Junior High

Old news by now, but Miles'recent introduction to kindegarten has rekindled some previously repressed memories for me. No, not my first day of school; visions of that particular event, ripping me from my mother's womb, remain suspiciously buried under years of never received therapy. Still, I have to admit I recovered nicely. My elementary years were quite successful. I was smart, popular; a leader of fine young boys and girls. If you don't believe me, ask Mrs. Gould , my 4th and 5th grade teacher.



Actually, the repressed memories that have drifted to the top of my head relate to my first day of Junior High. (Mommy?)
Woe was me.
First of all, the result of some geographic mean practical joke, most of my friends went to a different school. I was a stranger in a strange land. Mulling around in the school playground, trying to be even smaller than I was (I wanted to disappear,) I bumped into a female amazon creature; one whose behavior, complexion, and language were foreign to me
"Watch it f#%ko," were the first words uttered to be me in this wholey unacceptable environment. Oi vey.

I wonder where my guardian angel was that day, as I also wonder where she was when they told me I couldn't go home for lunch; I ws jailed for the entire day, Monday thru Friday. Where was Willie when I was assigned seats alphabetically instead of by size, so I sometimes ended up in the back row, where it was determined that I couldn't see so so well. Was she visiting a sick friend when it was decided that I should get braces? Was she on a leave of absence while I took a leave of my senses, reverting from a confident little hot shot into a four eyed, metal mouthed puny little spunkless mouse?

Yet, maybe she hadn't abandoned me; maybe Willie adhered to the theory that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Truth be told (and it must be told,) I survived. Eventually, I thrived.
Not in Junior High, a putz on JHS 145, Joseph Pulitzer; but later in life.
Sure, I skated thru high school, lollygagged thru college, and demeaned myself selling sheets and towels in my early adult years.
But look at me now; an embarassment of riches. I forgive you, amazon girl. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. If I had my druthers ( and admittedly I have my druthers more often than most, though not this time,) anyway, if I had my druthers, what doesn't kill you would make you stronger and also taller.
So, hey, I'm short. But I'm happy. I laugh loud and often; smile broadly with pride and affection for my family. I done good.
And so it goes...................