LBDM Episode 24:
7th Grade Memories:
How It All Started To Go BAD
The worst year I spent at Judson was my 7th
grade year, no doubts about that.
And the not-so-funny thing about it is it all
started to go wrong one nice Spring day in 1980 during my 6th grade
year.
What happened that day (and the next day
following) is something I will never forget and something I can just barely
forgive those involved. As everyone knows by now, I love football. I loved it
even more so when I was a kid. I loved playing football, I loved watching it on
TV or seeing it in person, I collected football cards at the time, read
football magazines, read the newspaper just to read the football articles, and
even drew football pictures. So when the PE coach at the time, Coach Hendricks,
gave all the 6th grade boys permission forms to play 7th
grade football for the Judson Blue Devils, I was more than excited to get the
form. The 8th grade team that year didn’t win not a single game, and
by this time, our anger at being sent to this loser school had abated, and we
now looked forward to at least making (and definitely changing) some history of
our own. We (the 6th graders) talked about what kind of teams we
would have the following year and what positions we were going to try out for.
Being one of the fastest 6th grade boys at the time, everyone
thought I should try out for running back, but I wanted to play defense, either
cornerback or safety. If I HAD to play offense, I’d try out for wingback or
wide receiver, but I would’ve been happy playing ANY position. Which made it
all the more sadder what was to occur.
When I got off of the bus and walked into
my house, only then did I feel a little ominous in what I was about to do. I
figured I would ask Daddy if he’d sign the sheet and let me play football. I
didn’t figure he would say anything other than “ok”. But I figured wrong. When
I presented the form to him and asked him if I could play football, he said the
WORST thing possible, even more so than saying an outright “No”-
He said, “Go ask your mother.”
To say I was aghast and instantly nauseated
would be a total understatement. As much as I loved football, my mom HATED it
that much. She thought that football was a waste of time and the worst sport of
them all, even more so than boxing or something similar. I PLEADED with my
daddy- I told him to PLEASE let me play football; he knew all Momma was going
to say was an emphatic “NO”- I begged him to let me play, but he would not
budge. “Go ask your mother.”
I was distraught. I knew it wouldn’t do any
good, but I went and asked Momma anyway, and was not surprised when she said,
“NO!” I couldn’t plead with her, she would take that as talking back and would
give me a whipping for that- So I just retreated to my room, tears of
frustration and anger burning my eyes. And yes, to be honest about it, I was
even more so angry at Daddy than Momma, because all he had to do was sign the
form and let me play football, but he refused. Our relationship went downhill
after that for the next few years. But right now, I was sick to my stomach and
thinking I was going to be the ONLY one who hadn’t been able to get his form signed
by his parents.
The next day, believe it or not, was
definitely WORSE. I went to school and the first thing everyone was talking
about was who all had gotten their forms signed and were going to play football
next year. The first thing I noticed were those (besides myself) who had NOT
gotten their forms signed…mostly the geeks, nerds, and other “lowlifes”. And
they were getting treated accordingly. I sighed and at first just tried to stay
out of everyone’s way. Unfortunately, some of my friends surrounded me and
asked me point blank did I get my form signed and was I ready to play some
football. I bit the bullet and said “No”, that my parents wouldn’t let me play
football. Of course, my “friends” didn’t believe me and I got called all kinds
of names, specifically “coward” and “chicken” and WAY WORSE names than that. I
was going through all kinds of emotions at that moment and felt it would be
best if I exit the entire situation before it really got out of hand, then as I
tried to walk away, one of my “friends” said, “yeah, just walk away, you
” and then he kicked me. I turned around abruptly to face him
and we were about to fight, but then I just walked away to even more heckling.
The guy who kicked me was (and is) a classmate and we were really good friends
prior to this. It hurt that he would do something like that, and our friendship
was never the same again. You expect that from an enemy, or from someone who
doesn’t know any better, but not from a friend- which is why I walked away at
the time.
And, deep down, I didn’t really blame any
of the guys for their treatment of me (but don’t kick me while I’m down for
crying out loud); I was more angry at my parents for causing me to go through
this and knowing that they really didn’t care. Especially Daddy, who should’ve
known better. It left a very dark mark on an otherwise decent 6th
grade year, and it would lead to my worst year out of the three at JMS.
Next: 7th Grade Memories: The First Day of School