continued from Grade 7: It Was Not Heaven Calling
Do-Over!, Not Quite but … Close
Remember back in child playground games when it was your turn to do whatever, and it didn’t quite create the desired result you wanted, you’d scream “do-over!” Most of the time, despite your friends crying “No fair!” you still did your “do-over” and were obliged to your friends’ graciousness. Even through you didn’t do quite as well as you expected, you felt as if you did and that’s all that mattered. I didn’t get to quite “do-over” Grade 7, but Grade 8 opened up a chance to reboot and a second chance at a fresh start with new neighborhood, new home, new school and new friends. Everything looked so familiar, yet so different, I was not just locally lost, but in knowing myself.
We spent the better part of a weekend moving from Miami to Hollywood. By the end of the weekend, this new residence became our home once our furnishings took their place. We were all exhausted once evening came around, but relieved knowing we had a spacious home to come home to and did not return to spend another night in the small apartment we left behind in Miami. Our new home’s backyard was on a cul-de-sac, albeit of a canal, it delivered a water view reminding me of our cottage up in Muskoka, Ontario. While it was not anywhere as rural or as beautiful as the cottage, it still offered much needed peace after hurried stress of a long day, when an occasional boat would pass by or seeing various wildlife in the yard.
At the cottage, it took the better part of an hour to get into town and then hour to return. We did this trip once a week to buy our groceries, fill our drinking water jugs, pick up any other items we may need and before heading back we’d stop for a treat at the family-owned bakery or have a scoop of my favorite maple vanilla ice cream. Am I the only one who recalls very specific memories from my younger years this so vividly? I have many memories like this which are cemented deep within my thoughts. I am sure you know the ones, they often leave you with specific periodic flashbacks, leaving a warm, comfortable feeling until something snaps you back to the present with a nasty reality check.
One of the first weekends we went venturing the neighborhood to locate the nearest grocery store, shopping centers and to get a feel for our new neighborhood. It may not have taken an hour for our trip to the local grocery store and our errands didn’t take all day but we spent all day exploring our new city. We located the nearest Publix grocery store and picked up groceries as well as lunch from the deli. We picked up deli fried chicken, a side of both shredded coleslaw and potato salad. To this day, thirty plus years later, when we occasionally decide to pick-up the same meal at our local Publix, the aroma permeates the entire car within seconds and remains a memory of our first outing when we moved to Hollywood. I know there were Publix supermarkets in Miami, but when shopping in our part of Miami, it was easier and probably safer to support the local bodegas and supermercados (mostly Cuban owned grocery stores and supermarkets) than to venture out of the neighborhood to find the larger and established supermarkets.
Olsen Middle School
Déjà Vu … Renew or Anew, Whatever!
Several weeks before starting Grade 8, Mom and I repeated the rigors of the registration process at a new school once again. Unlike Citrus Grove Junior High School, Olsen Middle School was an open school with a dozen or so classrooms arranged with numerous loggia separated by hallways. It was easier to navigate from class-to-class within the five minutes. Mom and I found the administrative offices easily and cheerfully greeted by an older woman as we walked in the door. Her last name we instantly recognized of being Hungarian origin, Mrs Nagy coupled with her cheerfulness and common thread of ethnicity invited a genuine friendly conversation as we started the registration process for the upcoming school year.
This will be the third time in a year or so – we have now become professional paper handlers. She handed Mom a clipboard of papers to complete and in turn Mom handed Mrs. Nagy the accordion folder filled with my medical records to prove vaccinations, transcripts from last school attended, previous report cards, standardized test scores, emergency contacts, proof of address and a bunch of other useless information that was needed this go around. After making photocopies, or as we called it back then, Xerox copies of what she needed, she handed me the accordion folder back to hold until my Mom finished the last of the paperwork. Once everything was reviewed and double checked, Mrs. Nagy helped me register for my classes and check if I was eligible for bus transportation. Amongst the five required academic classes to meet high school admission requirements I was able to choose one elective, I chose Art class from a list of maybe a dozen or so choices. Mrs. Nagy assured me before winter break in December, I’ll be able to pick another elective for the second half of the year. Lastly, she reviewed my address and determined I may be eligible for bus transportation if our address was two miles or greater from the school. We finished all the paperwork and said our good-byes. On the way home, my Mom reset the odometer and checked the mileage from the school to the nearest school bus stop, it looked as I missed the two mile requirement by one tenth of a mile. I felt somewhat anxious yet excited in starting Grade 8 at Olsen Middle School.
