The Story of Us: High School, Part 1

[copied from dland]

**In 32 days I will be 50 years old**

One of the diaries I most enjoy, that of wifemotherme, recently wrote her Story of Us, and wanted to see others’ stories of us (them?). So here goes.

As you can all see by the countdown at the top of the page, I’m old, man. Half a fucking century, can’t believe it. I still feel like a kid inside. (Not the bones and muscles, they feel like 95. But I feel like the same person I always was.) Here’s a quotation I especially love, by an author named Jill Ciment, whose books I have never read. I just saw this somewhere:

“The anomaly of childhood is that despite its brevity, childhood takes up a lot of square footage in memory’s tight quarters.”

Here goes.

Back in the day, junior high school consisted of grades 7, 8, and 9, and then we moved up to the big school for three years of high school. Here in my little suburb, there were two junior high schools, one for the east side of town and one for the west. Most of us (about 675 kids) never met each other until the first day of 10th grade. That first day of 10th grade is the day I met John.

Doesn’t that sound sweet and romantic, that we met on the first day of high school? Keep reading.

I was very shy, couldn’t talk to boys at all. If a boy said hello, I couldn’t think of an answer, let alone say it out loud. The thought of speaking in public really terrified me. So of course, like everyone else in the 10th grade, I was taking a class in public speaking. Since the only alternative was a class in acting, it was the safer choice.

The teacher, as it turned out, was a very special guy, the school character, but in a good way. He looked like a leprechaun and had more energy than any kid in the school. He was funny and wonderful. No one was allowed to remain shy in Mr. Buckley’s class. He made everyone feel important. I guess he must have gone around the room and made us introduce ourselves. When it was John’s turn, I recognized his last name at once; his father was in charge of the school system at the time and his name appeared at the bottom of practically every notice we took home. So it was like he was the principal’s kid, only more so.

I didn’t think much of him. He had short short dark hair, was maybe a little plump, and was dressed like it was 1958 instead of 1968. And then I saw it: an American flag pin on his shirt collar. Uh-oh. This meant he was a hawk, pro-war, maybe even – GASP! – a Republican!

1968, remember? Lots going on in the world, Viet Nam, recent demonstrations at the Democratic convention in Chicago, and a big election for president in just two months. True, Hubert Humphrey was running against Richard Nixon, but, dove as I was, I still had the McCarthy button on my bag. That’s Senator Eugene, not Senator Joseph of the 1950s. This was the Senator who ran on a Peace Now ticket for the Democratic nomination. I was a supporter.

And here was this kid wearing an American flag pin? What was he, 50 years old? What kid wasn’t against the war in Viet Nam? I got closer. He had bumper stickers on his notebook, one on the front and one on the back. Here’s what they said:

“Reagan for President.” Remember, this was 1968. And “Better Dead Than Red.”

So when class was over, I went up to him and said something like “What’s wrong with you? Anything is better than dead.” And so it began.

We baited each other daily over political issues that were extremely important. When it was time to give our persuasive speeches, I gave mine on the topic “Why we should pull out of Viet Nam unconditionally now.” His was “Why we should end the war in Viet Nam by dropping a nuclear bomb on Peking.” Hmmm.

The teacher kept us apart. Our friends would watch down the halls to make sure we wouldn’t accidentally encounter each other. I hated this kid.

More to follow.


ENTRY #26