braces and my mouth would be in severe pain the entire weekend. I would not be able to eat anything solid. Mom got mad at me because all I wanted were milkshakes. After the weekend, everything felt normal again and I could eat regularly.
I never did have to wear the night brace. However, I did have to wear a rubber band that connected the top and bottom teeth of my left side for a couple of months. I had to keep the band in at all times, even when I was eating. I was given a small bag of rubber bands and was told to replace them if they broke. I sort of got into the habit of chewing on the rubber bands while they were in my mouth. This made them break more often. It got to the point that I was breaking one every hour. I had to start being more careful with them.
Almost two years to the day I had the braces put on, I got to have them removed. Two weeks later, I had to go back to get the retainers. He put a permanent one on my lower teeth and the removable one for the upper part of my mouth. I had trouble removing the upper retainer on my first day. I coughed up some phlegm and it got stuck between the retainer and the roof of my mouth. Once I actually got the retainer out for lunch, it was permanently stained with the phlegm. I could not remove that stain no matter how much I brushed the retainer.
I continued to wear the retainers through high school and I never lost the upper one. I made certain to wear it every day and my teeth stayed straight. I only had to see the orthodontist about once every three months at this point. I basically came in, sat down, he'd look in my mouth, say everything looked good and told me to come back in three months. During my senior year, he told me that my next appointment would be the last one I would have with him.
I assume that he was going to remove the bottom retainer at that last appointment, but I didn't go for some reason. I think it had to do with me forgetting what date the appointment was and his office never called to confirm it. I stopped wearing the upper retainer less and less, but kept the bottom retainer in.
That bottom retainer would stay in my mouth until I was 36 years old. Because I didn't have dental insurance, I didn't go see a dentist for more than 13 years, even though I could see and feel the wisdom teeth on the right side of my mouth decaying away. The dentist who cleaned my teeth said they would need to remove my bottom retainer so they could clean my teeth better. They would also have to create a new Invisalign retainer so I could keep my bottom teeth straight. I said I didn't think I needed a bottom retainer because I was pretty certain everything was going to stay in place. They said they could do it, but it would cost $150. I told them I didn't want them to do it.
I had planned a vacation home to New Mexico. I decided to look up my old orthodontist. I found out he had retired and someone else had taken over his practice. I was able to see that orthodontist and he said he could remove the retainer and make the Invisalign for $70. When I told him the retainer had been in my mouth for 22 years, I'm pretty certain his assistant was thinking, "Wow! That's longer than I've been alive!" I wore the Invisalign retainer for a few weeks, but I got fed up with it and stopped using it. Nothing ever happened to my bottom teeth.
An amusing follow up to this story is that about 15 years after I graduated from high school, Mom decided she wanted to get her teeth straightened and she went to see the same orthodontist Loyd and I did. She chose to get the regular braces and not the Invisalign. She soon found out what it was that me and my brother went through. She said, "I was not sympathetic enough with you boys. I had no idea it was this painful."
Braceface!
This is probably the main thing that affected my life the most when I was in the seventh grade: Having to get braces. I had seen lots of TV shows in which kids get braces. I never thought I would be one of them. (I should note that "The Brady Bunch" flat out LIED about braces. In one episode, Marcia has to wear braces for only TWO WEEKS! There is NO WAY that would happen in the real world! Braces for two weeks would be a waste of time AND money. I wonder how many kids watched that episode and were shocked to find out how long they were really going to have to wear braces.)
I never thought my teeth were that incredibly crooked, but I guess my Mom thought so, and she took me to see an orthodontist. At this time, in 1977, there was only one orthodontist in our region of the state. His regular practice was in Roswell. What he would do was work four days a week there and then spend one Friday a month in the surrounding towns. This meant that EVERY SINGLE PERSON IN ARTESIA WHO HAD BRACES ALL HAD TO COME SEE THE ORTHODONTIST ON THE SAME DAY!
He probably saw between eight to ten people an hour. Most of the time, the patients just needed a quick adjustment. If I was able to get in at 8am, I could make it to school on time. But I rarely got that slot, so I would be late for my first class at least once a month.
When my Mom took me to see him for the consult, he said I would need to wear braces for two years. He also said that at some point, I would have to wear a night brace for a while. The cost was estimated at $2,000. This was back before dental insurance would cover braces. In fact, dental insurance started paying for braces about one year after I had mine removed.
Before I got the braces put on, I had to have four teeth extracted. I went to two separate appointments at my regular dentist. The first time, I kept my eyes closed the whole time. I could feel the dentist doing a lot of pushing and pulling in my mouth. The next week, I opened my eyes once. Big mistake. I could see the dentist was using what appeared to be a pair of pliers to remove my teeth. That freaked me out.
To have the braces put in, I had to go to Roswell and miss some classes. They didn't feel too bad. In the gaps where my extracted teeth used to be, there were these little springs.
The first few monthly appointments were fairly smooth. I would just go in and he would adjust the springs. However, after he removed the springs, the real torture began. Every month, he would tighten the wires strung through all the braces and my mouth would be in severe pain the entire weekend. I would not be able to eat anything solid. Mom got mad at me because all I wanted were milkshakes. After the weekend, everything felt normal again and I could eat regularly.
I never did have to wear the night brace. However, I did have to wear a rubber band that connected the top and bottom teeth of my left side for a couple of months. I had to keep the band in at all times, even when I was eating. I was given a small bag of rubber bands and was told to replace them if they broke. I sort of got into the habit of chewing on the rubber bands while they were in my mouth. This made them break more often. It got to the point that I was breaking one every hour. I had to start being more careful with them.
Almost two years to the day I had the braces put on, I got to have them removed. Two weeks later, I had to go back to get the retainers. He put a permanent one on my lower teeth and the removable one for the upper part of my mouth. I had trouble removing the upper retainer on my first day. I coughed up some phlegm and it got stuck between the retainer and the roof of my mouth. Once I actually got the retainer out for lunch, it was permanently stained with the phlegm. I could not remove that stain no matter how much I brushed the retainer.
I continued to wear the retainers through high school and I never lost the upper one. I made certain to wear it every day and my teeth stayed straight. I only had to see the orthodontist about once every three months at this point. I basically came in, sat down, he'd look in my mouth, say everything looked good and told me to come back in three months. During my senior year, he told me that my next appointment would be the last one I would have with him.
I assume that he was going to remove the bottom retainer at that last appointment, but I didn't go for some reason. I think it had to do with me forgetting what date the appointment was and his office never called to confirm it. I stopped wearing the upper retainer less and less, but kept the bottom retainer in.
That bottom retainer would stay in my mouth until I was 36 years old. Because I didn't have dental insurance, I didn't go see a dentist for more than 13 years, even though I could see and feel the wisdom teeth on the right side of my mouth decaying away. The dentist who cleaned my teeth said they would need to remove my bottom retainer so they could clean my teeth better. They would also have to create a new Invisalign retainer so I could keep my bottom teeth straight. I said I didn't think I needed a bottom retainer because I was pretty certain everything was going to stay in place. They said they could do it, but it would cost $150. I told them I didn't want them to do it.
I had planned a vacation home to New Mexico. I decided to look up my old orthodontist. I found out he had retired and someone else had taken over his practice. I was able to see that orthodontist and he said he could remove the retainer and make the Invisalign for $70. When I told him the retainer had been in my mouth for 22 years, I'm pretty certain his assistant was thinking, "Wow! That's longer than I've been alive!" I wore the Invisalign retainer for a few weeks, but I got fed up with it and stopped using it. Nothing ever happened to my bottom teeth.
An amusing follow up to this story is that about 15 years after I graduated from high school, Mom decided she wanted to get her teeth straightened and she went to see the same orthodontist Loyd and I did. She chose to get the regular braces and not the Invisalign. She soon found out what it was that me and my brother went through. She said, "I was not sympathetic enough with you boys. I had no idea it was this painful."
I never thought my teeth were that incredibly crooked, but I guess my Mom thought so, and she took me to see an orthodontist. At this time, in 1977, there was only one orthodontist in our region of the state. His regular practice was in Roswell. What he would do was work four days a week there and then spend one Friday a month in the surrounding towns. This meant that EVERY SINGLE PERSON IN ARTESIA WHO HAD BRACES ALL HAD TO COME SEE THE ORTHODONTIST ON THE SAME DAY!
He probably saw between eight to ten people an hour. Most of the time, the patients just needed a quick adjustment. If I was able to get in at 8am, I could make it to school on time. But I rarely got that slot, so I would be late for my first class at least once a month.
When my Mom took me to see him for the consult, he said I would need to wear braces for two years. He also said that at some point, I would have to wear a night brace for a while. The cost was estimated at $2,000. This was back before dental insurance would cover braces. In fact, dental insurance started paying for braces about one year after I had mine removed.
Before I got the braces put on, I had to have four teeth extracted. I went to two separate appointments at my regular dentist. The first time, I kept my eyes closed the whole time. I could feel the dentist doing a lot of pushing and pulling in my mouth. The next week, I opened my eyes once. Big mistake. I could see the dentist was using what appeared to be a pair of pliers to remove my teeth. That freaked me out.
To have the braces put in, I had to go to Roswell and miss some classes. They didn't feel too bad. In the gaps where my extracted teeth used to be, there were these little springs.
The first few monthly appointments were fairly smooth. I would just go in and he would adjust the springs. However, after he removed the springs, the real torture began. Every month, he would tighten the wires strung through all the braces and my mouth would be in severe pain the entire weekend. I would not be able to eat anything solid. Mom got mad at me because all I wanted were milkshakes. After the weekend, everything felt normal again and I could eat regularly.
I never did have to wear the night brace. However, I did have to wear a rubber band that connected the top and bottom teeth of my left side for a couple of months. I had to keep the band in at all times, even when I was eating. I was given a small bag of rubber bands and was told to replace them if they broke. I sort of got into the habit of chewing on the rubber bands while they were in my mouth. This made them break more often. It got to the point that I was breaking one every hour. I had to start being more careful with them.
Almost two years to the day I had the braces put on, I got to have them removed. Two weeks later, I had to go back to get the retainers. He put a permanent one on my lower teeth and the removable one for the upper part of my mouth. I had trouble removing the upper retainer on my first day. I coughed up some phlegm and it got stuck between the retainer and the roof of my mouth. Once I actually got the retainer out for lunch, it was permanently stained with the phlegm. I could not remove that stain no matter how much I brushed the retainer.
I continued to wear the retainers through high school and I never lost the upper one. I made certain to wear it every day and my teeth stayed straight. I only had to see the orthodontist about once every three months at this point. I basically came in, sat down, he'd look in my mouth, say everything looked good and told me to come back in three months. During my senior year, he told me that my next appointment would be the last one I would have with him.
I assume that he was going to remove the bottom retainer at that last appointment, but I didn't go for some reason. I think it had to do with me forgetting what date the appointment was and his office never called to confirm it. I stopped wearing the upper retainer less and less, but kept the bottom retainer in.
