The Words

A New School

Rather than a terrifying ordeal as often depicted, a new school meant a fresh start for me. No one knew me, remembering that skinny sissy kid from grade school or junior high who everyone had picked on. I was no longer a target for bullies, nor was anyone looking to fight me because I'd landed a lucky punch and broken their bully buddy's nose. Now, I didn't want to fight any more than I ever had, but I knew that I could protect myself, if necessary, which allowed me to feel much more at ease, at least around other guys. With them, I could be whoever I chose to be, with no one aware I was attempting to present myself differently than I had in the past. If any of them insulted me, I laughed and returned the favor. So, I made new friends easier than in the past.

But the occasion didn't suddenly present me with some previously untapped source of self-confidence when it came to girls. Not all girls, though. For some reason, I could now talk with most of the girls as effortlessly as the guys, maybe because I no longer lived in fear and embarrassment of the way I'd allowed myself to be treated by anyone who bullied me at school. It was only the girls I wanted to be more than friends with who left me too anxious to engage in intelligent conversation, and, sadly, in my mind, those were the only girls that mattered. I didn't realize until much later some girls liked me that same way, more than a few of those with whom I felt more at ease as well as several of the girls who I liked a lot, and wanted to be more than friends, but who terrified me into mute stupidity. I should have paid closer attention to the clues or learned what the clues were. I probably could have had my choice of high school girlfriends if I hadn't been such a coward. But then, horny as I was, I may have gotten laid, got some girl pregnant, which may have tipped over enough apple carts that there would no longer be this story to tell.

Rather than attempt a holistic chronological narrative, I'll separate my high school years by topic. They made little sense sequentially when each event and experience were tossed together, like a ping pong ball in a room full of mouse traps.

Basketball

The tryouts for the basketball team took place about a month into the school year. I'd hoped to practice every evening after school and would have practiced the entire summer if given a choice, neither of which happened. Still, I felt I'd performed during the tryouts. I more than held my own in the ball-handling and passing drills. I could shoot the ball as well as anyone present, except for the star player and captain of the team. He was a senior who'd already signed a letter of intent with a highly respected major college program. No one could reach as high on the backboard as I had during the jumping drills, including the tallest kid in attendance, who was a year older and easily six inches taller. All those marks above the doorway at our old house had paid dividends.

Was I good enough to be one of the starting five players? No. Probably not. But were there twelve other kids at the tryouts who were better players? I didn't believe there were. But when they posted the list of those who'd made the team, my name was not on it. And there wasn't a single name on the list that hadn't been on the roster of either the high school or junior high teams the previous year. There were several other players whose names I believed should have been on that list. So, I wasn't the only one disappointed, but that provided me with no conciliation.

My mother told me; this was not the most unfortunate tragedy that could have befallen me. I could still do anything else I put my mind to doing. And several of the stars on the football and basketball teams she'd known in high school was all they'd ever achieved. Their entire adult lives consisted of no more than reliving those days. So, she suspected, I would look back one day and realize I was probably better off not making the team. There were more important things to pursue.

I had no concept of what the individual possibilities within anything might be. I felt as though the future had disappeared for me. It would have helped a lot if I'd had the basketball court my stepfather promised, even if it wasn't until the end of the summer. But additional practice before the tryouts, of course, was not a part of my contract of indentured servitude. However, going to school to discover dried spackling on the back of my neck that I'd missed during my rushed, abbreviated shower the evening before was just part of the job.