Walking there in the morning, or back in the afternoon. Or, biking it. Same with lunch. Top of the Pops in Grade 6, and merely ordinary in Grade 7. The way of the world!
I remember cold mornings, right here, waiting for the bell to ring.
By this time many of my schoolmates were heavy smokers. Here's where the teachers parked. Mrs. Govenchuk, for instance, a formidable Ukrainian lady who was unrelenting in her math demands, and who thus introduced me to the fact that life is full of unhappy trials.
Fields of Glory! Enjoying all those scurrisome track and field activities, necessarily and untragically coming to terms with the fact that I wasn't that great at it. For instance, can you see me over there, writhing a bit with my hurdle-snapped left arm? Well, there was always Dianne Docherty.
I loved P.E.! I loved jr. high school soccer! Why does this next thing always happen? In my early days I was a happy scoring inside-right forward. And here they put me back on defense! Where I felt very happy, by the way.
On occasion, I'm afraid, I intentionally hip checked guys. Over they went. Foul! And quite properly. At once point Coach Hamil pulled me off and benched me. Insufferable youth! I probably thought that was a mark of distinction too. Last thing, kids, at which you may flinch. They had me write the game summaries, for the next day's announcements. They got longer, and longer, and more and more obnoxiously precocious ...
