I started the summer with the best intentions of writing a novella of my boyhood experiences from the summer of 1973. It started off well enough. I collected 45 pages of memories over a short span of years. It was quite fun as the images were often so strong and pungent that I could feel and taste them. However, I couldn't always recall the year, so I checked the dates on songs, movies, television shows, stamps and other artifacts from the era to help me set the memories in the right place in time. Kind of a history of objects, which is quite popular to do these days, but I wanted it to be a story in the first person, not an old man looking back at his childhood.
Unfortunately, the summer conspired against me. I got involved in all sorts of projects, mostly gardening, and the days slipped away with little to show for it in the way of writing. This past month we've been spending with our oldest daughter, who returned from Australia with her husband to have some long deferred time with the family. It's been great having her home! I would often tell these stories to her and her siblings when they were kids. I had long been meaning to collect them.
It is still hot. The heat and humidity are very reminiscent of my summer days in Florida. We even have thunderstorms roll in some afternoons, which was a regular occurrence on the gulf coast. As my Dad would say, you could set your clock by them. But, too few words stemming from the word processor. Now, I think of extending my story into Fall. Seventh grade. It makes it easier to remember when thinking back to a similar month on the calendar.
I had made the basketball team, but spent most of my time on the bench, called in during the last quarter when we were so far behind it no longer mattered. My mother watched the games from the wood bleachers. She said the Bethlehem game was like seeing a bunch of bees swarming all over the court, as they were clad in yellow and black, with our team powerless to do anything against them. My best friend Byron was determined to have me score so he kept feeding me the ball. After two failed layups, I finally managed to hit a short jump shot. Final score 32-10 or something like that.
A lot of school memories revolve around sports, as I would try out for the teams. The only sport I was really successful at was tennis but that was mostly because it was new to the school and there were only 3 or 4 us of who knew how to play. You had to field a team of no less than 5 players. We still wore short shorts in those days. We did fine against the other small high schools, but when we went up against the bigger schools, we got thrashed. I tried to get my Dad to give me tips, as he had played tennis many years before at the University of Texas, but he wasn't much interested anymore. Still, he showed me how to put more spin on my serve, and do half volleys at the net, which proved quite effective.
Girls also figured more strongly into my experiences but I don't want to look like Humbert Humbert recalling my memories of 12 year-olds. One memory is worth noting. It was a high school dance in the old gym. We had a new gym by this point but the coach refused to let anything other than sneakers touch the polished floor. Richie and I were sitting on the bleachers, looking down at Angie and Debbie Cauley. They were two, maybe three years older than ourselves. No one was dancing with them, so Richie said let's give it a shot. We went up and asked to them dance and to our surprise they said yes. I was so excited to be dancing with Angie, who I considered to be the most beautiful girl in school, that I started flailing my arms in all directions and hit Debbie in the nose. Fortunately not too hard, but still she was upset. Everyone was getting a good laugh out of it at this point. I apologized profusely to Debbie but she just shrugged me off like a fly. Richie didn't let me live that one down for weeks.
The memories are a mixed bag, as I remember painful ones as well. I can't say I really enjoyed high school at the time. I felt out of place in the rural setting. I wanted something more, much more, but I tried to make the best of it. Lots of disappointments along the way, but oddly enough facebook brings back mostly the good memories, rekindling relationships long dormant, but at a friendly distance. I had to cut a few friends as they could be quite unpleasant. Ernie Perdue was one. There was no way to shake him. He would invade any thread with puerile comments as if we were still back in high school. Some persons never grow up.
I joined the Freeport High School thread on facebook. The school is much bigger now but still small in comparison with the other schools in the area. Someone posted a picture of the new auditorium, which is quite nice. We always had to make due with the gym. Some spammer was trying to sell ugly generic Freeport t-shirts at one point, which forced the moderator to make the page private. A few persons post memories from time to time. It is nice to get other perspectives. However, these are far and few between.
I'm trying to be honest with my memories, not reimagining them in more favorable terms. I think that is the only way to reconcile the past with the present. Our character was pretty much formed in our childhood. Sure, we change, but not so much that we can't connect the two. We carry these memories with us throughout our lives. Most of us never really do anything with them other than to share them from time to time, but when you hit on something profound it really makes your day!
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