experience and you know then that I could not be making this up and that I am not exaggerating. The activities varied from day to day and from season to season. Sometimes we'd do calisthenics, play basketball, or learn gymnastics. When it was warm, we'd actually get to play softball once in awhile, which of course I loved because Mr. Galloway was not the lunatic that Mr. McMullen was and he put me in the outfield where I belonged. Unfortunately however, sometimes with minimal regard for the weather , Mr. Galloway could prove to be quite a lunatic and would make us run instead. He believed that running built both stamina and character in young gentleman, so we ran at least a mile and a half , which we hated.
But we did not hate Mr. Galloway because underneath the tough guy act, he had more class than most of the other teachers. He was patient with the less athletic guys who could never make a free throw, and he went easy on the unfortunate ones in gymnastics who were tortured by the rings or parallel bars. He saw some athletic potential in me and encouraged me to try out for the JV baseball team, which I declined for reasons you already know. He knew that I loved football and though I was too small to play, he offered up the equipment manager's position to me on the ninth grade varsity team, which he coached. That was an honor I readily accepted; me a punk seventh grader on the bench with the best athletes in the school, with the cheerleaders hanging out nearby or performing their routines for the crowd in front of the home team stands .
And the following season after the unimaginable tragedy that left me numb and nearly immobile, sometimes for days at a time, when I was invisible to the other teachers who preferred to pretend I was not there, when the school counselor's ideas had run dry, Mr. Galloway would find me sitting alone in the library and would talk about how badly the Bears were doing that season without Gayle Sayers, and he would invite me to have dinner with his family, who were very kind and always supportive. So when I tell you that I hated middle school, you will understand that I did not hate all of it, because there were people like the Galloways who refused to abandon me during those years and they gave whatever they had or could dream up that in some way might help to get me through them.
I guess I would have to say that Joseph's experiences in school were mixed as well. Despite his somewhat slight stature and occasional flamboyance, I knew of a toughness and determination inside of him that might not be all that obvious to others. A lot of the guys avoided him, not because of anything Joseph did, but rather due to their own insecurities and their need to conform, as we've said, no matter what. But his openness and amiability were refreshing and there was a confident style and sense about him that was comforting and attracted people to him. He made friends much more readily than I did, especially with the girls, who were drawn to his somewhat sensitive nature, and of course they were not likely to feel threatened by him and were largely immune from any fear, although perhaps not from concern for what others might think about him.
He wasn't handsome exactly, but a slightly chipped tooth and a crooked smile gave his face a distinctive look, and his wavy reddish hair had a way of flopping itself down over his forehead, causing him to have to flip it back and out of the way with some regularity. Sure, the girls loved to hang around him and I certainly wasn't about to raise any objection to that. Some of their attention and fondness for Joseph was bound to bounce off him and quite possibly onto whoever was nearby, meaning me. Like everyone else, we migrated into our little cliques where we felt most comfortable and connected; seemingly the ideal situation for my friend and me and the best of all worlds, in a perfect world that is, which this one was not. The undercurrent of
But we did not hate Mr. Galloway because underneath the tough guy act, he had more class than most of the other teachers. He was patient with the less athletic guys who could never make a free throw, and he went easy on the unfortunate ones in gymnastics who were tortured by the rings or parallel bars. He saw some athletic potential in me and encouraged me to try out for the JV baseball team, which I declined for reasons you already know. He knew that I loved football and though I was too small to play, he offered up the equipment manager's position to me on the ninth grade varsity team, which he coached. That was an honor I readily accepted; me a punk seventh grader on the bench with the best athletes in the school, with the cheerleaders hanging out nearby or performing their routines for the crowd in front of the home team stands .
And the following season after the unimaginable tragedy that left me numb and nearly immobile, sometimes for days at a time, when I was invisible to the other teachers who preferred to pretend I was not there, when the school counselor's ideas had run dry, Mr. Galloway would find me sitting alone in the library and would talk about how badly the Bears were doing that season without Gayle Sayers, and he would invite me to have dinner with his family, who were very kind and always supportive. So when I tell you that I hated middle school, you will understand that I did not hate all of it, because there were people like the Galloways who refused to abandon me during those years and they gave whatever they had or could dream up that in some way might help to get me through them.
I guess I would have to say that Joseph's experiences in school were mixed as well. Despite his somewhat slight stature and occasional flamboyance, I knew of a toughness and determination inside of him that might not be all that obvious to others. A lot of the guys avoided him, not because of anything Joseph did, but rather due to their own insecurities and their need to conform, as we've said, no matter what. But his openness and amiability were refreshing and there was a confident style and sense about him that was comforting and attracted people to him. He made friends much more readily than I did, especially with the girls, who were drawn to his somewhat sensitive nature, and of course they were not likely to feel threatened by him and were largely immune from any fear, although perhaps not from concern for what others might think about him.
He wasn't handsome exactly, but a slightly chipped tooth and a crooked smile gave his face a distinctive look, and his wavy reddish hair had a way of flopping itself down over his forehead, causing him to have to flip it back and out of the way with some regularity. Sure, the girls loved to hang around him and I certainly wasn't about to raise any objection to that. Some of their attention and fondness for Joseph was bound to bounce off him and quite possibly onto whoever was nearby, meaning me. Like everyone else, we migrated into our little cliques where we felt most comfortable and connected; seemingly the ideal situation for my friend and me and the best of all worlds, in a perfect world that is, which this one was not. The undercurrent of
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