Merrill Middle School Gymnasium

I was just finishing up this blog post and asked my 17 year old son to read a bit of it. 

I really didn't know how to defend myself when he asked, "Is this written by a kid?" Actually, I guess it is in a way. 

"You liked my last blog post"

 Teen- "Yeah, but that was about Toby and that was crazy." 

Fair enough. I almost thought of scrapping the whole post, but then figured that my 4 followers would really be missing out. 

So let’s get into the three worst gym units of my 6th grade year of Middle School. To be clear all the units were terrible. 

In 1980 at the age of 11, I started 6th grade. 6th grade was a whole new ball game (see that gym reference?) compared to elementary school. It was getting serious. Students were expected to remember class schedules and it was the first time each subject had its own classroom and teacher. Gym class was also getting serious. Mandatory showering after class was a new thing as well as wearing a gym suit during class. 

"I beg your pardon?" 

That's right. Gym Suit. At Merrill Middle School this was required apparel for the girls. Before the school year started, everyone and their mom went to Spanbauers's Sporting Goods on Main St. to purchase either the blue or green one piece gym suit. To this day I regret not picking the green. Not because it looked better; nothing was going to help that gym suit look better but because the “cool” girls had on the green suit. 

On the first day of gym class we met our teachers Mr. V and Mrs. C.  We were told, to our delight, that boys and girls would be separated by a curtain that divided the gym for most of our units. However, we would combine for the dreaded kick ball, ego crushing dodge ball and the tortuous scooter relay races.

 

Relay Races 

Apparently, relay races are supposed to encourage teamwork. In my case, having a boy as a partner guaranteed that wasn’t going to happen.  For the scooter races we had five lines alternating boys and girls. When my partner and I were up, I sat cross legged on the scooter, which barely contained my rear end, and held onto the sides for dear life. The energy and yelling from everyone was cranked high. My boy “partner” pushed my shoulders from behind and we sailed down the gym. This position was ok because you could at least put your feet down before he let go and you crashed into the wall. 

Unfortunately, the teachers changed it up for the next round and we had to lie on our stomach on the scooter while our partner pushed us by our ankles. I grabbed onto the scooter underneath me as my boy partner grabbed my ankles and pushed full speed ahead. It was terrifying knowing that the wall was coming soon and my head was in front. Alas, I didn’t have to worry because I got distracted by my waist length hair that flowed out and became tangled in the metal scooter wheels. It was all over soon enough as my partner spun me to the side and my body crashed into the wall.

 Gymnastics 

The other nightmare unit was gymnastics. In theory this sounded exciting because the Olympics were all the rage. However, as Mrs. C wheeled in the Olympic sized balance beam my hope of a gold medal turned to, "No. That'll be a hard no on doing a "routine" on that thing." Did Mrs. C not realize that we were basically the same height as the beam!? And the width of the beam was about 4 inches? Not only was it almost impossible to get on the thing we had to come up with a routine; extra credit for doing a forward roll on it. Ok. I had so much stress about the balance beam routine and couldn't stop worrying. I needed spotters to hold on to my hands and legs as I wobbled on the beam. The night before my performance I couldn’t sleep. I was consumed with fear. My family wasn’t religious, but that night as I lay in bed I had an epiphany. THIS must be the type of experience people had when they found God. I prayed to God that if he got me through this without falling off the beam and not  humiliating myself I would be a believer.  Let's just say, I'm still an atheist. 

Volleyball

 Our next unit was volleyball. It was just us girls. What could go wrong? It wasn't as bad as gymnastics, but it still held all the possibilities for humiliation. Things started off fine. I discovered that I was an excellent underhand server. It was just the other positions I couldn't stand. Who wants to get a ball spiked in their face? We had dodgeball already for cripes sake! And then came Debbie S. who would scream "GET THE BALL! GET IT! GET THE BALL!" throughout the entire game. Like, ok Debbie we get it. 

And if the actual content of gym class wasn’t enough of a stressor, we had to head to the locker room after class for mandatory showers. Getting undressed in front of other 11 year old girls with varying degrees of body shapes and development was not something any of us were comfortable with. Mrs. C would stand in the doorway to the showers with her clipboard ready to go. “ANDERSON!” She’d yell and this girl would huddle into the shower room as Mrs. C checked off her name. On and on down the class list until all of us had walked in, got a splash of water on our bodies and walked out. 