Relentless Restlessness
I don’t know how, but the first day of school sneaked upon me much faster than I expected. I awoke on the morning of my first day of school with my Mom making noise in the kitchen and reminding me at least a dozen times if I have my bookbag (before backpacks were cool) and to hurry up eat breakfast while she packed my lunch. All this at least a half hour before my alarm clock was set to go off. A few weeks ago, when we registered with Mrs. Nagy, she told us to bring a bookbag or knapsack on the first day of school to bring home a set of textbooks. She explained I will be given a set of our textbooks to keep at home because the school didn’t have lockers. At Citrus Grove Junior High School, we had lockers for both our textbooks and physical education and only needed to bring home textbooks or those items which we needed to complete our homework. I did as I was told, I hurried along, finished breakfast, dressed and grabbed my bookbag with school supplies and was ready before our scheduled departure time. Before school started, we took a rehearsal drive during the weekday and took note of traffic and if the railroad crossings would cause any delays. A lesson I learned early from both my parents was it’s always better to be an hour early than a minute late.
Once I became more familiar with the school’s layout and slowly started making friends, I asked my Mom to drop-off in the morning and pick-up in the afternoon further away from the main entrance. I didn’t want my friends seeing me as a car rider let alone being greeted by her with a kiss. I don’t know about others, but at this age, just about anything could embarrass me and make blush all shades of red. With a kiss good-bye, Mom dropped me off at school and though the south Florida weather still felt like summer, summer officially ended with the sound of the first warning bell. After a month of being a car rider, I began riding the school bus everyday. Almost immediately after the first day of riding the school bus, I regretted my decision of giving up being a car rider. I wanted to return to my Mom driving me but my own pride prevented me from asking her if I could return to being a car rider.
One of the first things I noticed on my first day of school was the almost the entire population of the students spoke English. Even though many of the students already forged their social circles based on attending them from attending same middle school for the previous two years and more than likely attended the same elementary school years and to an obvious but lesser extent on the racial divide. The post Dragons in the Dungeon I mentioned what happened to me behind the academic side of this school. By the end of first quarter, I didn’t always want to go to school and it wasn’t because I was not feeling well or wanted to avoid a test. It was in Grade 8 I learned about racism from by other students. I was often bullied and heckled and called cracker and white boy, along with other names which humiliated and embarrassed me. This happened between classes, in physical education class, during lunch or any other time outside the safety net of a classroom. My friends and I learned to skip classes to escape the bullying when it became too much too handle. School’s didn’t have a formal policy, “see something – say something” as they do now. It goes without saying, you could tell an adult what’s going on but then had to worry about further repercussions from the bullies. There were times when I just wanted to avoid having to b
e on campus or be around both teachers and students alike. It was these times, just escaping the campus when it resembled more like the confines of a dark, dreary detention center for delinquents than a school. The more than two handful times I skipped class, I was never caught, perhaps administration knew, nobody wanted to be there or I knew where to hide out for an hour.
First Period
I glanced at my class schedule; I saw my first period class was civics. Mr. Bertino, a shorter middle-aged man with a beard. He stood by the door welcomed each of us into his classroom or directed others to the right loggia for their own first period class. His classroom was inviting, despite it being furnished with antiquated furniture with aged wall and window coverings. His blackboard had his name spelled out, basic class rules and discipline policy and the week’s assignments. Three of the bulletin boards were decorated for the federal, state and local governments respectively and the fourth bulletin board was an information board of upcoming school happenings. Unlike Mr. Rodriguez, my Grade 7 civics teacher, Mr. Bertino was more interesting to listen to, his passion and voice were both in snyc. Before the bell rang to signify the end of the first day’s class, we learned Mr. Bertino was also the mayor for the City of Dania Beach. He always ended class with a cliffhanger, which I enthusiastically returned each subsequent days to find out how the story ended, only to be left with another cliffhanger from the current day’s lecture.