That bottom retainer would stay in my mouth until I was 36 years old. Because I didn't have dental insurance, I didn't go see a dentist for more than 13 years, even though I could see and feel the wisdom teeth on the right side of my mouth decaying away. The dentist who cleaned my teeth said they would need to remove my bottom retainer so they could clean my teeth better. They would also have to create a new Invisalign retainer so I could keep my bottom teeth straight. I said I didn't think I needed a bottom retainer because I was pretty certain everything was going to stay in place. They said they could do it, but it would cost $150. I told them I didn't want them to do it.
I had planned a vacation home to New Mexico. I decided to look up my old orthodontist. I found out he had retired and someone else had taken over his practice. I was able to see that orthodontist and he said he could remove the retainer and make the Invisalign for $70. When I told him the retainer had been in my mouth for 22 years, I'm pretty certain his assistant was thinking, "Wow! That's longer than I've been alive!" I wore the Invisalign retainer for a few weeks, but I got fed up with it and stopped using it. Nothing ever happened to my bottom teeth.
An amusing follow up to this story is that about 15 years after I graduated from high school, Mom decided she wanted to get her teeth straightened and she went to see the same orthodontist Loyd and I did. She chose to get the regular braces and not the Invisalign. She soon found out what it was that me and my brother went through. She said, "I was not sympathetic enough with you boys. I had no idea it was this painful."
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Losing the spelling bee
For the most part, there was nothing quite as eventful in the seventh grade compared to what I experienced in the sixth grade, but there are still a couple of major things worth writing about.
The first is the school's spelling bee. Every year, students in the seventh grade were given the opportunity to take part. I assume it was connected to the Scripps spelling bee. However, we were only permitted to enter in the seventh grade. When I saw the documentary "Spellbound," I was surprised to see that many of the contestants got to enter in the seventh, eighth and ninth grades. I don't know if they changed the rules of participation since I was a kid, but it was only the seventh-graders who were allowed to participate at my school.
And I almost did not get to participate. My English teacher plain forgot to tell the class about it. I happened to be walking into the lobby of the school when another English teacher told me the spelling bee was about to begin and I needed to go in right away. Later that day in English class, some of the other students complained that no one told them about the spelling bee. The teacher said that she knows she told us because I was there. I didn't mention that I got in by sheer chance.
The teachers took the words for the contest out of our vocabulary books. The first day went pretty well. I got all my words right. I always got 100% on the spelling tests, so I thought this would be a breeze. I told Mom after I got home from school that I was in the spelling bee. She told me I needed to study. Since they were using words we had already learned and I knew how to spell them, I brushed her off.
For Day 2, I got my first couple of words correct. On my third word, I swear the teacher said, "thorough." I'm pretty certain I spelled the word correctly, but my English teacher sadly shook her head. Since there were other teachers looking at copies of the same book, none of them challenged it. And none of the other students spoke up. Maybe I did get it wrong. I also theorized that the teacher meant to say "through" and it came out wrong and no one caught it. I'll never know. I just know that I was out of the spelling bee.
My mom got on my case for not studying like she asked me to. I don't think it would have helped. I was very unlikely to beat the person considered to be the top student in the seventh grade. He got to go to El Paso to compete in the regional spelling bee. I think he wound up in 35th place. When I look at how the Scripps Spelling bee operates and the words they use, there is no way I would have even done that well if I had gotten to go.
You'll have to brace yourself for tomorrow's post.
The first is the school's spelling bee. Every year, students in the seventh grade were given the opportunity to take part. I assume it was connected to the Scripps spelling bee. However, we were only permitted to enter in the seventh grade. When I saw the documentary "Spellbound," I was surprised to see that many of the contestants got to enter in the seventh, eighth and ninth grades. I don't know if they changed the rules of participation since I was a kid, but it was only the seventh-graders who were allowed to participate at my school.
And I almost did not get to participate. My English teacher plain forgot to tell the class about it. I happened to be walking into the lobby of the school when another English teacher told me the spelling bee was about to begin and I needed to go in right away. Later that day in English class, some of the other students complained that no one told them about the spelling bee. The teacher said that she knows she told us because I was there. I didn't mention that I got in by sheer chance.
The teachers took the words for the contest out of our vocabulary books. The first day went pretty well. I got all my words right. I always got 100% on the spelling tests, so I thought this would be a breeze. I told Mom after I got home from school that I was in the spelling bee. She told me I needed to study. Since they were using words we had already learned and I knew how to spell them, I brushed her off.
For Day 2, I got my first couple of words correct. On my third word, I swear the teacher said, "thorough." I'm pretty certain I spelled the word correctly, but my English teacher sadly shook her head. Since there were other teachers looking at copies of the same book, none of them challenged it. And none of the other students spoke up. Maybe I did get it wrong. I also theorized that the teacher meant to say "through" and it came out wrong and no one caught it. I'll never know. I just know that I was out of the spelling bee.
My mom got on my case for not studying like she asked me to. I don't think it would have helped. I was very unlikely to beat the person considered to be the top student in the seventh grade. He got to go to El Paso to compete in the regional spelling bee. I think he wound up in 35th place. When I look at how the Scripps Spelling bee operates and the words they use, there is no way I would have even done that well if I had gotten to go.
You'll have to brace yourself for tomorrow's post.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Abo Elementary sucks!
Okay, this is my blog post to give you all the dirt on Abo Elementary, and trust me, there's already a lot of dirt on that school. I personally thought it was cool that we had a one-of-a-kind school in our little town. However, nothing prepared me for the jerks who were educated there.
A little background history: Abo was opened in 1962 during the Cold War. All the classrooms, cafeteria and other facilities were located underground so that it could serve as a fallout shelter. It was designed to be large enough to hold more than 2,100 people. In preparation for the "inevitable," the Artesia School District took their best teachers from the other schools and re-assigned them to Abo. ("If a nuclear warhead blows up near our town, our kids will still be able to get a first-rate education while waiting for the radiation to subside.") So, when the school opened, the students who got to go there actually received the best elementary education the town had to offer.
And that was the problem. The students from Abo were really full of themselves because they were living with the legend of the "Great Abo School," even though most of the teachers who were first brought over there had stopped teaching years before and were replaced with at least average-level teachers once it became more obvious there was no actual threat of nuclear annihilation.
That didn't stop them from thinking they were better than the students from Hermosa. Another problem was that there were more students who went to Abo than the other schools. This was due in part to people building new homes in the district so that their children could go there. I wonder if the development became so lopsided that they had to redraw school district boundaries and some students who used to go to Abo wound up in some other district.
Because there were so many Abo students, it was a challenge to get elected to be homeroom president at Zia. Whoever was elected from each class got to serve on the student council. It was 95% Abo students.
As for that rivalry between Abo and Hermosa schools, Yucca, Central and Roselawn students pretty much stayed out of the "which school is better" debate, because they didn't feel they had a horse in that race. It didn't help that Abo won the annual track meet among all the elementary schools every year.
Artesia used to have its students go to two separate locations for junior high school. Zia and Park. This presented a major problem of rivalries when they started to go to high school. The solution was to send the sixth and seventh grades to Zia and the eighth and ninth grades to Park. All this did was create a more intense Hermosa/Abo rivalry that got pushed up into the tenth grade and beyond. Yes, the petty argument over which elementary school was better still stuck around more than four years after the students finished fifth grade.
Because the rivalry between Hermosa and Abo lingered on into high school, the school board attempted to do what they had done with Zia and Park. Since there were five different schools, Each school would cover one grade each. First graders would go to one school, then to another for second and so on. That would get rid of the rivalries if everyone knows each other from the get go.
You probably remember how I wrote about Roselawn being made up primarily of Hispanic students because it was near the Catholic Church. Well, parents were in an uproar at the thought that their kids were going to have to go to school in that neighborhood for nine months. So that idea was nixed.
Eventually, Abo fell into disrepair and a decision was made to close it down and build a brand new school right next door. Hallelujah! The original plans called for them to fill in the Abo site with cement, but I think the logistics of pouring that much cement got in the way of reality and they never attempted it. The name of the new school is Yeso. My father's wife taught there for awhile.
So the school still stands. The outer building that students had to enter to go downstairs still has the name on the outside: "Abo Elementary School and Fallout Shelter." It feels like the school has never actually gone away and probably never will.
A little background history: Abo was opened in 1962 during the Cold War. All the classrooms, cafeteria and other facilities were located underground so that it could serve as a fallout shelter. It was designed to be large enough to hold more than 2,100 people. In preparation for the "inevitable," the Artesia School District took their best teachers from the other schools and re-assigned them to Abo. ("If a nuclear warhead blows up near our town, our kids will still be able to get a first-rate education while waiting for the radiation to subside.") So, when the school opened, the students who got to go there actually received the best elementary education the town had to offer.
And that was the problem. The students from Abo were really full of themselves because they were living with the legend of the "Great Abo School," even though most of the teachers who were first brought over there had stopped teaching years before and were replaced with at least average-level teachers once it became more obvious there was no actual threat of nuclear annihilation.
That didn't stop them from thinking they were better than the students from Hermosa. Another problem was that there were more students who went to Abo than the other schools. This was due in part to people building new homes in the district so that their children could go there. I wonder if the development became so lopsided that they had to redraw school district boundaries and some students who used to go to Abo wound up in some other district.
Because there were so many Abo students, it was a challenge to get elected to be homeroom president at Zia. Whoever was elected from each class got to serve on the student council. It was 95% Abo students.
As for that rivalry between Abo and Hermosa schools, Yucca, Central and Roselawn students pretty much stayed out of the "which school is better" debate, because they didn't feel they had a horse in that race. It didn't help that Abo won the annual track meet among all the elementary schools every year.
Artesia used to have its students go to two separate locations for junior high school. Zia and Park. This presented a major problem of rivalries when they started to go to high school. The solution was to send the sixth and seventh grades to Zia and the eighth and ninth grades to Park. All this did was create a more intense Hermosa/Abo rivalry that got pushed up into the tenth grade and beyond. Yes, the petty argument over which elementary school was better still stuck around more than four years after the students finished fifth grade.
Because the rivalry between Hermosa and Abo lingered on into high school, the school board attempted to do what they had done with Zia and Park. Since there were five different schools, Each school would cover one grade each. First graders would go to one school, then to another for second and so on. That would get rid of the rivalries if everyone knows each other from the get go.
You probably remember how I wrote about Roselawn being made up primarily of Hispanic students because it was near the Catholic Church. Well, parents were in an uproar at the thought that their kids were going to have to go to school in that neighborhood for nine months. So that idea was nixed.
Eventually, Abo fell into disrepair and a decision was made to close it down and build a brand new school right next door. Hallelujah! The original plans called for them to fill in the Abo site with cement, but I think the logistics of pouring that much cement got in the way of reality and they never attempted it. The name of the new school is Yeso. My father's wife taught there for awhile.
