Thanks for the memories … and the laughter
In my quiet, little hometown—like many other communities—students made the jump from sixth grade to seventh grade by entering junior high school. There was the typical hesitation and fear of leaving the safety and security of the neighborhood elementary school, where all our fellow students lived within blocks of the building. We had one teacher for all subjects, and Mom could fetch us in minutes if we were feeling ill.
But junior high incorporated students from three surrounding towns, so now classmates were often foreign. We also changed classes throughout the day with a frantic 4-minute rush between sessions, paced by a series of bells and tones. You can imagine the panic of a young man on the first few days when the fear of not being where he was supposed to be weighed heavy on his mind.
A Haphazard Introduction
My first-period math class was with a teacher in his fifties with a crew cut, broad shoulders, heavy glasses, and a barking, sergeant-like voice. Dashing into that class, I bumped into a fellow who seemed equally worried about being on time. We took front-row seats across the middle aisle directly in front of the podium to illustrate our cooperative behavior. We exchanged glances and smiles; I had never seen him before, but we seemed to be on the same page. As our stern teacher began to wax poetic over the place that math had in our lives, I noticed the man’s fly on his trousers was undone. My new friend noticed as well, and we exchanged more glances and started to snicker. Then the teacher closed the book on his hand and visibly winced; there was more contained laughter. My eyes began to water. In the next moment, the teacher lost his place, and as he flipped the pages in his book, it fell off the podium. My new friend and I burst into laughter and were then called out for being disrespectful. What a nice start to seventh grade, huh?
Hours later, as fate would have it, my earlier acquaintance was assigned to the same lunch table as I. We immediately talked about our morning delinquent experience, and a friendship began that continues strong to this day. My new buddy was named Brett. He was just as sarcastic as I, and had a quick wit, too. From that day forward, as soon as I saw him or heard his voice on the phone, I began to laugh. Our greeting back then was as it is today, “How ya doin’, buddy?” A basic hello that really says, “What hilarious observation have you made about life since I last saw you?” Brett always had a new story about some kid throwing a fit in the grocery store, some dog pulling his owner into a mud puddle from a short leash, stuff like that—heck, we were in seventh grade, but the die was cast. When we were together, we always laughed.