Mr. Bertino, was a known community advocate and educated citizens of the importance of being informed and the importance of the right and responsibility to vote. We were held accountable to staying informed through clipping of a current event and summarizing the event and then express our opinion. On more than one occasion where a topic led to highly opinionated or controversial views, the class would take sides and argue against each other. Mr. Bertino used this as a teachable moment to introduce us to the basics of Robert’s Rules of Order and other debate skills. We learned to express our opposing views properly so all sides had a chance to be heard. With these skills being practiced, he stressed the importance of being informed of issues and events involving our local communities as well as our state, country and taking interest in the world. He would often say, staying informed is part being a responsible citizen. Being an elected official, he lived and believed in the principles of success our democracy is done by keeping informed and participating by voting in all elections, not just the ones having the greatest impact or interest. I managed keeping in touch with Mr. Bertino for several years after graduate school, with his help he appointed me to a city-wide civic board which started my own lifelong civic engagement.
Second Period
My second period class, was science, with Mr. Robinson. He looked young enough to have just graduated college and this was to his first few years of teaching. Mr. Robinson’s class, also was decorated appropriately towards the importance of science, how science impacted our daily lives and careers in science. The themes remained the same but the postings changed quite often. He often encouraged us to go up to the bulletin board and read the information he put up. The classroom was refreshed with brighter lights, newer wall and window coverings and modern furniture. I remember Mr. Robinson used various teaching styles and was different from many other teachers I had until then. His methods balanced lecture, experiments, films and pop quizzes. His unenthusiastic lectures and days we watched films easily competed with the science teacher in Ferris Buehler’s Day Off and often left half the class asleep. The days we Mr. Robinson led experiments where always a break from lecture and brought his science lessons to life. Whether it was him demonstrating chemical reactions or how gases react when exposed to other gasses to preparing a slide to see things under a microscope, this was the highlights of this class. The biggest take-away was I learned to formulate a hypothesis and support my answers through scientific research and learned to ask the whys and hows and submit my first science fair project using the scientific method. The inner science nerd in me still remembers the different components being, question, hypothesis, experiment, observe, record, analyze and report results.
It was this class, we explored a broad range of the sciences; from astronomy to zoology as if this class was a salad made up of many different ingredients thrown together. This exposed me to various sciences and helped expand my love for science and helped me foster a lifelong appreciation for the sciences.
My apologies to my high school language arts teacher Mrs. Schott. Clichés despite how appropriate they are, they were never meant to be used in written word. I digress, in this case it was a good pun but also fit all too well in what I was trying to convey.
Third Period
I meandered to Mr. Churchill’s mathematics class. This was my first exposure to something outside of a basic arithmetic. Retrospectively, I think this was a pre-algebra class as topics introduced were vaguely familiar but with a spin on it, the problems incorporated letters into the mix. I never liked mathematics and dreaded the thought of going to this class.
Mr. Churchill was an older gentleman, who took an interest in each student on an individual, personal level and took time to discover out what motivated or what discouraged us and if we had any barriers to learning. In today’s society, I think it would be frowned upon and possibly not professionally encouraged for teachers to get to know students on this level. The one conversation I remember as if it were yesterday, was when I found out we both shared a common thread of both of us lived in Michigan and enjoyed our summers at a cottage on the water. Albeit in two different geographical areas, but very similar in all other ways.
His calm teaching style and ability to explain problem solving in a myriad number of ways, one was bound to turn on the notorious light bulb even if it was just a dim glow, of the “a-ha got it moment. Somehow, he managed to find ways to help students individually and find a personal connection to help you comprehend the lesson. Throughout the year, I increased my self-confidence and acquired a can-do attitude towards math. I eventually looked forward to his class and learned to overcome my anxiety towards going to his class. As the year progressed, the lessons progressively increased in difficulty, yet somehow I always left his class less frustrated and more prepared to take on the evening’s homework with confidence. I may not have always had the correct answers, but I was able to explain how I derived at my own correct answer, which he always recognized and praised my efforts.
Lunch
Lunch was thirty minutes squeezed between third and fourth period. I dreaded lunch period because the same bullies from the school-bus grabbed my brown bagged lunch out of my hand and destroyed lunch contents by eagerly stomping on it on the ground. One of the kind ladies from the library saw what was happening and invited me to eat lunch in the library from then on. The kind lady was one of the librarians who asked me to become a student aide in the library for Fourth Period when classes resumed in January. When it was time to choose classes for the second half of the year, I requested to be a library aide to replace one of my electives. This would release me from participating in another semester of physical education. I continued to eat lunch in the library and often read books and when times were slow the ladies allowed me to explore my curiosities of the Apple Computers in the backroom.
