While lurking around in Facebook, I happened upon pictures of old friends at their reunion. I did not get an invite, even though I spent 13 years of time with them. Which is quite alright, I didn’t make it across the stage with them.
While growing up, I always did hate school. The cause of which would mostly be the constant bullying up until my growth spurt which must have been summer before 9th or 10th grade, I’m uncertain. And then afterwards there were still some, but my size definitely scared off a few. One in particular person, Lance — that little bastard; I saw him for the first time in lunch line by looking down. It was as if he shrunk six inches. I must have shot up fast.
The other causes of my opposition of school were varied. Let’s get this one of my chest: shoes; I had to wear stupid, pointless shoes. Okay, there are legitimate reasons that non-redneck, shower loving people can relate to. Homework is for complex work – not for pointless English, History, or Social Studies (what was this in school-I have no clue). I feel like I left a pointless subject out of the mix.
Then the only fun subject up until 9th grade was math. I have to say that whoever my 5th grade English teacher was, deserves respect as the only teacher of English who had ever really taught me anything until Composition & Rhetoric in college. She was a hardass and pushed the sentence diagrams really hard. She drilled them and turned it into a very near math or logic type of challenge. If she sticks out from a childhood chock full of blocked memories, I’ll have to say she was special. Too bad Mrs. _____ is all I recall.
As for mathematics, why did they have to ruin my nights with terribly boring homework. I had zero problems keeping up. Matter of fact, why did we have class work most of the time. I’d draw as an escape from the dull environment. Other kids would raise their hands all day long and ask the dumbest questions, so I ignored them all and kept drawing. The only math problem I ever recall was homework – classwork: done before the bell if I cared.
Pre-Algebra in 7th grade was certificate winning apparently. I got one for that. It was fun, then geometry was the best thing ever.
Drafting classes began in 9th grade and I found a place to be happy for the first ever time in school history.
The teacher, Mr. Lee, was some type of kungu master, I’m pretty certain it was Wing Chun (what I soon will be attempting). He showed us several techniques. Two I remember him doing on one occasion. The first trick was to jump straight up [onto] a drafting table, which is like 4′ high, without any forward movement–just enough to get his feet up there. Impressive to me still, but not nearly as impressive as watching the knuckle punch.
I believe Bruce Lee coined this the 1 inch punch. Our Mr. Lee picked the largest student, a six foot guy whose name I cannot remember; yet I remember him. He drove a black Trans Am and any time you would try to pass him, he would gun it. There was no chance to get around him. His car wasn’t nearly as shiny as the one you see above. He was basically white-trash and did live in a trailer park. He had a tough attitude and seemed to like to fight. But he was nice to me and I liked him. BirdDog was what he called his radar detector, that has always stuck with me. So, Mr. Lee brought him to the aisle between tables and gave him a drafting textbook to hold tight to his chest. Instructing him to put his right leg back and brace for impact. He then went and grabbed a chair from the neighboring classroom, we used stool-seats for our tall desks or stood while drawing, and positioned it about four feet behind him.
He then squared up, put his balled fist to the book, bent his first knuckles outward then made a quick strike that sent the student flailing backwards like a babydoll. He almost fell over the backside of the blue plastic chair. After the inevitable shock, he wanted another go. The second time through, Mr. Lee placed him squarely in the chair with ease.
You should check out this at the 27 second mark. YouTube link.
9th through 11th was spent there, where I began to somewhat enjoy school because of the trade class. The County built a new school for the graduating class of ’97 and we moved there for my “senior year”. The County dropped Drafting from its availability for the new school and would not let me attend the old facility, even for one period a day.
That’s the day I gave up on school.
Jeez that rant went deep. I need food!! I’m out!!