Before I “run out the clock” on this post I need to mention the gym class unit, “Act Like a Lady” or “Manners Matter” or some such thing that my friend Reb told me about. I have no memory at all of this unit, which means I was so traumatized by the daily shower situation I blocked it out or that I had the best ladylike manners and didn’t need this unit. Apparently, every class began with the girls doing calisthenics to the song, “Go Chicken Fat Go!” which Reb said was confusing as well as humiliating.  They also had to wear skirts some days so they could learn how to get in and out of a car, or how to sit in a chair like a lady. 

Wikipedia writes “ "Chicken Fat" was the theme song for President John F. Kennedy's youth fitness program, and millions of 7-inch 33 RPM discs which were pressed for free by Capitol Records were heard in elementary, junior high school and high school gymnasiums across the United States throughout the 1960s and 1970s.” Apparently, the teaching staff at Merrill Middle School didn’t realize it was now the 1980’s, but in any event… 

You might be wondering what the boys were doing during this unit while the girls were busy learning to mind their manners. I have no idea but judging by Larry P.’s declaration when I wore red Oshkosh B’Gosh painter pants, “Look! She has her period!” And Keith K ’s ripping open of Gail W.’s snap shirt, (which were later termed “Rape Shirts”) during passing time, I don’t think the boys were learning any form of how to behave like gentlemen. Anyway, all this talk of physical education and humiliation has exhausted me. I’m going to lie down and nap.

Children of the Corn

In the 1980's the horror movie, Children of the Corn came out. It's based on Stephen King's book so you know it's gonna be scary. The premise is that kids in some town worship a demon who tells them to kill all the adults to ensure a good corn harvest. I didn't read the book or see the movie and the relevance to this post is that corn fields and demons were in the cultural atmosphere at the time.

I fell in love with Toby the Spring of my sophomore year of high school. Toby was a 6 foot tall, leather jacket and combat boot wearing bean pole with an 8 inch spiked mohawk. What he lacked for brains he made up in height. He was a sweet guy. He'd toss stones at my bedroom window at night, left love notes in my mailbox.  He gave me a silver coil "ring" which came from his motorcycle engine. It was a very John Hughes movie type of vibe. 

As nice as Toby was, his common sense was pretty questionable as well as his firm belief that every where you turned society was out to get you. 

For example, he thought marriage "was just societies little game to trap you in the system." (Hello, we're 16. Settle down) And he agreed with his dad that banks were corrupt so they both apparently kept all their money under their mattresses. (Insert eye roll here). But hey, he was a teenager. I was a teenager. We were dumb. 

This is NOT Toby

Like a John Hughes movie, there was drama. In my case, the drama was that trouble showed up wherever Toby was concerned. You know how parents tell you things like, "hanging around that crowd will only attract trouble"? That was exactly my situation that summer. Luckily, I came to my damn senses by the end of the summer and ended it. But I digress.

 Toby's Aqua Net sprayed 8 inch mohawk never helped a tense situation out in public. Actually, it didn't help in
any situation especially one involving adults. 

One Saturday night, my friend Reb and I walked to the tennis courts on Jackson St. and lobbed tennis balls to each other while blasting Madonna on my boombox. After awhile we noticed that Toby had showed up and was sitting on his gigantic green car watching us.

Toby: "Hey, you guys should come check out these corn fields by Winnegago." (Winnebago Mental Health Institute, previously the Northern Hospital for the Insane) You can drive through them." 

Us: No really? What do you mean drive through them?

Toby:  "Steve and I were driving around and saw a path into the corn field so we drove in. It's really cool at night."

When it got dark, Toby picked us up in his old Impala and off we went.

We turned onto the dirt path that led into the field and slowly drove along. The corn came almost above the car so you could only see directly in front of you. In the dark, the headlights showed the corn dust floating as we drove through. It was pretty cool, but also kind of creepy because of the Children of the Corn vibe. We were deep into the corn field when all of a sudden headlights popped on behind us in the distance.

"Holy shit!"

"What the hell!?"

The car behind us started speeding up so Toby sped up. 

"Who IS that!? What do they want?" we screamed.

We were so scared and the car was gaining on us. Toby drove faster and faster; the corn stalks whipping by, Reb and I screaming.

Finally we catapulted out of the corn field onto a road that ended at the Winnebago asylum.

Toby stopped the car and that's when we saw; it was a police car.

The cop car roared up to us, slammed to a stop and a policeman jumped out. 
WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?! WHY DIDN'T YOU STOP?!

Us-Why didn't you put on your police lights!? We didn't know who it was!

Cop-Jesus Christ. You are trespassing on private property! Give me your license. You in the back, license.

Reb-I don't have it

Cop-Why not

Reb-Because I'm not driving!

