Bad Grades

I actually thought I was tough until eighth grade, where roughly half the class convinced me otherwise. Later I would discover that those same kids in Leavenworth Washington (town, not prison) thought I had come from some correctional facility, or some such place where kids with problems come from. When they found out I hadn't, they didn't like me anyway. How do I know that? That's actually an interesting story. Not now though.

I also thought I was good looking, and charming. Again, I was forced to rethink the issue in the same grade. Actually it was the grade before when the clues trickled in, and maybe even a grade before that. In sixth grade Ohio, I was ok, until we moved to Idaho. In sixth grade Hayden Lake, kids paired off in marriage; but I was never betrothed. Ty Eastman, whom I was destined to fight with on a couple occasions, almost got a divorce once. They were able to work out their problems though, and so they lasted for a couple more weeks. Looking back now, it was kind of cute. We happened upon her on the playground, and he told me, "Hold on, I need to take care of this."

Their hands were waving as they spoke, but gently. I overheard her say, "I don't want a divorce, do you?"

"No, that's silly. Of course I don't."

Then he left her with a smile, walked back to me and we strode away. Ah oui, Lamour!

In seventh grade, Canfield Junior High, I gave Lois O'Hara a Valentines card with the word "love" in it. I didn't really mean for the message to be so strong. Certainly I didn't feel that. She was hot and I wanted her to know I thought it. Taped to the card was a pack of Hubba Bubba--or was it Bubblelicious with the ultimate bubble? I gave it to her after science class. She read it Brett Maverick style, stone cold poker face; coolly thanked me and walked away. Like a puppy I followed while she ignored me, all the way to her boyfriend's locker. Oh, I get it now!

Having moved to Couer d' Alene for the second half of seventh grade, I entered Lakes Junior High in almost complete anonymity. Kristen--I thought I had forgotten her name, but it was Kristen. She gave me a leather wrist band with my name branded in big green letters. I wore it, but I covered it with my jacket sleeve. A nuance not missed by some little tart in a class I shared with her and Kristen. "You wear it to make her feel good, but you hide it because you're ashamed."