So the school still stands. The outer building that students had to enter to go downstairs still has the name on the outside: "Abo Elementary School and Fallout Shelter." It feels like the school has never actually gone away and probably never will.
Who wants to waste fishing time having fun?
This is a memory that should be positive but it's not.
One thing I didn't mention in the video or the notes is that once, we were out camping and Dad told me we were going to go fishing very early in the morning. I woke up and found my clothes beside me, but Dad was not there. When he came back, he said he tried to wake me, but I wouldn't get up. Trust me, I'm a very light sleeper, especially when we're out camping. He might be telling the truth, but I have to wonder how hard he tried.
One thing I didn't mention in the video or the notes is that once, we were out camping and Dad told me we were going to go fishing very early in the morning. I woke up and found my clothes beside me, but Dad was not there. When he came back, he said he tried to wake me, but I wouldn't get up. Trust me, I'm a very light sleeper, especially when we're out camping. He might be telling the truth, but I have to wonder how hard he tried.
Monday, November 18, 2013
Encounters with a bully
Prior to the sixth grade, I had experienced numerous incidents with bullies. None of them were a really big deal. However, this one got pretty rough.
It was during after school football practice. It was the first time I had been put in a group with this guy. I'll call him Jod. He was a lot larger than the other sixth graders, and not in a muscular way.
I'll admit upfront: I was causing the problem. I kept smarting off during the huddles that he was leading. I wasn't saying anything bad about him personally. I was just making a lot of general clown-like comments. He got irritated because every time we got into a huddle, I interrupted him. He yelled at me a couple of times to be quiet, but I wouldn't do it.
After practice, when we were going home. Jod came up behind me and pushed me on the ground. I dropped my books and a lot of paper fell out.
The next morning, during first period Athletics, the coach told me I was being called to the principal's office. This came at an inconvenient time, as I had just put on my football uniform. I had no idea what was going on. I had to walk through the school wearing my uniform. I also had not been able to put on my shoes, so I was walking to the principal's office in sock feet. Inside the principal's office were Jod, Wild, a boy I knew from Hermosa and another boy I had just met at Zia that year.
Apparently, the three of them ganged up on him because of what he did to me the day before. I don't remember everything the principal said. He just gave us a stern talking to and let us go. I felt really bad because I knew that it was my fault, but I didn't admit it.
Normally, I wouldn't bring up my bully encounters. I probably won't again. However, some weird stuff happened about a quarter-century later. I happened to be home in Artesia, visiting my father. I picked up the paper and saw this big article about how Jod had been arrested. This actually had an impact on me, as I am about to explain.
After graduating from high school, Jod went to New Mexico State University, graduated in 1991 and became a teacher. He came back to Artesia to teach Special Education. starting with fourth and fifth grades at Roselawn Elementary and working his way up to sixth grade. Honestly, it was one of the last things I ever expected him to do. I just thought he would go to work at the refinery.
According to the paper, he got caught up in an FBI sting trying to meet up with a 13-year-old girl on the Internet. He wound up getting sentenced to five years in prison and lost his teaching job.
The funny thing is that I got this feeling I would run into him again some day. I didn't know when, but I knew it would likely be years after he got released from prison.
That day came about a year and a half ago. I was with Mom, Loyd and Mom's husband Dend on Mother's Day. We went to a buffet at an Indian casino in Ruidoso, NM. The line to the buffet snaked back and forth. At one point, Mom and Dend saw some people they knew. With them was Jod. They were his parents. I tried not to make eye contact, but I know he saw me.
At the buffet, Jod and his parents were sitting a couple of tables away from us. I knew that I wasn't going to say anything about what happened to him. I didn't need to air his dirty laundry in public. Unfortunately, Dend didn't share those same sentiments. He said to us, "That guy over there? He got in trouble for messing around with one of his students!"
AARRGH! This meant I was going to have to break my promise to myself. I felt like to had to kind of come to his defense even though he was a jerk who deserved it. I explained that it wasn't one of his students, it was an FBI sting. And then I said I didn't think it was a good idea to talk about that when he was just 15 feet away. I had this image in my mind of him getting up, walking over and pushing me out of my chair. Fortunately, that didn't happen.
I have not seen Jod since. I don't want to.
It was during after school football practice. It was the first time I had been put in a group with this guy. I'll call him Jod. He was a lot larger than the other sixth graders, and not in a muscular way.
I'll admit upfront: I was causing the problem. I kept smarting off during the huddles that he was leading. I wasn't saying anything bad about him personally. I was just making a lot of general clown-like comments. He got irritated because every time we got into a huddle, I interrupted him. He yelled at me a couple of times to be quiet, but I wouldn't do it.
After practice, when we were going home. Jod came up behind me and pushed me on the ground. I dropped my books and a lot of paper fell out.
The next morning, during first period Athletics, the coach told me I was being called to the principal's office. This came at an inconvenient time, as I had just put on my football uniform. I had no idea what was going on. I had to walk through the school wearing my uniform. I also had not been able to put on my shoes, so I was walking to the principal's office in sock feet. Inside the principal's office were Jod, Wild, a boy I knew from Hermosa and another boy I had just met at Zia that year.
Apparently, the three of them ganged up on him because of what he did to me the day before. I don't remember everything the principal said. He just gave us a stern talking to and let us go. I felt really bad because I knew that it was my fault, but I didn't admit it.
Normally, I wouldn't bring up my bully encounters. I probably won't again. However, some weird stuff happened about a quarter-century later. I happened to be home in Artesia, visiting my father. I picked up the paper and saw this big article about how Jod had been arrested. This actually had an impact on me, as I am about to explain.
After graduating from high school, Jod went to New Mexico State University, graduated in 1991 and became a teacher. He came back to Artesia to teach Special Education. starting with fourth and fifth grades at Roselawn Elementary and working his way up to sixth grade. Honestly, it was one of the last things I ever expected him to do. I just thought he would go to work at the refinery.
According to the paper, he got caught up in an FBI sting trying to meet up with a 13-year-old girl on the Internet. He wound up getting sentenced to five years in prison and lost his teaching job.
The funny thing is that I got this feeling I would run into him again some day. I didn't know when, but I knew it would likely be years after he got released from prison.
That day came about a year and a half ago. I was with Mom, Loyd and Mom's husband Dend on Mother's Day. We went to a buffet at an Indian casino in Ruidoso, NM. The line to the buffet snaked back and forth. At one point, Mom and Dend saw some people they knew. With them was Jod. They were his parents. I tried not to make eye contact, but I know he saw me.
At the buffet, Jod and his parents were sitting a couple of tables away from us. I knew that I wasn't going to say anything about what happened to him. I didn't need to air his dirty laundry in public. Unfortunately, Dend didn't share those same sentiments. He said to us, "That guy over there? He got in trouble for messing around with one of his students!"
AARRGH! This meant I was going to have to break my promise to myself. I felt like to had to kind of come to his defense even though he was a jerk who deserved it. I explained that it wasn't one of his students, it was an FBI sting. And then I said I didn't think it was a good idea to talk about that when he was just 15 feet away. I had this image in my mind of him getting up, walking over and pushing me out of my chair. Fortunately, that didn't happen.
I have not seen Jod since. I don't want to.
Friday, November 15, 2013
Deer hunting
It's supposed to be a rite of passage for every boy to go out deer hunting. It's also supposed to be a rite of passage for a father to have a frank talk about sex with his son, but that didn't happen, so I don't know why it was so important for me to go out and slaughter a deer. (However, I should note that we did eat the meat.)
The first thing we had to do was take a gun safety class. The only thing I learned was that gun powder burns, it does not explode. This was made apparent with an actual demonstration where the teacher brought in a shallow box filled with gun powder. He set it on fire and all it did was burn for a few seconds.
Next up was target practice. My dad would take me out someplace remote and taught me how to aim at soda cans using a .22 caliber rifle. After I got pretty good with that, he bought out the actual gun I would be hunting with. It was considerably larger than the .22. I used the scope to take my aim and pulled the trigger.
The next thing I remember, I was flat on my back on the ground, still holding on to the rifle. I do not know if the blast kicked me back so fast that there was literally no time between standing and lying down, or if it was so hard that I was temporarily knocked unconscious for a couple of seconds.
Now, that I knew what to expect, I made certain not to get caught off guard like that again.
For the actual hunt, Dad and I loaded up the camper and a family friend went with us. (This was the same man who gave my brother and me the radio/Bible Stories combo for Christmas.)
We went out hunting the next morning. Several hours later, we found a deer that we could shoot. I held up the gun and had the deer's head in the crosshairs and pulled the trigger... and the trigger didn't move. I had pulled on the trigger cage. The deer was still in place so I held up the gun again. I guess Dad really wanted to go home with a deer because this time, he put his finger on the trigger and pulled it. The deer got shot. We watched it struggle for about 20 minutes before it finally died.
Then I watch Dad gut it and let the insides spill out. It's interesting how he didn't ask me to help with that. We then carried the deer back and put it on the front of the truck with the camper.
We got home and Mom asked how it went. I told her that we shot the deer, but it was Dad who pulled the trigger. But I guess she went around telling everybody I shot the deer, including Grandma Bend. Grandma Bend had her local paper run a little two-line story about me shooting a deer. That was just too embarassing because it didn't happen that way.
Looking back, I really wish I hadn't been forced to take part in killing a deer. I was lucky that Dad never tried to take me hunting again.
Now you see why I couldn't talk about this with a girl.
The first thing we had to do was take a gun safety class. The only thing I learned was that gun powder burns, it does not explode. This was made apparent with an actual demonstration where the teacher brought in a shallow box filled with gun powder. He set it on fire and all it did was burn for a few seconds.
Next up was target practice. My dad would take me out someplace remote and taught me how to aim at soda cans using a .22 caliber rifle. After I got pretty good with that, he bought out the actual gun I would be hunting with. It was considerably larger than the .22. I used the scope to take my aim and pulled the trigger.
The next thing I remember, I was flat on my back on the ground, still holding on to the rifle. I do not know if the blast kicked me back so fast that there was literally no time between standing and lying down, or if it was so hard that I was temporarily knocked unconscious for a couple of seconds.
Now, that I knew what to expect, I made certain not to get caught off guard like that again.
For the actual hunt, Dad and I loaded up the camper and a family friend went with us. (This was the same man who gave my brother and me the radio/Bible Stories combo for Christmas.)
We went out hunting the next morning. Several hours later, we found a deer that we could shoot. I held up the gun and had the deer's head in the crosshairs and pulled the trigger... and the trigger didn't move. I had pulled on the trigger cage. The deer was still in place so I held up the gun again. I guess Dad really wanted to go home with a deer because this time, he put his finger on the trigger and pulled it. The deer got shot. We watched it struggle for about 20 minutes before it finally died.
Then I watch Dad gut it and let the insides spill out. It's interesting how he didn't ask me to help with that. We then carried the deer back and put it on the front of the truck with the camper.
