I'm Going to be Thankful One Day - Or So I've Been Told

It's graduation season around her. Went to the neighbor boy's graduation party the other day. He was all happy and excited. I envy him his enthusiasm.

Oh, to do it all over again.

What a pain in the a*s that would be.

I didn't fit in at school. Wasn't part of any clique group - until I accidentially formed one consisting of other outcasts. Then non-outcasts began joining and soon I was kicked out. Odd how things work out sometimes, isn't it?

Growing up I had a vague sense of being different than my classmates. Mostly it was because my family was so much poorer than the others. Most of the other kids in the neighborhood, and at school, wore better clothing. Their parents drove better cars. Their houses were newer. They had better bicycles and most of the latest gadgets. They talked about taking trips, and doing things to which I just could not relate. But that wasn't the only reason I was an outcast.

None of my classmates came to school smelling like fuel oil in cold months. I did. All the time. You just cannot wash that smell out of your skin, no matter how hard you scrub - with Lava Soap. Ouch!

I also had a very off-the-wall sense of humor. I could - and did - make fun of anything, everything, and everyone. Including me. Few people can tolerate being made fun of. Not sure why. I've endured it all my life. It seems to go with being alive, doesn't it? Anyway, few of my classmates (and even fewer of my teachers) liked it at all. But I didn't care. And I wasn't afraid to tell them so.

Perhaps that was their greatest objection to me. I told them I had no problem living without them. I didn't need them in my life, and they didn't like that at all.

Midway through my senior year things changed. Daddy died. He had died on January 4th. After that I no longer felt a part of the world around me. As I think about it now I realize something: that has never changed. I still feel disconnected. It's like a part of me is gone which should not be gone. It's a strange feeling actually. Lonely. But I've always been lonely, I think. That goes back to my earliest memories.

I avoided the yearbook cameras after that. I did not go to the photography studio to get a senior picture, so I had no photos to exchange with anyone. But that was all right for, just as I had predicted, no one asked. Well, nearly no one. Two girls from the grade below asked. No one from my class.

When graduation neared I did not participate in any of the pre-ceremony activities. Was forced to attend the rehearsal because that took place during school hours. But I requested no tickets for family members. When asked why I said it was because I was not intending on being at the ceremony. I was criticized by the principal, but I told him I didn't give a damn what he thought. One teacher understood. Mrs. K. She was my creative writing teacher, and she always worked with the senior class, especially during graduation. She said she was glad. She didn't say why, but I expect it was because she understood it was my decision and not someone else's.

Unfortunately for me, I did attend my graduation. I was not happy about it.

Mother had waited for me to tell her about the ceremony and such. She never asked. My guess is that she knew the date and time but wanted me to ask her to come. She did things like that. I wouldn't ask. Didn't. So it was never talked about. Then, on the night of the ceremony, about two hours before it began, she asked about it. (This is why I think she knew all along. But she was distressed to learn I could actually out-wait her.)

Aren't they having a graduation ceremony for your class?

Yeah. I suppose.

When is it?

Whenever.

She was angry with me for not telling her, but I started up the stairs. Didn't matter to me. In two hours it would be too late. But I hadn't reckoned on Helvie. Helvie told mother the ceremony was that night. I was ordered downstairs.

Why didn't you tell me?

Why should I? I'm not going. Why do you want to?

You are going! Get yourself ready. Right now.

I don't want to go.

Yes, you do. You'll thank me for this in twenty years.

And so I was made to go. I was angry, angry, angry. And since I hadn't requested tickets, Mother and Helvie didn't fare too well, either. They had to sit up in the bleachers instead of in the nice chairs close to the stage.

I stood in line while strangers came by to shake hands with the graduates and congratulate them. As soon as protocol allowed, I was out of line and turning in my robe. Mrs. K was handing the real diplomas to graduates as they did this. When she saw me she smiled.

So, you came after all.

I had to. Mother made me.

Oh. I'm sorry.

Various classmates who had treated me like dirt and sh*t for twelve years now came up to me with big smiles and talked about how great it was going to be. Then they all said the same thing: See you at the class reunion. I gave them all the same response: No you won't.

I have kept that promise. The only classmates I have seen since high school have been Stephen, Randy, and Chris. Bumped into a couple of others by accident, but have never sought out those who once hated me. Never saw the point. If I didn't matter to them then, I wasn't likely to matter to them now. I would like to know what happened to Vicky, though. Didn't seek her out because she got married right out of high school. Didn't think I would be appreciated. [smiles]

This year marks the 35th anniversary since my graduation. I had no party. Not really. Two weeks after the ceremony Mother invited my brother and sisters to the apartment (we had lost the house after Daddy died and moved out of the area). Stephen called that day. He had spent the time since graduation searching for me. Coincidentally, he found me that day.

It's been 35 years, and now I look back and remember what Mother told me that evening: "You'll thank me for this in twenty years." I didn't thank her. Won't. After 35 years I'm still not thankful. I should have stayed home that night.

When the Big Men Fight

So Son's last day of school this term is Thursday. Last night the sixth grade band did their final concert. Went very well. They're a lot better than I remember school bands being.