Fourth Period
In my previous post, Grade 7: It Was Not Heaven Calling, I shared my experiences in Physical Education in Grade 7, Mr. Nelson was definitely not Mr. Rodriguez in fact they were total opposites. It was obvious to me, if not everyone, Mr. Nelson had his favorites amongst both girls and boys. They were the school’s athletes, the jocks, the pretty girls and handsome boys. It was definitely not the fat ones like me or the skinny ones or others with awkward body types or not interested in team sports or physical education. His lack of maintaining discipline only favored the bullies who got away with intimidating those who didn’t quite fit in, like me. This was made very apparent after running laps around the track for field day.
After running less than the prescribed mile, I became severely overheated and ended up vomiting a couple times after just shy of a couple laps. Mr. Nelson opted to not send me to the school nurse rather he simply chocked it up as the fat kid, me, didn’t like physical activities or being outside. He told me to go get water and sit down, the remainder of the class laughed at my weakness as they passed by me. I remember remaining weak and nauseated for the remainder of the day. After the track incident, I ended up failing the first quarter of class because I failed to dress out and participate more than the allotted times in the quarter. Maybe it was the physical activities, but more specifically, I didn’t like team sports or other activities which involved me competing with anyone but myself. I much sooner would have taken to climbing a tree or jumping and swimming in the river at the cottage or actively playing with my friends than be involved in any competitive physical activities.
I was relieved this class was only for only half the year, or one semester as I dreaded going to this class or being in his presence. To this day, I can’t point my finger at any one single item but there was something questionable and troubling of his character which always made me uncomfortable whenever I was around him. In hindsight, when I look back to that particular track day, I think this was my first migraine. I am not sure if had he known but I exhibited all the signs of a migraine with light sensitivities, nausea and other symptoms although I would not be medically diagnosed until several years later.
When I resumed classes after winter break, my Fourth Period elective was approved to be a student library aide. I learned various library and media skills. I never realized there was a proper way reshelve books using by the Dewey Decimal system. I also helped check in and check out books, find and locate books using the card catalog and kept the library organized and clean. In media, I learned how to operate overhead projectors, film strip machines, movie projectors and hook up televisions to the school’s CCTV system. I worked hard to please the three woman who ran the library, Mrs. Schwartz, Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Sumner as they treated me exceptionally well. If it was a quiet day I was often allowed and even encouraged to read my book or if the ladies happened to be in an agreeable mood, I was able to go to the backroom, and continue exploring my interests on the Apple II computers.
Fifth Period
I looked forward to art class, as a much needed diversion from all the academic classes with hopes of expanding my interests in drawing and learn how to use new media and material. Mr. Crumpler’s monotonous and lackluster lessons introduced art projects from the very simple and uncomplicated. Retrospectively, I didn’t realize the abilities in the class varied from beginner to advanced and the many in between. Our in-class demonstrations were often taught step-by-step; this ensured every student could create and complete an art project to be proud of and ultimately be worthy of bringing home to share with their families.
Every week or two we were introduced to a new area of art, graphic arts and design, illustrations, 3D rendering of a floor plan, logos and symbols and other ways art intersects with our daily lives. For those of us who were more artistically inclined, Mr. Crumpler pushed our creativity to the next level, he encouraged us with an added element or expanded our project beyond the lesson. Those little nuggets of gold made the difference between an art class assignment and an art project worth submitting to the county fair, for which I submitted a mixed-media of acrylic paint and ink of painting of something or another and managed to score an honorable mention ribbon.
Throughout the year Mrs. Schwartz observed my interactions, curiosities and interest in the computers in the library. Mrs. Schwartz, one of the kind librarians who I had lunch with, informed me about an introduction to microcomputer class for everyday students like me, starting up in January. There other computer classes offered were for the intellectually gifted or those with learning disabilities. She strongly suggested it would probably be to my best interest having a parent to come in to make the transfer in person since seating is limited. Before classes dismissed for winter break holiday, I asked my Mom to speak to my guidance counselor or even the principal to get me into this computer class. My Mom came to the school and put in the formal request to transfer me from art class to the new computer class. She was told if the change was approved, I would be notified by my first period teacher.