We got home and Mom asked how it went. I told her that we shot the deer, but it was Dad who pulled the trigger. But I guess she went around telling everybody I shot the deer, including Grandma Bend. Grandma Bend had her local paper run a little two-line story about me shooting a deer. That was just too embarassing because it didn't happen that way.
Looking back, I really wish I hadn't been forced to take part in killing a deer. I was lucky that Dad never tried to take me hunting again.
Now you see why I couldn't talk about this with a girl.
Friday video not so funny this time
One morning, I left my house and the area was covered with fog. I thought it was just a very local weather anomoly. After a few breaths, I determined it was not fog, but exhaust from a vehicle that had spent some time idling in the area. I caught up to the after its trail of smoke for a half-mile happened to be going the same direction I was. I found the car again a few days later and shot this video:
I don't know why, but I guess this car has to come by and wait a few minutes and cloud up the atmosphere before accomplishing its business and moving on.
I used to have a car that would do this when I lived in Denver and people would scream at me when I was stopped at a light: "Get that pollution off the road!" Trust me, I couldn't stand it, either, but I had no money at the time to fix it. I'm not angry at this person, but I wish they knew enough to turn off their engine if they're going to idle while parked in my neighborhood.
I don't know why, but I guess this car has to come by and wait a few minutes and cloud up the atmosphere before accomplishing its business and moving on.
I used to have a car that would do this when I lived in Denver and people would scream at me when I was stopped at a light: "Get that pollution off the road!" Trust me, I couldn't stand it, either, but I had no money at the time to fix it. I'm not angry at this person, but I wish they knew enough to turn off their engine if they're going to idle while parked in my neighborhood.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
An unusual crush for me
Up to this point in my life (11 years old), I'd actually had a few crushes. I've only discussed one of them in a past blog. However, I'm not going to detail every single instance in which I found myself oddly attracted to someone. But I will go into detail about some of the more notable ones.
I'm reminded of something Adam Carolla said on "Loveline" several years ago. He mentioned that when he was in school, he had developed major crushes on about 2,500 different girls. He was completely in love with all of them and would have done anything to be with them. Yet, during that time, there were probably only two or three girls who ever felt that way about him. That exactly matches the way I felt about the inequity of my crushes.
In sixth grade, I participated in the choir. The choir would rehearse during lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The choir director (from the fire drill story) would call roll and I would always hear the name of this particular girl named Tez, but I never looked around to see who it was.
The age of 11 is when boys are supposed to go out deer hunting with their fathers for the first time. It was not something I was looking forward to. (I'll blog about that experience later.) The top requirement was to take a gun safety class in order to get a deer hunting license. For about four weeks, my father took me to the class, which took place on Wednesday nights. They called roll there. I heard Tez' name. I looked around and saw her. She had this round face, red hair and wore glasses. She was going to go deer hunting!
I started noticing her more during the choir rehearsals. Without ever talking to her, I started to like her more. She was rather tomboy-ish and almost never wore dresses. At some point, I had come up with this test to determine how much I liked a girl: If I dreamed about her three times, that meant I was in love with her. I dreamed about Tez three times. I don't remember what happened the first two times, but the third time, I dreamed that I was swinging from some type of bar in only my underwear. I turned my head and noticed her watching me. It surprised me in the dream. I immediately woke up and knew that I was officially in love.
The only thing was that I didn't know how to approach her. The choir was the only gathering we had in common. I didn't even think to ask her about deer hunting. (That would have meant telling her what happened to me and it's rather embarrassing, but I promise I'll tell all about it in the next post.)
If I happened to be standing next to her in choir (which didn't happen often), I could feel my body temperature increasing. I was so in love with her and she didn't even realize it. It drove me crazy.
So the whole rest of the sixth grade went by and I never spoke a word to her. In the seventh grade, I still had the crush on her. Once, a friend and I were kind of joshing around in the hallway and fake wrestling. She walked by us and uttered, "Queers!" It wasn't very loud, but we were able to hear it. Wow! This was the first time she even came close to talking to me! However, I really didn't like that she thought I was queer, so I had to do something about it.
The next day, she and her best friend were hanging out before school started. I went up to them and said, "Queers!" Boy, they got mad! She grabbed me by the collar and threatened to punch me. It was very thrilling for me! I apologized for the remark and she let me go without hitting me. We never talked again after that.
Now, the reason why I'm writing about this crush is that I realized something about Tez some time ago. I have reason to believe that she might have been a lesbian. (Yes, kind of ironic considering the "queers" remark.)
This important to note because I found out later I had somehow developed some kind of pre-disposition in which I found myself attracted to lesbians. Now, I don't mean that I only find lesbians attractive, but if I'm not certain of a woman's sexual orientation, I find the stronger attraction to lesbians, particularly if they are somewhat tomboy-ish with feminine features. I will admit that two of my ex-girlfriends turned out to be lesbians. (I will blog about them MUCH later!)
As for Tez, she appears to have become a pediatric nurse practitioner for a medical group in Roswell. She graduated from medical school at Arizona State University and was certified in 2008. The practice's website has a photo of her. She looks very similar to the way I remember her in high school. I'm glad to see someone I liked was able to find their place in this world.
I'm reminded of something Adam Carolla said on "Loveline" several years ago. He mentioned that when he was in school, he had developed major crushes on about 2,500 different girls. He was completely in love with all of them and would have done anything to be with them. Yet, during that time, there were probably only two or three girls who ever felt that way about him. That exactly matches the way I felt about the inequity of my crushes.
In sixth grade, I participated in the choir. The choir would rehearse during lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The choir director (from the fire drill story) would call roll and I would always hear the name of this particular girl named Tez, but I never looked around to see who it was.
The age of 11 is when boys are supposed to go out deer hunting with their fathers for the first time. It was not something I was looking forward to. (I'll blog about that experience later.) The top requirement was to take a gun safety class in order to get a deer hunting license. For about four weeks, my father took me to the class, which took place on Wednesday nights. They called roll there. I heard Tez' name. I looked around and saw her. She had this round face, red hair and wore glasses. She was going to go deer hunting!
I started noticing her more during the choir rehearsals. Without ever talking to her, I started to like her more. She was rather tomboy-ish and almost never wore dresses. At some point, I had come up with this test to determine how much I liked a girl: If I dreamed about her three times, that meant I was in love with her. I dreamed about Tez three times. I don't remember what happened the first two times, but the third time, I dreamed that I was swinging from some type of bar in only my underwear. I turned my head and noticed her watching me. It surprised me in the dream. I immediately woke up and knew that I was officially in love.
The only thing was that I didn't know how to approach her. The choir was the only gathering we had in common. I didn't even think to ask her about deer hunting. (That would have meant telling her what happened to me and it's rather embarrassing, but I promise I'll tell all about it in the next post.)
If I happened to be standing next to her in choir (which didn't happen often), I could feel my body temperature increasing. I was so in love with her and she didn't even realize it. It drove me crazy.
So the whole rest of the sixth grade went by and I never spoke a word to her. In the seventh grade, I still had the crush on her. Once, a friend and I were kind of joshing around in the hallway and fake wrestling. She walked by us and uttered, "Queers!" It wasn't very loud, but we were able to hear it. Wow! This was the first time she even came close to talking to me! However, I really didn't like that she thought I was queer, so I had to do something about it.
The next day, she and her best friend were hanging out before school started. I went up to them and said, "Queers!" Boy, they got mad! She grabbed me by the collar and threatened to punch me. It was very thrilling for me! I apologized for the remark and she let me go without hitting me. We never talked again after that.
Now, the reason why I'm writing about this crush is that I realized something about Tez some time ago. I have reason to believe that she might have been a lesbian. (Yes, kind of ironic considering the "queers" remark.)
This important to note because I found out later I had somehow developed some kind of pre-disposition in which I found myself attracted to lesbians. Now, I don't mean that I only find lesbians attractive, but if I'm not certain of a woman's sexual orientation, I find the stronger attraction to lesbians, particularly if they are somewhat tomboy-ish with feminine features. I will admit that two of my ex-girlfriends turned out to be lesbians. (I will blog about them MUCH later!)
As for Tez, she appears to have become a pediatric nurse practitioner for a medical group in Roswell. She graduated from medical school at Arizona State University and was certified in 2008. The practice's website has a photo of her. She looks very similar to the way I remember her in high school. I'm glad to see someone I liked was able to find their place in this world.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Teacher trouble
In the sixth grade, I tried not to make waves. I just wanted to blend in. But every once in a while, I would do things, without forethought, that would get me noticed.
As I mentioned in a previous post, the first few days of school, I was unable to get into my locker. This meant I had to carry all my books for all five classes all day long. It was a big load that was difficult to handle under one arm while I was walking. (And keep in mind that I was 10 years old at the beginning of the school year.)
I came across a solution in which I could hold all the books and keep them under control. I was able to place them on top of my head and keep them balanced with both hands. This worked great! For a couple of days, this was how I walked to each class. I didn't care what anybody else thought, I was able to carry my books and not worry about dropping them.
However, on the second day, my English teacher stopped me while I was walking down the hall. He gave me some lecture about not carrying my books on my head, so I stopped doing it. Pretty soon after that, I got a new locker, so I didn't have to worry about having to carry all my books around all day long.
The next day, after I got home from school, my Dad asked me about me carrying my books on my head. He basically told me to stop doing idiotic stuff like that at school. I knew right away that my English teacher had called him. I wasn't expecting that. I didn't even know my Dad knew my English teacher. But Artesia is a small town, so it's not surprising that all the teachers know each other.
I do wish that my Dad had taken this stance when he received the phone call:
"Mr. Ogolon? This is Fayd's English teacher at Zia."
"Yeah?"
"Fayd was walking around school carrying his books on his head. I told him to stop it."
"Oh, my gosh! Did he hurt somebody?"
"No."
"Did he stop doing it when you asked him to?"
"Yes."
"THEN WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME AND BOTHERING ME WITH THIS?"
"Uh..."
"Listen, Fayd is going to do a lot of weird stuff at school. Every day for four years, all I heard about was everything strange he would do in class. Last year was nice because I didn't have his teachers coming up to me every day complaining. So, unless he kills someone or is disobdient or disrespectful to you, I don't want to hear about it!" >click<
I think my Dad gave up on me being a "normal" kid when I got to high school. It would have been nice if he had decided to do that when I was 10.
As I mentioned in a previous post, the first few days of school, I was unable to get into my locker. This meant I had to carry all my books for all five classes all day long. It was a big load that was difficult to handle under one arm while I was walking. (And keep in mind that I was 10 years old at the beginning of the school year.)
I came across a solution in which I could hold all the books and keep them under control. I was able to place them on top of my head and keep them balanced with both hands. This worked great! For a couple of days, this was how I walked to each class. I didn't care what anybody else thought, I was able to carry my books and not worry about dropping them.
However, on the second day, my English teacher stopped me while I was walking down the hall. He gave me some lecture about not carrying my books on my head, so I stopped doing it. Pretty soon after that, I got a new locker, so I didn't have to worry about having to carry all my books around all day long.