The end of term got me to remembering a few of my own - from waaaaaaay back.

Probably, the one I recall with the greatest amusement is the end of my Freshman year. I learned an important lesson that day.

It was the final day of school, so none of the teachers were having their classes do anything useful. Why we even bothered to come the last day was something of a mystery, but I was glad to be there. You see, it was my last chance to tell Vicki how I felt about her.

I had met Vicki during winter of seventh grade. In January, the boys and girls physical education classes merged, and instead of doing exercises and things like that, we did square dancing. It was a form of forced socialization, I guess. (Just realized something. In my book, Swords of Fire: Traitor, the family has monthly bonfire dances in which this very thing is done. Now I know where the inspiration came from. Interesting. To me.)

Anyway, I wasn't keen on the dancing until I chanced to dance with Vicki. I was enraptured from the start. She, of course, had no feelings whatsoever toward me. On a good day. On a regular day she probably didn't like me at all. You see, I was the class clown.

But I didn't tell her how I felt. Not during the dance and not after. Then I didn't tell her all through eighth grade. Kept promising myself that I would, but the closer I came to her the more my fear became an immobilizing monster I could not fight. And my silence rang through the school's halls.

By the end of my Freshman year she knew to some degree. Others had figured it out and spread the word. One even told me her reaction when she was told. She had made a face and said something unflattering. Of course, that just did wonders for helping me overcome my fear. Still, I promised myself I would at least talk to her this school year. Turns out I had lied to myself. It was the last day and I had yet to speak to her. Had opened my mouth. Happened to be standing next to her one day. She had her back to me. I opened my mouth to say something when she turned around. No sound came out. I just stood there with my mouth open looking like the very idiot she took me for. I still remember her reaction. She paused, looking at me. Then she shook her head and made a sound of exasperation and walked away.

So now it's the final day of the school year. After this day I shall have to wait until September to try again. Assuming she doesn't move away. But it was all to plain to me that I had no courage in the matter, and no words would be spoken. So I was crabby.

We were having a party in English class. Everyone but me was having a good time. I was snappy, and my classmates were avoiding me. Except for Kevin. Kevin was one of those unguarded people who was always in a good mood - even when he wasn't. Life was good to Kevin. Very good. I remember in college, when he and I were shooting pool in the commons area, two girls came and began playing on the table next to us. Wanting to meet the one girl, I used Kevin's confidence to make the introduction. Kevin would end up marrying the girl.

Well, I don't even know how it came about, but suddenly, I was snapping at Kevin in the middle of the room. Now I was the tallest in the class, but Kevin was only a few inches shorter than me. And he had me by at least thirty pounds. And Kevin was not a person to be afraid or intimidated by anything. Not even a surly boy who was itching for a fight. Kevin responded the way Kevin always responded. He got in my face.

Big mistake, Kevin, I was thinking. You just gave me what I wanted. A chance to do something really physical and get this out of my system. The posturing began.

Now Kevin was not a fighter. He was big. And strong enough, I guess. But the only other fight I knew he had been in he had broken his wrist hitting someone in the face. He didn't concern me. I had never lost a fight to anyone. Even when I took on multiple foes at once. Kevin had picked the wrong guy to be brave to.

Kevin must have learned something from his broken wrist because he didn't start of hitting. But then hitting wasn't Kevin's style anyway. He simply came up against me and began pushing me with his whole body. Well, I wasn't going to stand for that, so I set my feet, determined to show him my strength.

We were standing on a tiled floor. This mean that, even wearing tennis shoes, I found myself sliding across the room like a light piece of furniture. Kevin was heavier than me. I had no leverage against his superior weight, and suddenly I found myself pushed against the heat registers (now pushing out cool air). And Kevin kept coming, squishing me.

This was unexpected, and I was more than a little annoyed at my inability to stop Kevin. But I had a weapons Kevin did not. And in my surly, selfish, self-loathing mood, I used my best weapon from the get go. I hit him as hard as I could three times in quick succession, right in the guts. I was ready to stand over my victim in triumph. I had not been in a fight since fourth grade, when I told myself I would never fight again. (I lied about that too, it seems.)

To my dismay, Kevin's reaction was no reaction whatsoever. He didn't even flinch. It was like I hadn't hit him. But he must have realized I had because he said, "Okay, Bevie. What is it? You want to fight? I'll fight if you want to fight. Is that what you want to do, Bevie?"

Well it had been what I wanted to do, but now I had changed my mind. I found myself looking around the room. Where was the teacher? Why wasn't she over here stopping this? Surely she wasn't going to let us just brawl? What kind of teacher was she anyway?

To my relief she had just realized what was going on and came to my rescue by yelling at the two of us. We were sent out of the room with instructions to find the vice-principal and tell him why we were in trouble. We did. He asked what the fight was about and neither Kevin or I knew. He knew we were friends and laughed us us and told us to get back to class.

On the way back Kevin talked like it was no big deal. In his mind the fight was forgotten and we were friends again. I bet he's still that way. He's a lot better man than I. He always was.

So, my lesson? Never underestimate an opponent. Overweight people are tougher than they look. Don't get overconfident about my own ability.

I lost that fight, but I never took a punch.

Thank God.