A Trip Down The Tattered Dirt Road That Is...High School Memory Lane

A trip down the tattered dirt road that is…high school memory lane:
High School. Enough said. Sure I could talk forever about how I barely made it out alive with my Billy Ray Cirus mullet and ripped blue jeans…or even be as dark to go into detail about the teacher, now a principal, that used to have sex with one of my friends when she’d baby sit his children…but who said that all rants have to be negative? Today…I went on a scavenger hunt with my middle daughter, the high school cheerleader, to come up with an awards plate for her senior sponsor at the GHS Cheer Banquet. As we were running around like decapitated chickens, trying to find certain little tokens of appreciation that would best describe her mentor, I came in contact with a girl I graduated with that was a cheerleader from my 8th grade year until graduation. She seemed like she was happy to see me and talked up a storm as though we have never spoken before. In all actuality…we hadn’t. Save for a few stray sentences here and there while growing up just for the sake of basic communication, we barely acknowledged each other’s presence back then. She was one of the girl’s that ran with that typical ‘cheer’ crowd while I was the long haired, metal head that cared nothing more for scholastic achievement other than the location of a great place to smoke during classes and not get caught. As I smiled graciously during our reunion, attempting desperately in my mind to figure out why in the world this girl was recognizing my presence after decades of silence, I bid farewell to our meeting and began to walk away. Suddenly, she mentioned my newest book and stated that she had heard good things about it. Bingo. My quickest, most accurate retort was as follows: “Yeah…who would’ve thought that I would be writing books?” Expecting a gentle laugh from the ecstatic young lady, I slowly turned away once more to go about my business. Again, the barely familiar voice came from behind me exhibiting two words that I had purposely erased from my memory, or repressed them via teenage trauma, that sent me reeling to this very moment. ‘Mrs. Feezil’. Feezil? She was my freshman English teacher that had me convinced I was the anti-Christ! She never had anything nice to say about me, my beautiful hair, my faded blue jean jacket that proudly displayed the cover of Def Leppard’s Pyromania album, or my talents…or lack thereof… as a writer! Was it all a front? Did she indeed recognize my talents back then under the false impression that sending me to the principal every other week would jar something loose and turn me into who I am today? My only regret is that her tactics didn’t have the effect she had intended and my dreams of becoming an author didn’t come to be until I was in my early thirties. Thinking on it honestly though…I’m glad she failed. Without the hard life I’ve lived and the horrific nightmares of my military career…not to mention the heartache of two divorces and the joy of being a father…I would never have gained a life full of emotional extremes that I pour into my writing. If I would’ve given up on the rock n roll lifestyle…I would’ve never been introduced to Guns N Roses and never discovered the writing of Del James (Axl Rose’s roommate, the influence for the November Rain video, and the author that wrote the introduction to my second novel ‘We Believe You’) which influenced me to begin writing in the first place. As the night progressed and I arrived at the cheer banquet, still thinking of former English teaching nemesis, may she rest in peace, I was approached and spoken to by a few other’s that also had a tendency to shun me in my high school days due to my choice of lifestyle and failure to adapt to theirs. Now…no one said that they lined up to shake my hand vigorously and accept me into the ‘Kool Kid’s Klub’ (funny…the KKK. Isn’t it ironic…don’t you think?) but I accomplished something in my life that is worthy of recognition other than the tragedies I previously thought were destined to be such as prison or dead in a ditch. With my fifteen minutes of fame brushed aside, I finally focused on the events of the evening at hand that meant the most. As I watched my gorgeous daughter walk across the stage to present her award to the mentor that both drove and pampered her all year, I realized that children who don’t strive to be like their parents isn’t such a bad thing. I think of all the missed opportunities growing up due to my pride as a young hoodlum and thank the powers-that-be graciously for allowing them to be a lot smarter than I was. They strive to be the best they can be and now are the cheerleaders and sports stars that I avoided like the plague in my youth. There’s been so much attention in the media lately paid to hazing and bullying with celebrities and other public figures suggesting that it all needs to come to an end. In reality, it’s a crossroads. You can choose to let it all get to you, buckle under the pressure, and even take your own life as a result…or you can take those experiences, remain who you really are without conforming, and use those experiences to mold your life into something successful that will one day make them all remember who you were and how they treated you…turning those individuals into better people as a result. Yes, as I said before, not all rants and emotional outlets have to be of a negative nature. Sometimes they can teach a valuable lesson and give glimpses of hope to those that seek it desperately. Just so I don’t step out of character and confuse some of you though…I was the only person there representing the class of 1992 that still exhibited a head full of beautiful, flowing hair…Take that bullies! Enjoy your baldness!