The next day, after I got home from school, my Dad asked me about me carrying my books on my head. He basically told me to stop doing idiotic stuff like that at school. I knew right away that my English teacher had called him. I wasn't expecting that. I didn't even know my Dad knew my English teacher. But Artesia is a small town, so it's not surprising that all the teachers know each other.
I do wish that my Dad had taken this stance when he received the phone call:
"Mr. Ogolon? This is Fayd's English teacher at Zia."
"Yeah?"
"Fayd was walking around school carrying his books on his head. I told him to stop it."
"Oh, my gosh! Did he hurt somebody?"
"No."
"Did he stop doing it when you asked him to?"
"Yes."
"THEN WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME AND BOTHERING ME WITH THIS?"
"Uh..."
"Listen, Fayd is going to do a lot of weird stuff at school. Every day for four years, all I heard about was everything strange he would do in class. Last year was nice because I didn't have his teachers coming up to me every day complaining. So, unless he kills someone or is disobdient or disrespectful to you, I don't want to hear about it!" >click<
I think my Dad gave up on me being a "normal" kid when I got to high school. It would have been nice if he had decided to do that when I was 10.
Monday, November 11, 2013
No sugar tonight
There wasn't much of an obesity epidemic for me and Loyd when we were growing up:
And if my parents ever had sugar cubes for any reason, they were the next best thing to candy.
And if my parents ever had sugar cubes for any reason, they were the next best thing to candy.
Attempting to play football
As I mentioned before, my parents would not allow me to take part in Band in the sixth grade, so I was left with taking Athletics. It was like a regular PE class, but somewhat more brutal because we would get to slam into each other while practicing football.
One of the things about playing sports like football is that you really need to have a real grasp as to how the game is played. I had watched football on TV, but I never really understood what was going on. I knew about scoring goals, kicking field goals, extra points and interceptions, but I had no clue about how it was played, and I don't think Dad knew either, so he wasn't really much help. He only knew how to throw the football.
This had an impact, because the coaches all worked under the assumption that every single student in the program knew how to play and understood the rules. I did not know that if you move the football at least 10 yards during the first four downs, you get another set of downs to try to move the ball another ten yards. The way we practiced, we would do four downs, and because we were way too uncoordinated to actually do anything with the ball, we would give it over to the other side, and the pattern repeated.
When I watched football on TV after that, I kept wondering why the teams appeared to get way more than four downs to get into scoring position. I didn't figure out the concept of 1st downs until I was probably 25 years old.
I did understand how the plays were to be executed. The plays we had were very simple. In the sixth grade, when I played offense, I had the position referred to as left guard. All I had to worry about was if the play ended with an odd number, I block to the right. If it ended with an even number, I block to the left. On defense, I was on the back line and just had to worry about trying to find the person with the football and trying to tackle him.
I didn't enjoy football in seventh grade as much. I got "promoted" to halfback that year, which meant I would be required to carry the football from time to time. I hated getting tackled. It's a lot more fun when I'm the one doing the tackling and hitting.
But again, I did not know the rules. If I were playing football in real life, I would have racked up a real pile of penalties because I clearly did not know what I was doing.
Another issue is that, as a halfback, I could never catch a passed ball. I could never time my running to be right where the ball was going to be. I was literally the laughingstock of the team. Many years later, I would volunteer for the Super Bowl's NFL Experience in San Diego. I was way in the back to help catch balls for the Punt, Pass and Kick activity. I was surprised to see how many footballs I was able to catch as an adult that I was not able to as a child. Perhaps I was too young to try to play football, but I sort of didn't have any other choice.
One of the things about playing sports like football is that you really need to have a real grasp as to how the game is played. I had watched football on TV, but I never really understood what was going on. I knew about scoring goals, kicking field goals, extra points and interceptions, but I had no clue about how it was played, and I don't think Dad knew either, so he wasn't really much help. He only knew how to throw the football.
This had an impact, because the coaches all worked under the assumption that every single student in the program knew how to play and understood the rules. I did not know that if you move the football at least 10 yards during the first four downs, you get another set of downs to try to move the ball another ten yards. The way we practiced, we would do four downs, and because we were way too uncoordinated to actually do anything with the ball, we would give it over to the other side, and the pattern repeated.
When I watched football on TV after that, I kept wondering why the teams appeared to get way more than four downs to get into scoring position. I didn't figure out the concept of 1st downs until I was probably 25 years old.
I did understand how the plays were to be executed. The plays we had were very simple. In the sixth grade, when I played offense, I had the position referred to as left guard. All I had to worry about was if the play ended with an odd number, I block to the right. If it ended with an even number, I block to the left. On defense, I was on the back line and just had to worry about trying to find the person with the football and trying to tackle him.
I didn't enjoy football in seventh grade as much. I got "promoted" to halfback that year, which meant I would be required to carry the football from time to time. I hated getting tackled. It's a lot more fun when I'm the one doing the tackling and hitting.
But again, I did not know the rules. If I were playing football in real life, I would have racked up a real pile of penalties because I clearly did not know what I was doing.
Another issue is that, as a halfback, I could never catch a passed ball. I could never time my running to be right where the ball was going to be. I was literally the laughingstock of the team. Many years later, I would volunteer for the Super Bowl's NFL Experience in San Diego. I was way in the back to help catch balls for the Punt, Pass and Kick activity. I was surprised to see how many footballs I was able to catch as an adult that I was not able to as a child. Perhaps I was too young to try to play football, but I sort of didn't have any other choice.
A scary story on the first day of school
I'm still on the beginning of sixth grade. I knew this incident would deserve its own separate post.
I had music for my fourth period class. The teacher appeared to be a rather stern woman at first. (She was actually rather friendly once you got to know her.) She started our class by talking about the importance of fire drills. This had already been discussed during our homeroom class in first period, but she felt like she could get the point across better than the other teachers.
She told us a story about what happened when she was a little girl. I wound up hearing this story twice because she decided to tell it again when I had her in the eighth grade for the choir class.
It starts out with her in grade school. Back then, girls were not allowed to wear pants. They could only wear skirts. During fire drills, everyone on the second floor was required to enter a chute that they would ride like a slide down to the ground outside. While the boys enjoyed this, it was a problem for girls because they had to fuss with their skirts so they could slide down properly.
One day, the fire drill alarm went off. She and a friend decided they didn't want to go down the chute, so they hid behind a cabinet and waited for the class to return. A few minutes later, her teacher appeared and called out to her. She poked her head out. The teacher told her she needed to come out. She slowly started walking toward her teacher, literally dragging her feet. She did not say anything about the other student still in the classroom. She said that as soon as she and her teacher left the room, the ceiling came crashing down in flames and killed her friend. She ends the story by saying that every night, she can still hear her friend screaming.
She likely told this story at least ten times each year before she started teaching choir at the junior and high schools. The music class was only one semester long. During the other semester, we took science. Those who took science during the first semester would then take music. I don't know how long she had been teaching before that, but it means that at least 250 kids each year had to listen to that story.
While I found it harrowing at the time, it was many, many years later that I began to realize some of the holes in this story and started wondering if it actually happened, or at the very least, was something for which she was mistakenly taking all the blame.
Here's how I see things playing out after the class had left the room: The teacher is able to get everyone through the chute. After arriving outside, the principal goes around to all the teachers and quietly informs them that the school is actually on fire. They just made it seem like a drill to keep the students from panicking. The principal tells the teachers they need to make sure they got all the students out safely. The teacher, if I remember correctly, is female. She does a quick check and realizes at least one student is missing and she goes back inside to retrieve her.
Here's my first problem: Would they actually let a teacher, a female teacher, back inside a burning building? Even if the fire department was not there yet, I'm certain the principal would have posted some staff at the entrances to make sure no one went back in.
This brings me to my second problem: Why did the teacher not seem to know that the other student was missing and likely hiding in the classroom as well? Once she found one of the missing girls, you'd think she'd ask if the other girl was there. It's possible she went through the roll and once she found that one student was not around, she stopped taking roll right there and took off to find her.
My third problem: If the teacher knew that the building was on fire, why didn't she just scream, "We have to get out of here right now! The school is really on fire!" especially when the girl was dragging her feet? I guess it's possible that the teacher herself may not have actually made it outside, thus preventing her from learning the truth about the fire, but it almost makes more sense that if she thought it was a drill and knowing how the girls felt about going down the chute, she would have just let it go and discipline them later.
At the very least, my music teacher should not be shouldering the emotional burden for the death of that other little girl.
My teacher took a leave of absence after having a baby a few years later and never returned. I saw her again when I was in college and she came to see a production of "HMS Pinafore" that I was in. She was surprised to see my name in the program and asked to see me after. I didn't recognize her at first because her hair was a different color. I wished that I'd had questions about the fire drill story at that time because I know I would have asked her about it. Now, I guess I'll never know.
I had music for my fourth period class. The teacher appeared to be a rather stern woman at first. (She was actually rather friendly once you got to know her.) She started our class by talking about the importance of fire drills. This had already been discussed during our homeroom class in first period, but she felt like she could get the point across better than the other teachers.
She told us a story about what happened when she was a little girl. I wound up hearing this story twice because she decided to tell it again when I had her in the eighth grade for the choir class.
It starts out with her in grade school. Back then, girls were not allowed to wear pants. They could only wear skirts. During fire drills, everyone on the second floor was required to enter a chute that they would ride like a slide down to the ground outside. While the boys enjoyed this, it was a problem for girls because they had to fuss with their skirts so they could slide down properly.
One day, the fire drill alarm went off. She and a friend decided they didn't want to go down the chute, so they hid behind a cabinet and waited for the class to return. A few minutes later, her teacher appeared and called out to her. She poked her head out. The teacher told her she needed to come out. She slowly started walking toward her teacher, literally dragging her feet. She did not say anything about the other student still in the classroom. She said that as soon as she and her teacher left the room, the ceiling came crashing down in flames and killed her friend. She ends the story by saying that every night, she can still hear her friend screaming.
She likely told this story at least ten times each year before she started teaching choir at the junior and high schools. The music class was only one semester long. During the other semester, we took science. Those who took science during the first semester would then take music. I don't know how long she had been teaching before that, but it means that at least 250 kids each year had to listen to that story.
While I found it harrowing at the time, it was many, many years later that I began to realize some of the holes in this story and started wondering if it actually happened, or at the very least, was something for which she was mistakenly taking all the blame.
Here's how I see things playing out after the class had left the room: The teacher is able to get everyone through the chute. After arriving outside, the principal goes around to all the teachers and quietly informs them that the school is actually on fire. They just made it seem like a drill to keep the students from panicking. The principal tells the teachers they need to make sure they got all the students out safely. The teacher, if I remember correctly, is female. She does a quick check and realizes at least one student is missing and she goes back inside to retrieve her.
Here's my first problem: Would they actually let a teacher, a female teacher, back inside a burning building? Even if the fire department was not there yet, I'm certain the principal would have posted some staff at the entrances to make sure no one went back in.
