Sixth grade in Peoria was so much better that fifth grade in East Peoria that life began to seem almost pleasant for me. I had a great teacher and the classes were easy since I’d been exposed to most of the material in my split fifth/sixth grade class the year before. I had friends I could talk to at recess, I was playing in the school band, and I was learning lots of useful skills as a Boy Scout. Of course it was too good to last.
On a hike with the Boy Scouts, I lost my eye in an accident involving a stick. As a result, I was in and out of the hospital for several weeks of the school year. Fortunately, spending all that time in the hospital, plus all the other doctor visits didn’t actually seem to be too much of a set-back in my education at that point. At least, I haven’t noticed any ill effects to date. Walking around school wearing a bandage over my eye prevented me from fading into the background socially, as I likely would have done otherwise. Instead, I was “the kid who got his eye poked out.” Getting attention for something other than my complete lack of social skills was a welcome change from my previous condition, so, for me, it was a positive experience for the most part. I was cautioned by my father to never use my injury as an excuse for anything, or as any sort of self-pity kind of crutch to prop myself up with. It was good advice, but then it wouldn’t have occurred to me in for first place. People were interested in me for something that had happened to me and not interested in torturing me for being such a misfit. In my world, this was a giant step up towards the top edge of the elementary school snake-pit in which I’d been living for the last couple of years.
Not that life was all roses and lollipops, no, not at all, but there were moments, sometimes hours where I found myself doing something I enjoyed with people who, sometimes, almost seemed to enjoy my company. There were still the occasional encounters with people who objected to my existence, or, at least, my presence at some particular location we had, momentarily, in common. I was still not prone to hold my ground during such encounters and suffered a number of self-esteem set-backs as a result, but there was microscopic, incremental progress in a positive direction. There was enough progress that I was able to find reasons to continue to strive to fit in with my peers, rather than wallow in self-pity. It seemed like a worthy goal at the time. It was only much later that I discovered that it was not only unachievable, but undesirable as well. At the time, though, I was hoping to finally persuade a few people to like me and want to do things with me. Eventually, I found a couple of them in my neighborhood.
School, for me, was a job. Every weekday, you got up in the morning, got dressed, ate breakfast, grabbed your books and undone homework, got on the bus and went to school. You spent the day trying to finish the homework you hadn’t done the night before, you tried to look interested in whatever material you were supposed to be studying, you talked to your friends at recess, and you watched the clock. At the end of the day, you grabbed your books and homework assignments, which you really did intend to complete, you got back on the bus and you went home. Once at home, you had a snack and went out to play with your friends until dinnertime. After dinner, you were supposed to do homework, and I did try, but there were so many other more interesting things to do. There were TV shows to watch, Lightning Bugs to catch, and all sorts of adventures to be had on the dark suburban streets. School was just something I had to endure so that I could do the things I really enjoyed, like exploring the neighborhood and the surrounding forest and the railroad tracks across the highway. Almost anything was more interesting to me than schoolwork, and though I did enjoy reading the occasional assigned work of fiction, I much preferred spending my time outdoors exploring.
Weekends were filled with Boy Scout hikes and family outings. We were a camping family, so between trips with the family and trips with the Boy Scout troop I was getting to do lots of things I enjoyed. I also had a few household chores for which I was responsible. I did a few dishes, mowed the lawn, pulled weeds, picked the bugs off the pine trees, and a variety of other necessary tasks which I reluctantly performed. I was also charged with babysitting my little sister when my parents went out for the evening. Like a lot of very young children, she wasn’t happy when her mother wasn’t immediately available to take care of her and so, as soon as my mom and dad would leave, she would start crying. The crying usually went on for quite some time while I tried to find ways to distract and amuse her to make her stop. Babysitting by sister included changing her diapers, another one of those necessary but unpleasant tasks. I did it, though, since that was part of the job, but I was always glad to turn responsibility for that job back over to my mother when she got home.
With help and indulgence from my teacher and my parents, I graduated from the sixth grade, even though I hadn’t been able to spend the required amount of time in the classroom. Like I’ve said, though, I don’t think I missed very much while I was absent and I was confident that my life would continue to improve. I had no reason to think any differently at that point. I would start junior high school in the fall and we had been told that it would be quite different from the elementary school experience. We’d even had a day of orientation at the end of the sixth grade year to give us an idea of what to expect. Worrying about that could wait, though, as summer vacation was beginning. The new school year with its unknown challenges was weeks and weeks away, while the summer’s adventures were right there waiting for me.
No comments:
Post a Comment