I was afraid of him and we were more or less cornered and with no teachers to be found. This was typical actually; once that final bell went off, the teachers were done with having to deal with us and we were on our own. They scattered like rats in the headlights after 3:00 if they could and all the rules they had set in place that might possibly come in handy at a time like this were mysteriously suspended until the next morning. I noticed that Joseph looked a little pale and was shaking slightly; I knew that he was scared by now, but I also knew that he would stand up to them if he had no other choice and would never run away to leave me to fend off these creatures alone.
Leave him alone, Jamie. What's the matter, the little fag can't speak? Damn it, I said leave him the hell alone. I saw someone just then out of the corner of my eye; it was Mr. Strickmann coming towards us with a menacing look that for once I almost welcomed. W hat did I hear you say Andrews? You're a trouble maker, you know that? Me? How was I a trouble maker? The worst thing I'd done was getting sent to his office for cracking a joke in homeroom ; what felony had I committed by trying to drop a little humor into this stifling crater of a school? You and Joseph both get your butts down to my office right now. Jamie, you get your friends out of here and go home and let your mothers take care of you.
Oh great, w e were going to get detention or maybe worse and the little storm troopers were being sent home to their mommies. Strickmann called our parents, but only Mrs. Klein was home and she was flustered and confused when she showed up to take Joseph home, wondering I'm sure what I had done to get her son into such trouble. She offered to drive me, but I told her I wanted to walk. I saw that Joseph had been crying a little and I didn't see the need for him to suffer any further embarrassment just then. There would be plenty of time for that over the next two and a half years.
Fiv e
It's Not Your Fault
Many things changed in middle school, not all of them bad. In elementary school we had recess every day, our opportunity to go outside, weather permitting and just play wherever and with whoever we wanted to. It was free time basically and unstructured. It was as much of a break for the teachers as it was for us. Now, a totally new and fascinating institution had emerged called gym class; intriguing in both its complex function and formalized structure. If the school was like being in a prison, gym was like being in the army. Uniforms were mandatory, no exceptions, and we had to stand in line for inspection, yes really, at the start of every class to make sure our uniforms were clean and otherwise to specifications. The only thing missing was the M16. Mr. Galloway, a good guy at heart, would bark out the orders just like a drill sergeant.
ATTENTION! DRESS RIGHT! AT EASE! SOUND OFF, GENTLEMAN!
He always referred to us collectively as gentleman and individually by our last name only. We each had an assigned number, which corresponded to the place in the inspection line where we stood. We would sound off by yelling out our numbers in order and any silence would mean someone was absent and that person's number and name would be recorded on Mr. Galloway's clipboard and in that way, the attendance was always accurate and official. Joseph would giggle sometimes during the inspection, his 13 year-old mind fully recognizing how ludicrous it all was. I had to struggle sometimes to keep from cracking up.
KLEIN, STEP FOR W ARD, DROP AND GIVE ME 20!
This was very serious stuff and no goofing off was permitted. Some of you, who may have either been excused from gym class for whatever reason, or otherwise experienced something quite different at the school you attended, may think that this could not have happened the way I've described, but many of you undoubtedly can relate to my
Leave him alone, Jamie. What's the matter, the little fag can't speak? Damn it, I said leave him the hell alone. I saw someone just then out of the corner of my eye; it was Mr. Strickmann coming towards us with a menacing look that for once I almost welcomed. W hat did I hear you say Andrews? You're a trouble maker, you know that? Me? How was I a trouble maker? The worst thing I'd done was getting sent to his office for cracking a joke in homeroom ; what felony had I committed by trying to drop a little humor into this stifling crater of a school? You and Joseph both get your butts down to my office right now. Jamie, you get your friends out of here and go home and let your mothers take care of you.
Oh great, w e were going to get detention or maybe worse and the little storm troopers were being sent home to their mommies. Strickmann called our parents, but only Mrs. Klein was home and she was flustered and confused when she showed up to take Joseph home, wondering I'm sure what I had done to get her son into such trouble. She offered to drive me, but I told her I wanted to walk. I saw that Joseph had been crying a little and I didn't see the need for him to suffer any further embarrassment just then. There would be plenty of time for that over the next two and a half years.
Fiv e
It's Not Your Fault
Many things changed in middle school, not all of them bad. In elementary school we had recess every day, our opportunity to go outside, weather permitting and just play wherever and with whoever we wanted to. It was free time basically and unstructured. It was as much of a break for the teachers as it was for us. Now, a totally new and fascinating institution had emerged called gym class; intriguing in both its complex function and formalized structure. If the school was like being in a prison, gym was like being in the army. Uniforms were mandatory, no exceptions, and we had to stand in line for inspection, yes really, at the start of every class to make sure our uniforms were clean and otherwise to specifications. The only thing missing was the M16. Mr. Galloway, a good guy at heart, would bark out the orders just like a drill sergeant.
ATTENTION! DRESS RIGHT! AT EASE! SOUND OFF, GENTLEMAN!
He always referred to us collectively as gentleman and individually by our last name only. We each had an assigned number, which corresponded to the place in the inspection line where we stood. We would sound off by yelling out our numbers in order and any silence would mean someone was absent and that person's number and name would be recorded on Mr. Galloway's clipboard and in that way, the attendance was always accurate and official. Joseph would giggle sometimes during the inspection, his 13 year-old mind fully recognizing how ludicrous it all was. I had to struggle sometimes to keep from cracking up.
KLEIN, STEP FOR W ARD, DROP AND GIVE ME 20!
This was very serious stuff and no goofing off was permitted. Some of you, who may have either been excused from gym class for whatever reason, or otherwise experienced something quite different at the school you attended, may think that this could not have happened the way I've described, but many of you undoubtedly can relate to my
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