This brings me to my second problem: Why did the teacher not seem to know that the other student was missing and likely hiding in the classroom as well? Once she found one of the missing girls, you'd think she'd ask if the other girl was there. It's possible she went through the roll and once she found that one student was not around, she stopped taking roll right there and took off to find her.
My third problem: If the teacher knew that the building was on fire, why didn't she just scream, "We have to get out of here right now! The school is really on fire!" especially when the girl was dragging her feet? I guess it's possible that the teacher herself may not have actually made it outside, thus preventing her from learning the truth about the fire, but it almost makes more sense that if she thought it was a drill and knowing how the girls felt about going down the chute, she would have just let it go and discipline them later.
At the very least, my music teacher should not be shouldering the emotional burden for the death of that other little girl.
My teacher took a leave of absence after having a baby a few years later and never returned. I saw her again when I was in college and she came to see a production of "HMS Pinafore" that I was in. She was surprised to see my name in the program and asked to see me after. I didn't recognize her at first because her hair was a different color. I wished that I'd had questions about the fire drill story at that time because I know I would have asked her about it. Now, I guess I'll never know.
Friday, November 8, 2013
A new grade, a new school!
The first day of sixth grade had arrived at last! I was moving up in the world.
Zia Intermediate consolidated all the students who attended fifth grade from all five elementary schools the previous year. Students would attend this school for the sixth and seventh grades. I remember the assembly on the the first day of school that included the entire student body in the gym. They had the sixth and seventh grades on separate sides of the gym. I remember looking at the class of seventh graders across the way and thinking that next year, I would be sitting over there and I would know the names of every single one of my classmates. I actually wound up just about accomplishing that goal.
So far in this blog, I have only mentioned two of the elementary schools in town that I attended: Hermosa and Central. The other three schools were Yucca, Roselawn and Abo.
Yucca was sort of your average, everyday, run-of-the-mill elementary school. There was nothing special about it. I caught up with someone from Hermosa who started going to school there. I asked him if the cafeteria food tasted good. He said no. "That's why it's called Yuck-uh," I said. (The ironic thing is that the cafeteria food for all the schools was prepared in the same cental location at the junior high school.)
Roselawn was located near the local Catholic church, which was the hub of the Hispanic community. The school's racial makeup was about 99% Hispanic and 1% Caucasian. I had gotten to go there to perform with the sixth and seventh grade choirs. It was strange to look at all the students and only see a couple of white kids. I felt for them, knowing that the other students only likely spoke Spanish during lunch and recess. I mentioned Lud in a previous post. Her father was the principal there.
Abo was our local "historical" school. It was historical because it was the first school in the country that was constructed to serve as a fallout shelter. The entire school was underground. I will have a full-on rant about Abo in a future blog post, so stay tuned.
Meanwhile, for the first time ever, I had a locker. I knew where it was located and I knew the combination. There was one problem: It wouldn't open. They had to send maintenance people over to work on it. They couldn't figure out the problem. It took the school a whole week before they decided to re-assign me to another locker. It appeared that I was the only student this happened to.
Otherwise, I had a pretty good first day at school. I got to meet a lot of people I'd never met before, and made some new friends, including someone who had the exact same class schedule as me. For all six periods. I found that for the next three years of school, there was always one person who had the exact same class schedule. I don't know how that happened.
I did meet up with Wild on the first day of school, but we didn't have any classes together, so we really didn't get to pick up our friendship where we left off. I was actually disappointed in that.
Zia Intermediate consolidated all the students who attended fifth grade from all five elementary schools the previous year. Students would attend this school for the sixth and seventh grades. I remember the assembly on the the first day of school that included the entire student body in the gym. They had the sixth and seventh grades on separate sides of the gym. I remember looking at the class of seventh graders across the way and thinking that next year, I would be sitting over there and I would know the names of every single one of my classmates. I actually wound up just about accomplishing that goal.
So far in this blog, I have only mentioned two of the elementary schools in town that I attended: Hermosa and Central. The other three schools were Yucca, Roselawn and Abo.
Yucca was sort of your average, everyday, run-of-the-mill elementary school. There was nothing special about it. I caught up with someone from Hermosa who started going to school there. I asked him if the cafeteria food tasted good. He said no. "That's why it's called Yuck-uh," I said. (The ironic thing is that the cafeteria food for all the schools was prepared in the same cental location at the junior high school.)
Roselawn was located near the local Catholic church, which was the hub of the Hispanic community. The school's racial makeup was about 99% Hispanic and 1% Caucasian. I had gotten to go there to perform with the sixth and seventh grade choirs. It was strange to look at all the students and only see a couple of white kids. I felt for them, knowing that the other students only likely spoke Spanish during lunch and recess. I mentioned Lud in a previous post. Her father was the principal there.
Abo was our local "historical" school. It was historical because it was the first school in the country that was constructed to serve as a fallout shelter. The entire school was underground. I will have a full-on rant about Abo in a future blog post, so stay tuned.
Meanwhile, for the first time ever, I had a locker. I knew where it was located and I knew the combination. There was one problem: It wouldn't open. They had to send maintenance people over to work on it. They couldn't figure out the problem. It took the school a whole week before they decided to re-assign me to another locker. It appeared that I was the only student this happened to.
Otherwise, I had a pretty good first day at school. I got to meet a lot of people I'd never met before, and made some new friends, including someone who had the exact same class schedule as me. For all six periods. I found that for the next three years of school, there was always one person who had the exact same class schedule. I don't know how that happened.
I did meet up with Wild on the first day of school, but we didn't have any classes together, so we really didn't get to pick up our friendship where we left off. I was actually disappointed in that.
Friday is Goofy Video Day!
A little fun with warnings:
We can have another sign that says "Cross Walkers Do Not Stop," "Cross Runners Do Not Stop" or "Cross Chickens Do Not Stop."
We can have another sign that says "Cross Walkers Do Not Stop," "Cross Runners Do Not Stop" or "Cross Chickens Do Not Stop."
Thursday, November 7, 2013
I wanted to take band
Toward the end of fifth grade, we had to prepare to go to sixth grade at Zia Intermediate school. The school housed the sixth and seventh grades for the entire town.
Throughout the year, we would have assemblies to experience live performances from Zia's choir and band. The object was to get us interested in the music programs that would be available. It was interesting after the band performance. The teacher asked if anyone was interested in being in band. A handful of students raised their hands. She asked each one which instrument they wanted to play. They all said "drums." While band was an actual class, the choir was considered extracurricular and rehearsed during lunch time.
In addition, we were told about the school's athletics program, in which boys would get to learn to play football, basketball and participate in track.
I went home and told Mom I wanted to take band in the sixth grade. Mom immediately said no. This meant I was forced to take athletics. Ever since the Little League debacle (and since Dad wouldn't let me take part in Punt, Pass and Kick because I couldn't punt, pass or kick), I actually looked forward to taking part in sports without having my parents tell me no to that.
To this day, I am perplexed as to why Mom and Dad would not let me take part in band. Years later, Mom said it had something to do with her not liking the band director, who had just started that year. This didn't make sense, because we socialized with the band director and his family and spent our spring break together camping at Big Bend National Park in Texas that year.
Two years later, when I was entering the eighth grade. Mom asked me if I wanted to take band. (I should mention that there was a complete turnover in the music departments at Zia, Park Junior High School and Artesia High School and that particular teacher moved to another town.) I said, "No, I'll be two years behind everybody else. There's no point in taking band now."
Looking back, I'm actually glad my parents kept me out of band. I was able to completely avoid the drama surrounding the high school band teacher, who seemed to run his department like a religious cult.
However, let it be known that my parents had no hesitation in letting Loyd be in band in the sixth grade. Although I'm glad I didn't get to take part, I still see that as unfair.
Throughout the year, we would have assemblies to experience live performances from Zia's choir and band. The object was to get us interested in the music programs that would be available. It was interesting after the band performance. The teacher asked if anyone was interested in being in band. A handful of students raised their hands. She asked each one which instrument they wanted to play. They all said "drums." While band was an actual class, the choir was considered extracurricular and rehearsed during lunch time.
In addition, we were told about the school's athletics program, in which boys would get to learn to play football, basketball and participate in track.
I went home and told Mom I wanted to take band in the sixth grade. Mom immediately said no. This meant I was forced to take athletics. Ever since the Little League debacle (and since Dad wouldn't let me take part in Punt, Pass and Kick because I couldn't punt, pass or kick), I actually looked forward to taking part in sports without having my parents tell me no to that.
To this day, I am perplexed as to why Mom and Dad would not let me take part in band. Years later, Mom said it had something to do with her not liking the band director, who had just started that year. This didn't make sense, because we socialized with the band director and his family and spent our spring break together camping at Big Bend National Park in Texas that year.
Two years later, when I was entering the eighth grade. Mom asked me if I wanted to take band. (I should mention that there was a complete turnover in the music departments at Zia, Park Junior High School and Artesia High School and that particular teacher moved to another town.) I said, "No, I'll be two years behind everybody else. There's no point in taking band now."
Looking back, I'm actually glad my parents kept me out of band. I was able to completely avoid the drama surrounding the high school band teacher, who seemed to run his department like a religious cult.
However, let it be known that my parents had no hesitation in letting Loyd be in band in the sixth grade. Although I'm glad I didn't get to take part, I still see that as unfair.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
The Spaghetti Incident
When I was 10 years old, we had an unexpected event that put our family dynamic into perspective. It's something that Loyd and I have always referred to as "The Spaghetti Incident."
It started one evening when Mom was making dinner. She was preparing spaghetti. Every time we have had spaghetti in the past, I couldn't eat the spaghetti sauce because there were onions in it. I would just eat the pasta plain with some salt. As I've mentioned before on a previous YouTube video (click here), I had a real aversion to onions. Mom told me I was not going to eat the spaghetti plain this time. I was going to eat the sauce with it like everyone else. Mom had not started making the sauce yet. I asked, "Well, Mom, if I have to eat the sauce, can you not put any onions in it?" She said, "We'll see."
This shouldn't have been that hard to comply with. Mom did not make the sauce from scratch. She had the powdered mix that came in a packet that you add water to and any other ingredients that you want. How hard is it to not put onions in something that doesn't already have it?
All four of us sit down to dinner. Mom has already put our portions on our plates with the spaghetti sauce. I look down at mine and go, "Mom, this has onions in it."
"Yes, the recipe calls for onions."
The spaghetti and the sauce were still in separate bowls. "Can I just get some plain spaghetti?"
"No. I worked hard on this dinner. You're going to eat what's on your plate like everyone else."
"May I please be excused?"
"No, eat your food."
My Dad chimed in: "You eat your food right now or I'm going to spank you!"
I put a fork full of spaghetti in my mouth and started chewing. I don't mind the taste of onions. What I can't stand is how it feels like I'm eating bugs when I'm chewing on them. After chewing a bit, the image that I was being forced to crunch down on bugs flooded my mind and I couldn't keep the food down. I threw up on the table.
