I think I will get back to Jesus for my first New Year installment – but for now, I need to thank the world for letting me get this far, and, having so much fun doing it (I sure hope I can retire and collect my State Teachers’ retirement money – but this Chinese thang has me wondering…cuz if or when they takeover – education will get quite a makeover).
I was a hyperactive child! VERY hyperactive!! My mother was clever enough to become friendly with my first grade teacher, Mrs. Bell – so I don’t recall getting into much trouble in this class – I think Mrs. Bell just kept giving me work when I finished whateveritwas she had given me. In the second grade, Mrs. Sherpitis dragged me across the classroom by my ear one day – and that certainly got my attention: I never wanted the ear burn again – so I must have behaved. I know that I got into plenty of trouble again in 3rd and 4th grade – but something quite interesting occurred in-the-5th grade, and that was: some of the girls were growing their breasts – and I found these fascinating (and I still do to this day). So much of the class time that I once spent bouncing around the classroom – I then spent trying to position myself to get good looks inside those sleeveless blouses (Sue Green and Lynn Lowers being two of my favorite observational targets). Yep!
And then in the 6th grade – the powers-that-were — wisely made me captain of the safety squad and had me raise and lower the school flag down each day — in addition to making the schoolyard rounds. The gym teacher always knew what to do with me – and that was to let me create school records, whether it was the rope climb, pull-ups, or, the 50-yard dash. So the powers of academia generally knew what to do with my hyperactivity – even way-back-when (before special education and ‘No Child Left Behind’).
But what about the neighbors? I mean, I was the kind of kid who knew where every bird’s nest was on my property – but also wanted to find them on my neighbor’s yards. Heck! The poor guy dating the Beznitz girl up-the-road nailed me with his car one day and took a knock-out punch from my father (I think I was dead for a bit myself). And poor neighbor, Steve Sivy – all he tried to do was cut his lawn and I would keep jumping in front of his push mower trying to dodge the mower. Finally I got the top of my tennis shoe sliced off and we decided to end this game. And the next thing I knew Steve Sivy was in Viet Nam. When he came back – he didn’t know me, and I didn’t know him. I’d like to think that our lawn mower game prepared him for a place he called Hamburger Hill (which not only turned him into a vegetarian – but required a joint for breakfast, lunch and dinner to get through the day).
But with this realization, I remember how much I did enjoy cutting the grass. Hell! Even looking for our dog’s shit was good therapy for me.
So, I guess I have many people to thank for having ears, toes, a life…and avoiding the one place that probably would have managed my hyperactivity better than any other place: Nam.