The cop shook his head disgusted with the three of us. I personally thought Reb had a valid point there. He gave Toby a ticket for trespassing and told us to get the hell out of there.

Off we went back into town. By now it was around 11:00 pm and we decided to get ice cream from Leon's Frozen Custard drive-in. 

Vanilla cones in hand, Toby proceeded to drive us home.  Having trouble eating and driving, Toby parked on Nebraska St., a quiet residential street near mine. We talked and ate our ice cream. And wouldn't you know it, a car pulled up behind us and put on the red and blue lights. Another police officer.

"Not again!" we yelled

A cop (different from the corn field debacle) came to the window. He said there was a call of a break in in the area. He shined his flashlight in at us. Reb and I were sitting in the back seat innocently.  

Cop-What are you doing?

"We were just at Leon's and heading home."

Cop-What's your name?

Me: Mine or hers?

Reb-"Mine?"

Cop-The one in the pink

Reb-"Rebecca" 

Me-I'm in the pink.

Reb-"Oh right."

The cop shook his head. 

He rolled his eyes and told us to get going.

I'm going to get back to my high school journals and piece together the other police related incidents with Toby. More to come...

King of the Hill

The other day, my teenage sons and I were talking about the glory days of elementary school recess. My boys' favorite game was Four Square. 

They were stunned that I hadn't played this game when I was a kid and proceeded to explain the rules, "There's a king in a square, the queen and then wait there's a toilet in the last square..."

It started to sound like someone retelling "this dream I had and you were in it. Wait nope you weren't in it."

"Boys! would you like to hear a harrowing recess story?" 

"Yes!" 

It was 1974, the winter of my 3rd grade at Longfellow Elementary school. Longfellow Elementary school was the best school in the world. A few years after my 5th grade graduating class left, it was torn down and made into a parking lot and as my mom can tell you, I AM NOT OVER IT BY A LONG SHOT!

Longfellow school not only resembled the school in the movie, A Christmas Story, it also looked like the school in The  House Without A Christmas Tree (starring Jason Robards and Mildred Natwick).  Coincidentally, both movies take place in the 1940's which my sister will tell you looks and feels brown and dreary and that's why she can't stand those movies.  Hmph whatever.

So anyway...

Longfellow Elementary School

Movie: A Christmas Story

Do you remember the winter scene in A Christmas Story where the boy sticks his tongue to an icy metal pole? I witnessed this same scene for real years before the movie came out. 

Some scrawny second grade boy got the bright idea to try it during our morning recess.

I remember a teacher running outside with a cup of warm water to pour over his tongue. 

My girlfriends and I stood nearby in our fake fur hooded coats, arms crossed, shaking our heads. Kid, this is not a good way to make a name for yourself. 

Winter recess in Wisconsin was tough because there wasn't much to do but huddle around the door shivering waiting for recess to be over or play on the gigantic snow hill. I guess it wasn't really "playing" on the hill. It was King of the Hill.  Which is to say, trudging up to the top only to be thrown back down by a boy. Not my idea of fun.

 

Before I go on I need to make a disclaimer. Usually, my memory is rock solid and I have always thought this incident and this post was going to focus on Mike. You know, the Mike from a prior post about the bottle rockets at the high school pep rally?

However, while I was going through the class photos, I realized that Mike wasn't in my 3rd grade class. All these years I had pegged him as the central character in this story when it was Kevin all along.

At least I can confidently say, and my family and friends will back me up, that my smelling is still 100% spot on!

 

So back to Kevin.  I was thinking about a nice way to say that he wasn't my type, but I don't have to continue with that because really in 3rd grade all boys were gross.  Also, if you weren't Shaun Cassidy there really was no competition.
As far as behavior,  I can't say Kevin was the worst boy in our grade because he competed with Rob, who in first grade took his dull, metal school scissors to Angela's blonde ponytail which hung down between the back of her desk and the front of Rob's desk. 
He didn't succeed in actually cutting any of her hair, but the shock of witnessing a kid do that? It stopped me in my G.A.S. shoes and made me wonder what kind of person could even think to do such a
thing.

That brings us to the infamous Kiss List. 

Every day Kevin made a list of the girls he was most interested in kissing. The name at the top of the list was the girl he'd try to kiss at recess.

One of us would walk by his desk on our way to the wall mounted pencil sharpener and Kevin would hold open his desk top revealing the list taped inside, giving us a sneering smile as we we gasped in disgust.

 I still remember the feeling of being trapped in a dicey situation. 

Not so much that Kevin would chase us down to kiss us, but that this was something that was going happen at 10:30 a.m. and we had no choice. 