Immediately, Dad smacked me in the head. I was knocked out of my chair onto the floor. I looked at my hand, which had some of the vomited spaghetti on it. Dad then took off his belt and started beating me with it.
Then Mom did something I'd never seen her do before. She started crying and screaming something (I don't remember what she said) and she pounded her fists against Dad. She then ran out of the house. We heard her get inside her car and take off. None of us ran out after her.
Dad told Loyd and me that we needed to clean up the mess. We started taking stuff off the table and putting it in the kitchen. We didn't eat any more food. Dad didn't say anything more about punishing me. I wouldn't be surprised to find out that he was probably thinking how nice it would be if Mom didn't ever come back.
While we were waiting for Mom to return, Loyd suggested to me that most women who run out of the house like that wind up going to a bar. (Such was our experience from watching too much TV.) I told him I didn't know what Mom was doing. We wondered when she was coming back.
She came back home about 45 minutes after she left. None of us knew what to say. We didn't say anything. She didn't say anything. And we never spoke about that night again.
Years later, Loyd wrote a college essay about the Spaghetti Incident. I didn't read the essay, but he told me that he theorized that what happened to Mom was that she realized that her hopes for having a regular, happy family were completely shattered in that moment. That's probably true, but it seemed like we just went right back to our normal, dysfunctional dynamic with the only change being that we were more aware of what kind of family we were.
It started one evening when Mom was making dinner. She was preparing spaghetti. Every time we have had spaghetti in the past, I couldn't eat the spaghetti sauce because there were onions in it. I would just eat the pasta plain with some salt. As I've mentioned before on a previous YouTube video (click here), I had a real aversion to onions. Mom told me I was not going to eat the spaghetti plain this time. I was going to eat the sauce with it like everyone else. Mom had not started making the sauce yet. I asked, "Well, Mom, if I have to eat the sauce, can you not put any onions in it?" She said, "We'll see."
This shouldn't have been that hard to comply with. Mom did not make the sauce from scratch. She had the powdered mix that came in a packet that you add water to and any other ingredients that you want. How hard is it to not put onions in something that doesn't already have it?
All four of us sit down to dinner. Mom has already put our portions on our plates with the spaghetti sauce. I look down at mine and go, "Mom, this has onions in it."
"Yes, the recipe calls for onions."
The spaghetti and the sauce were still in separate bowls. "Can I just get some plain spaghetti?"
"No. I worked hard on this dinner. You're going to eat what's on your plate like everyone else."
"May I please be excused?"
"No, eat your food."
My Dad chimed in: "You eat your food right now or I'm going to spank you!"
I put a fork full of spaghetti in my mouth and started chewing. I don't mind the taste of onions. What I can't stand is how it feels like I'm eating bugs when I'm chewing on them. After chewing a bit, the image that I was being forced to crunch down on bugs flooded my mind and I couldn't keep the food down. I threw up on the table.
Immediately, Dad smacked me in the head. I was knocked out of my chair onto the floor. I looked at my hand, which had some of the vomited spaghetti on it. Dad then took off his belt and started beating me with it.
Then Mom did something I'd never seen her do before. She started crying and screaming something (I don't remember what she said) and she pounded her fists against Dad. She then ran out of the house. We heard her get inside her car and take off. None of us ran out after her.
Dad told Loyd and me that we needed to clean up the mess. We started taking stuff off the table and putting it in the kitchen. We didn't eat any more food. Dad didn't say anything more about punishing me. I wouldn't be surprised to find out that he was probably thinking how nice it would be if Mom didn't ever come back.
While we were waiting for Mom to return, Loyd suggested to me that most women who run out of the house like that wind up going to a bar. (Such was our experience from watching too much TV.) I told him I didn't know what Mom was doing. We wondered when she was coming back.
She came back home about 45 minutes after she left. None of us knew what to say. We didn't say anything. She didn't say anything. And we never spoke about that night again.
Years later, Loyd wrote a college essay about the Spaghetti Incident. I didn't read the essay, but he told me that he theorized that what happened to Mom was that she realized that her hopes for having a regular, happy family were completely shattered in that moment. That's probably true, but it seemed like we just went right back to our normal, dysfunctional dynamic with the only change being that we were more aware of what kind of family we were.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Fifth Grade took forever!
So I had to start fifth grade at a new school. It was probably the most difficult school year I ever experienced. Yes, even more difficult than anything I encountered in high school or college.
The one good thing about it is that one of my classmates was Dez, the daughter of the woman who babysitted Loyd and me when we were younger. (I should note that I was not really romantically interested in Dez, but ending her name with a "d" would make her "Ded.")
Dez told me that we had two teachers, one for the morning and one for the afternoon. The morning teacher was also the school principal and he was pretty nice. However, the other teacher, a woman, was pretty mean.
It turned out that this was the first year of actual teaching for the afternoon teacher. Dez was not kidding. It was very hard to do anything that would make her happy.
The other fifth grade class was taught by a man who was about 70 years old, had one leg shorter than the other and wore hearing aids. This man should not have been teaching elementary school.
Everything was okay the first few weeks of school. However, a few weeks in, the two fifth grade morning teachers decided to swap out classes for one hour a day. My teacher would teach Reading to both classes and the deaf teacher would teach science.
This meant that all the students in both classes had to switch rooms at the same time. The biggest problem with this was that, every day, there was always a few of us who kept leaving material needed for the classes in our desks and we would have to go back to retrieve it.
It was not always the same students every single day, but it was enough to irritate the teachers to have their classes disrupted by students coming back in to dig through their desks. So, one day, an edict was passed: Students would no longer be allowed to go back and get their assignments.
I rarely left my assignments in my desk, but this one day after the edict was passed, I did. The deaf teacher would not let me go back to get it. Then, he would not let me bring it back when the classes switched back because he had already graded the assignments. This meant I was going to get a "0" for not handing in the report.
Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, but that particular night, the school was holding an open house for parents and mine were going to be coming. Since this was still early in the school year, that "0" would have a drastic result on my grades. I know, because he happened to announce everybody's scores to the entire class. Mine was about 200 points below everyone else. There was only one other student with a grade lower than mine.
So, open house took place and my parents met my teachers (and Loyd's, too). Mom and Dad came home. Mom SCREAMED at us because we embarassed her. She was shocked at my low grade in science, which could be seen by all the other parents (whom I doubt were actually paying attention to how any of the other students were doing, particularly me). She was also embarassed by Loyd, who apparently had the messiest desk in the class.
The first thing Mom told me to do was go to the deaf teacher with my assignment, apologize and kindly ask that he accept it for my grade. Then, Mom decided Loyd and I were going to have to spend more time every night doing schoolwork, regardless of whether there was any homework assigned by our teachers. This would mean less time watching TV (but interestingly, not less time working at the apartments).
So I went to the deaf teacher the next day and told him everything Mom told me to say and tried to give him the assignment. He said no, he wouldn't accept it and my grade stayed the same. Like I said, this man had no business teaching elementary school.
Now, this is the thing that gets me about this, and still makes me angry to this very day: Both my parents are teachers. Both my parents had a few years of teaching under their belts. Both of them had undoubtedly come across students who had moved from other towns and wound up in their classes. Very likely, some of these students excelled at their former schools, but had trouble making the adjustment and their grades suffered for a little while. Like I say, they have probably seen this happen several times before and knew how to be more accommodating with these students and try not to push them too hard.
So, why were they not willing to accept that Loyd and I would have this same problem? I can only think that they were so used to bragging on us, that when their peers brought up concerns about the possibility of us falling victim to the adjustment, they probably said that we were way too smart to have that happen to us. This would have proved them wrong and they would have to deal with the shame of having kids who were like everyone else.
Yes, this was not going to be a good year.
The one good thing about it is that one of my classmates was Dez, the daughter of the woman who babysitted Loyd and me when we were younger. (I should note that I was not really romantically interested in Dez, but ending her name with a "d" would make her "Ded.")
Dez told me that we had two teachers, one for the morning and one for the afternoon. The morning teacher was also the school principal and he was pretty nice. However, the other teacher, a woman, was pretty mean.
It turned out that this was the first year of actual teaching for the afternoon teacher. Dez was not kidding. It was very hard to do anything that would make her happy.
The other fifth grade class was taught by a man who was about 70 years old, had one leg shorter than the other and wore hearing aids. This man should not have been teaching elementary school.
Everything was okay the first few weeks of school. However, a few weeks in, the two fifth grade morning teachers decided to swap out classes for one hour a day. My teacher would teach Reading to both classes and the deaf teacher would teach science.
This meant that all the students in both classes had to switch rooms at the same time. The biggest problem with this was that, every day, there was always a few of us who kept leaving material needed for the classes in our desks and we would have to go back to retrieve it.
It was not always the same students every single day, but it was enough to irritate the teachers to have their classes disrupted by students coming back in to dig through their desks. So, one day, an edict was passed: Students would no longer be allowed to go back and get their assignments.
I rarely left my assignments in my desk, but this one day after the edict was passed, I did. The deaf teacher would not let me go back to get it. Then, he would not let me bring it back when the classes switched back because he had already graded the assignments. This meant I was going to get a "0" for not handing in the report.
Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, but that particular night, the school was holding an open house for parents and mine were going to be coming. Since this was still early in the school year, that "0" would have a drastic result on my grades. I know, because he happened to announce everybody's scores to the entire class. Mine was about 200 points below everyone else. There was only one other student with a grade lower than mine.
So, open house took place and my parents met my teachers (and Loyd's, too). Mom and Dad came home. Mom SCREAMED at us because we embarassed her. She was shocked at my low grade in science, which could be seen by all the other parents (whom I doubt were actually paying attention to how any of the other students were doing, particularly me). She was also embarassed by Loyd, who apparently had the messiest desk in the class.
The first thing Mom told me to do was go to the deaf teacher with my assignment, apologize and kindly ask that he accept it for my grade. Then, Mom decided Loyd and I were going to have to spend more time every night doing schoolwork, regardless of whether there was any homework assigned by our teachers. This would mean less time watching TV (but interestingly, not less time working at the apartments).
So I went to the deaf teacher the next day and told him everything Mom told me to say and tried to give him the assignment. He said no, he wouldn't accept it and my grade stayed the same. Like I said, this man had no business teaching elementary school.
Now, this is the thing that gets me about this, and still makes me angry to this very day: Both my parents are teachers. Both my parents had a few years of teaching under their belts. Both of them had undoubtedly come across students who had moved from other towns and wound up in their classes. Very likely, some of these students excelled at their former schools, but had trouble making the adjustment and their grades suffered for a little while. Like I say, they have probably seen this happen several times before and knew how to be more accommodating with these students and try not to push them too hard.
So, why were they not willing to accept that Loyd and I would have this same problem? I can only think that they were so used to bragging on us, that when their peers brought up concerns about the possibility of us falling victim to the adjustment, they probably said that we were way too smart to have that happen to us. This would have proved them wrong and they would have to deal with the shame of having kids who were like everyone else.
Yes, this was not going to be a good year.
I was never set free by the truth
Sometimes, my desire to let everyone know how smart I am gets the best of me.
And don't even get me started on a "bunch" of geese. (Thanks, Edward Albee!)
And don't even get me started on a "bunch" of geese. (Thanks, Edward Albee!)
Monday, November 4, 2013
Branding
When I was young, I found that among the the best times I ever had were going to my grandfather's ranch to brand cattle. Every six months, there were a lot of calves that needed to be marked with the name of my grandfather's ranch: The Spear Open 6:
Branding day was a great time because all my aunts, uncles and cousins from my Dad's side of the family were there and we all helped out. We would separate the calves, fence them in, hold them down while they were being branded and we each got to personally brand one of the calves ourselves. After the branding was done, we'd all go in the house and enjoy a big lunch with Grandma Ogolon's fried chicken. And to top it all off, Granddad would give us each a dollar for a hard day's work.
On this occasion, Dad said we were going to Granddad's to do the branding. I was so excited. I couldn't wait to see everyone there and I was really looking forward to getting that dollar because I knew exactly what I wanted to spend it on. Dad, Mom, Loyd and I arrived and I knew something was up when there weren't any other cars parked out in front. We were the only family there. It appeared it was the end of an era.
What had happened was that my grandfather was getting too old to tend to a herd of cattle, so he just kept a few on the ranch that would provide meat for him and meat for our family. (Some background here: When my father and mother got married, Granddad's wedding present to them was a calf. That calf grew up into a cow and produced meat for our family for 17 years. While writing this, I realized that I don't think that my Aunt Pand or Aunt Berd had their own meat-making cow.)
We only had to brand two calves. That was it. This happened to be the first time Loyd was going to get to participate in the branding. We both got to apply the brand to the calves. Afterward, Granddad went up to Loyd and offered him 50 cents for the hard day's work. While I was a little disappointed that we were only getting 50 cents, I understood that we didn't really work all that hard like we had in the past. However, Loyd said, "No thanks, Granddad! I just do it because I love you!"
Granddad started walking toward me. I knew after that display of generosity, I could not accept the money, even though he offered me the entire dollar. "No, thanks. I just do it to help." I know I didn't sound too thrilled when I told him that.
The thing that got me about this is that, as I have mentioned before, Loyd could be always be counted on to try to take and take until there was nothing left. Why did he have to pick this one time to be a nice guy? I could understand if this was something he did on a regular basis, but to have this behavior only creep up sporadically was almost too much for me to handle. I really wanted to throttle him, but realized he had acutally done the right thing.
Otherwise, it was still a good time. Grandma made her fried chicken and there was plenty to go around. However, I did miss the camaradarie of having the other members of the family there. As it turned out, that would be the last time we branded cattle. From then on, we had to buy our own meat.
(A note to all you animal rights enthusiasts: I realize that it's wrong to sear the flesh of cattle, but I do understand the reasons why it was done. While it was a good time for me at that point in my life, I know I will never personally brand cattle again. Also know that nobody who has branded cattle enjoys that smell. Despite what you may think, we are all aware of the pain the calves must be going through during the process.)
Branding day was a great time because all my aunts, uncles and cousins from my Dad's side of the family were there and we all helped out. We would separate the calves, fence them in, hold them down while they were being branded and we each got to personally brand one of the calves ourselves. After the branding was done, we'd all go in the house and enjoy a big lunch with Grandma Ogolon's fried chicken. And to top it all off, Granddad would give us each a dollar for a hard day's work.
On this occasion, Dad said we were going to Granddad's to do the branding. I was so excited. I couldn't wait to see everyone there and I was really looking forward to getting that dollar because I knew exactly what I wanted to spend it on. Dad, Mom, Loyd and I arrived and I knew something was up when there weren't any other cars parked out in front. We were the only family there. It appeared it was the end of an era.
What had happened was that my grandfather was getting too old to tend to a herd of cattle, so he just kept a few on the ranch that would provide meat for him and meat for our family. (Some background here: When my father and mother got married, Granddad's wedding present to them was a calf. That calf grew up into a cow and produced meat for our family for 17 years. While writing this, I realized that I don't think that my Aunt Pand or Aunt Berd had their own meat-making cow.)
We only had to brand two calves. That was it. This happened to be the first time Loyd was going to get to participate in the branding. We both got to apply the brand to the calves. Afterward, Granddad went up to Loyd and offered him 50 cents for the hard day's work. While I was a little disappointed that we were only getting 50 cents, I understood that we didn't really work all that hard like we had in the past. However, Loyd said, "No thanks, Granddad! I just do it because I love you!"
Granddad started walking toward me. I knew after that display of generosity, I could not accept the money, even though he offered me the entire dollar. "No, thanks. I just do it to help." I know I didn't sound too thrilled when I told him that.
The thing that got me about this is that, as I have mentioned before, Loyd could be always be counted on to try to take and take until there was nothing left. Why did he have to pick this one time to be a nice guy? I could understand if this was something he did on a regular basis, but to have this behavior only creep up sporadically was almost too much for me to handle. I really wanted to throttle him, but realized he had acutally done the right thing.
Otherwise, it was still a good time. Grandma made her fried chicken and there was plenty to go around. However, I did miss the camaradarie of having the other members of the family there. As it turned out, that would be the last time we branded cattle. From then on, we had to buy our own meat.
(A note to all you animal rights enthusiasts: I realize that it's wrong to sear the flesh of cattle, but I do understand the reasons why it was done. While it was a good time for me at that point in my life, I know I will never personally brand cattle again. Also know that nobody who has branded cattle enjoys that smell. Despite what you may think, we are all aware of the pain the calves must be going through during the process.)
Friday, November 1, 2013
A first crush on me
Before I get into all the darkness that was the fifth grade, I want to lighten things up by telling you about the first time I was completely aware that a girl had a crush on me.
Her name was Lud. (Note the "d" at the end of the name. This indicates that I had no interest in dating her.) She was kind of pretty and was very smart. I guess I should note at this time that I knew that if I ever wound up with a girlfriend when I was a teenager, I wanted someone who was smart. Looks weren't really that important to me. I was hoping to hook up with someone who could be a study buddy. However, this was not something I wanted during the fifth grade.
Lud did make it obvious that she liked me. She would publically compliment things I did in class. If the class played a game and she was picking people to be on her team, she would choose me first. In one game, the object was to walk around the members of the class in a circle and touch one of them on the back with the ball and then try to run to a safe zone before being caught. I knew she was going to pick me, so I was prepared and I actually caught her.
While Lud appeared to meet my minimum requirements for a potential girlfriend, I still was not interested in getting to know her better. My reason? I had a big crush on her younger sister Moz.
Moz was in the fourth grade and was incredibly cute. AND she was smart. However, at this school, kids from one grade were not permitted to co-mingle with kids from another grade, so I couldn't even go up and talk to her if I wanted. But I did enjoy watching her from afar.
I probably would have been able to get to know Lud better if I didn't have a crush on her sister. Somehow, I knew it would be wrong to become friendly with Lud in an effort to somehow get closer to Moz.
I do feel terrible about what I had to do to get Lud off my back. On Valentine's Day, we're supposed to give out Valentine's to everyone in the class and put them in their bags. I gave Lud an envelope with no card inside. She never bugged me again.
This might have come back to bite me in my Junior year of high school. A select group of Juniors got to take part in the school's graduation ceremony by holding palm froves at arm's length to create a sort of tunnel for the seniors to walk through while "Pomp & Circumstance" played. I had asked how to be a part of this and I was told I needed to find a partner to walk with. I asked Lud because I felt like she was the only person I could approach, but she had already made arrangements with someone else to be her partner.
Our Senior year, Lud was voted "Most Likely to Succeed." This was a surprise, considering she wasn't really that popular, but I guess that means a lot of the other students had a great deal of respect for her. So, what happened to her? I know that she wound up becoming a school teacher and taught school in the same small farming community where my cousins Wend, Sted and Cred went to school. Apparently, her husband was the superintendent there. Oh, the wonders of the Internet.
As for Moz, I was able to find her profile on Facebook. She became a teacher in Southland, TX. She got married and appears to have had two sons. She is still rather cute. However, Lud wound up looking like my Grandma Bend when she hit 50. I would have made the right choice.
Her name was Lud. (Note the "d" at the end of the name. This indicates that I had no interest in dating her.) She was kind of pretty and was very smart. I guess I should note at this time that I knew that if I ever wound up with a girlfriend when I was a teenager, I wanted someone who was smart. Looks weren't really that important to me. I was hoping to hook up with someone who could be a study buddy. However, this was not something I wanted during the fifth grade.
Lud did make it obvious that she liked me. She would publically compliment things I did in class. If the class played a game and she was picking people to be on her team, she would choose me first. In one game, the object was to walk around the members of the class in a circle and touch one of them on the back with the ball and then try to run to a safe zone before being caught. I knew she was going to pick me, so I was prepared and I actually caught her.
While Lud appeared to meet my minimum requirements for a potential girlfriend, I still was not interested in getting to know her better. My reason? I had a big crush on her younger sister Moz.
Moz was in the fourth grade and was incredibly cute. AND she was smart. However, at this school, kids from one grade were not permitted to co-mingle with kids from another grade, so I couldn't even go up and talk to her if I wanted. But I did enjoy watching her from afar.
I probably would have been able to get to know Lud better if I didn't have a crush on her sister. Somehow, I knew it would be wrong to become friendly with Lud in an effort to somehow get closer to Moz.
I do feel terrible about what I had to do to get Lud off my back. On Valentine's Day, we're supposed to give out Valentine's to everyone in the class and put them in their bags. I gave Lud an envelope with no card inside. She never bugged me again.
This might have come back to bite me in my Junior year of high school. A select group of Juniors got to take part in the school's graduation ceremony by holding palm froves at arm's length to create a sort of tunnel for the seniors to walk through while "Pomp & Circumstance" played. I had asked how to be a part of this and I was told I needed to find a partner to walk with. I asked Lud because I felt like she was the only person I could approach, but she had already made arrangements with someone else to be her partner.
Our Senior year, Lud was voted "Most Likely to Succeed." This was a surprise, considering she wasn't really that popular, but I guess that means a lot of the other students had a great deal of respect for her. So, what happened to her? I know that she wound up becoming a school teacher and taught school in the same small farming community where my cousins Wend, Sted and Cred went to school. Apparently, her husband was the superintendent there. Oh, the wonders of the Internet.
As for Moz, I was able to find her profile on Facebook. She became a teacher in Southland, TX. She got married and appears to have had two sons. She is still rather cute. However, Lud wound up looking like my Grandma Bend when she hit 50. I would have made the right choice.
Leftovers from Halloween?
A good reason to stay away from food trucks:
An remember that they might cater to the set of "The Walking Dead."
An remember that they might cater to the set of "The Walking Dead."