Eventually, my name was up. 

We went outside for recess.  I was on the lookout for Kevin as my friends and I trudged in the snow on the playground. As we neared the looming snow-hill, Kevin spotted me and and took chase.

In a desperate attempt to lose him, I ran up the snow-hill hoping to blend in with the commotion of screaming kids being tossed this way and that by the King of the hill.

Unfortunately, Kevin caught me and instead of kissing, he began choking me. I struggled to pull free from his grasp. I couldn't breathe  and panic started to take over, but I finally managed to pull loose and ran down the hill to the safety of some guy teacher that I can't remember and exclaiming out of breath, "That boy was choking me!"

He responded with a bored, "Well, stay away from him then."

I paused a few beats, stunned trying to process how idiotic this answer was. 

Gee, ok why didn't I think of that? Jerk.

 Nothing happened with Kevin after that. We all just went on living our harrowing little 3rd grade lives. 

Ya know, maybe I should have learned to play four square? 

The Homecoming Protest of 1986

Martin Luther King Jr. day has me thinking about all the protests in the 1980's when I was in high school. 
Man there wasn't a day when we Gen Xer's weren't outraged and marched...what's that? We didn't protest? 
Sure we were furious that the school disbanded the appointed smoking section. Well, no I didn't smoke, but for those that WANTED to! Injustice. We didn't protest, but we were mad as hell. 

But hold on there. It turns out we did protest in high school, but half of us didn't even know we did until about 25 years later when someone on Facebook posted the article from our high school newspaper. 

Let me take you back to what led up to the Homecoming protest.
The school was packed into the bleachers "listening" to our Principal and Vice Principal talk about something.

I DO remember a kid in our class shooting not one, but two bottle rockets at the vice principal. Very dramatic.
I DO remember groaning and eye rolling about having to go back to our classes.
I DO remember the announcement that the Homecoming football game was cancelled, and then later not cancelled, but the dance, yes that was indeed cancelled. The DANCE!

I lived for the school dance. 
Dancing up a sweat on a Friday night in our high school gym to songs from Depeche Mode, Dire Straits and A-ha. 
A chance to hear my favorite music at a blaring decibel versus the tinny sound from my faux wood GE clock radio.




I guess it made sense. This punishment.  Shooting bottle rockets at people, our principals no less, was pretty serious. 

But hold on, (this is the 25 years later part) apparently the dance was cancelled because students disobeyed the Principal's orders to leave the pep rally. Not for the bottle rocket incident! Now THAT is a record scratch moment my friends.


"People on a one-to-one basis were resisting my directive to leave the pep rally." -Principal. 

"Other students stayed because they didn't know what was going on." - Sophomore 

"No one understood what Mr. K wanted us to do."-Senior

This was the general feeling I remember. Certainly not a revolt.

I knew exactly what would clear this up. My journals. I flipped through y notebook pages looking for entries about this so called revolt.
Unfortunately, the only entry on that day was about my boredom in study hall.
 "There are 24 lights on in the Commons and 38 lights off. There are 102 curved boards along the wall. There are 4 garbage cans and 7 outlets. Etched into my table: COL BUNN ISARED NECK."

Nothing. No mention of the pep rally, the dance, the revolt. 
Apparently there was a "Wear Black on Monday" effort that I had no idea about either! 
I'm sure I was preoccupied with studying. Well no, not in Study Hall, but...

Listen, from our high school Facebook group we did hear from the bottle rocket launcher. He was expelled, went to a different high school and made new friends.
I have written about "Kevin" in a previous post. The same Kevin who posted on Facebook about his Beer and Boobs bachelor party tour...We'll have one last story involving Kevin in a later post. 

So is it a protest, a revolt, a rallying cry if you didn't even know it happened? I don't know.
What I do know is that I loved high school.
That my hair and drama ran high and no doubt I have the journals to prove it.

I

I'm Not Making This Up

Me in Journalism Class/Junior Year 1986

In high school, I always carried my personal journal/notebook. I kept it open in classes for the sole purpose of jotting down teacher quotes as well as documenting the  ongoing drama of my day. 
Here are just some classic musings I found from my junior and senior journals. Notice the common "people."

       

Spanish




"You've never seen me mad!"
-That's a teachers favorite thing to say. Like all the students are really going to think they're cool!

"My second level Spanish class thinks I go home at night and think up new tenses and verbs!"
-For 3 years she's said this. I kid you not.

"None of this You stay- me go. I just don't want it!"

"I think the weather's going to change. You people are very excited." 

"The next thing you know, you've confused the words and you have grandparents planted in the backyard."

"Come on people!"

Orchestra


-Man is he in a mood today. 
Not one word. Just sighs and moans. So pouty. Making us wonder if we've upset him.
Such a baby.

"Let's go people!"

"I hope you're inviting your people to the concert."

-He came in with this gigantic band aid on his neck. What's that about? 
"YES I CUT MYSELF SHAVING!" 
-hilarious

Biology

-I bet he loves touching that cow heart. Gees he keeps caressing the inside. Gross

"It's not gross, its a heart from a cow."

-It's Valentine's Day maybe that's why we have a cow's heart in class. I hope he washes his hands.
Nope
He's touching  the chalk!
He touched a book!
Finally washing his hands. 










First day of English Class

"I know some of you by reputation." 

Art 

"Ok let's give it a chance people."

-Mr E just told CB that he was bastardizing his class and if he thinks he doesn't care, you better BELIEVE he does!

Update: New Blog Title

My blog, You're Doing High School Wrong, is going through an identity crisis. It wants to be a place for high school hi jinx in the 1980's, but it also wants to be it's younger self, a kid from the 1970's. Let me explain.

I was writing about a poignant moment of my senior year in 1986; our high school homecoming pep rally where "Kevin Whatshisname" launched two bottle rockets at the vice principal,
when I remembered that this Kevin was the same guy who recently shared his bachelor party shenanigans via Facebook- the Beer and Boobs bus tour. Or was it the Boobs and Beer bus tour?

Anyway, before I could dig deep into the questioning of how such a bus tour works, for example, does the driver talk over a PA system on the bus? "Gentleman, on your right, you'll see a serene double D..." I  realized that this Kevin was the same creepy jerk I encountered in elementary school, specifically the winter of 1977.
Gasp! I know. You are dying to know the circumstances of all these instances and I can't wait to share them with you.

What to call this new blog? I ran some titles past my husband and teenage boys only to be met with blank stares. I was really going for The Color of Mustard because I love mustard and yellow is a color that resonates with me and the 1970's. This title was met with, "mustard? brown? sour?"
Moving on.
My new blog is titled Blue Bird Girl.

"Oh do you have a blue bird?"
I had a bird named Blue when I was in 2nd grade 1976 and that is again another tantalizing blog post, but the real reference of my title is from my time in Camp Fire Girls.

In 1974, when I was five years old, my mom signed me up for Camp Fire Girls. Before we could "fly up" to that level, we were known as Blue Birds.  My Blue Bird days included troop meetings learning new crafts such as "leather bottles." I went along with this craft of masking tape and shoe polish, but I wasn't convinced that it looked like leather and also, why would a bottle be leather? Anyway...at least the snack at meetings was substantial.

I feel even more tangents coming on so I'm going to end this blog post by adding that I hope you'll continue this journey of the greatest generation. Generation X.  Oh and also, you're still doing high school wrong.

Why To Begin?

Why start a blog?

The idea started on yet another “cleaning” of the attic.  My husband complained, “Why can’t we get rid of these things!? Bins and bins of books, high school journals and notes. For what?!”

Yep, I’m the wacky wife who keeps unused items neatly packed away in a literal storage space in our home! Insanity!

Yet my husband sees nothing absurd about how he hyperventilates and gets hives THINKING about items just sitting there in the attic. 

I have gone through my Memory Bins over the years and wondered what I’ll eventually do with all this stuff. Leave it all for my kids? I can just see my sons reading random journal entries about my disgust of chimpanzees or references to the Love Boat and why there are safety pins attached to notes. It's all lived, but not explained. . 

It becomes overwhelming. 

Overwhelming as in, the bins that contain my kids’ childhoods for example.  Years of life on micro vhs tapes in bins, unorganized; can’t watch them because we need some kind of adapter from 15 years ago and oh my God I’ve failed as parent!

This is the time in attic cleaning when I make a valiant effort by throwing some old curtain rods onto the give away pile then zoom out of there. 

So really my husband and I share the same angst about the attic, but my tactic is to just run away and not think about it. 

Later that day, I was telling my teenage sons about something funny I had read in my journals about a high school boyfriend. 

16 year old: "Oh is the boyfriend who years later realized he was gay?"

Me: "Actually no, this is another boyfriend who later realized he was gay."

13yo: "Is it the one you stole the shoe from and then you and Reb buried it? 

The shoe

16yo: "Man, you guys were crazy..."

Me: Listen! It was the 1980's! 

Then it hit me. Haul out the journals and notes and attempt to explain (defend) my life as a GenXer.