Upon returning from the winter break holiday, as I entered Mr. Bertino’s class, he handed me a folded piece of paper. Once I got situated in my seat, but before the tardy bell rang I opened the folded piece of paper to reveal my new schedule. With a quick glance, I saw physical education class was replaced with library aide. As I further read, to my contained excitement, I was transferred from art class to introduction to microcomputers.
Upon walking into the computer classroom for the first time, it’s as if all my senses came out of academic hibernation. Excuse the platitude, but my eyes saw a sea of brand-new Apple II computers begging to touched by salivating students eager to get their hands on them. The ear shattering sounds of the dot-matrix printers printing and floppy disk drives whirring were just slightly quieter than Mrs. Roop calling the class to attention for the first roll call on the first day of the semester. There was even a unique smell to the new computers, which probably was the hard plastic cases mixed with freshly coming out of the cardboard boxes they were shipped in. The excitement was much like the smell of a new car, the smell you love to hate and hate to love.
Mrs. Roop a younger, pretty lady who taught business skills was the one taking on the introduction to microcomputer class. For the next two grading periods, Mrs. Roop attempted to teach us how to program in AppleSoft BASIC and Apple LOGO. My friends and I came into the class feeling we knew more than our teacher. Most of the students in the class had home computers of varying brands, but nothing as advanced as an Apple II with it’s dedicated display monitor, floppy disk drives and a dot matrix printer shared with an A/B switch. Our computers at home often were hooked up to a spare television and those of us who were lucky had cassette tape recorders saving the programs we created. Mrs. Roop taught lessons word-for-word from what appeared to be a generic beginner’s guide to BASIC curriculum.
The simplest programs brought cheers of excitement for students who were not familiar with BASIC programming; at any level. With every free moment we had in class, we would sneak in a game or hack an advanced program. When I was caught, I remained respectful and wasn’t an arrogant adolescent with an attitude, I simply did as I was told. I felt our teacher had technophobia, as her lessons really were ingenuous and didn’t wow those of us who knew how to program in any form of BASIC. My love for computers and especially all things Apple exploded in my final middle school year, like a bad addiction, I still am wow’d by Apple products and use them presently. Steve Jobs created an excellent customer feeder program by introducing students throughout the United States and possibly other countries to Apple early as many of them continued becoming a customer for life.
Perhaps, Mrs. Roop didn’t teach me anything new in BASIC, but she helped build the foundations of continually exposing us to new technology despite her own insecurities. My friends and I often spent a lot of our free time exploring and dissecting technology. On weekends we rode bikes to our local Radio Shack or went to electronic shows (the precursor for computer shows) on the weekends. Occasionally, when I look back, I wonder if Mrs. Roop ever became more tech savvy or is she still stuck in the early 1980s days of technology or does she wonder what became of the geeks and nerds in her class like myself? Oddly, those who teased and laughed at my friends and I for our obsession with the technology are now the very ones today who can’t go without their very own smart phones for any moment in time. Who would have thought we’d be staring down at handheld devices which are exponentially more advanced than the Apple IIs we used in Grade 8 and ultimately changed the way we communicate with each other, listen to music, search and save information.
Sixth Period
The carbohydrate coma from lunch set in as I took my seat in Mr. Santangelo’s language art’s class. I always liked reading, writing and anything to do with language arts, it was my favorite academic class. However, by the end of the day, I was already mentally exhausted by my five other classes, each with a different teacher and set of students and getting along with just as many personalities. Based up my inner observations, it was at this age I grasped I am not as shy as I was when I was younger, but more of an introvert. Miraculously, I was able to get over this mental exhaustion within an hour or two of being in the comforts of home. There were a few familiar faces who I shared two or three classes with but for the most part everyone was all new to me and I was okay with my current situation and my slowly evolving small group of friends.
Mr. Santangelo was an older gentleman with an exterior appearance was of an all means a type-A personality which you would not expect to go into education, especially a language arts teacher at a middle school. His outward exterior; dress, hairstyle and overall curmudgeon personality reminded me much of the character Archie Bunker on All in the Family. Yet, his teaching style was direct, to the point, no warm and fuzzy, just arguably he was there to teach. His ultimate goal was for his students to learn writing in different styles, introduce public speaking and appreciate reading a book. My grades reflected my lack of interest in being in class as I just coasted by with average grades and not necessarily because I wasn’t a good student because I just wasn’t always mentally present. I stayed focused for about half the class period as his unconventional teaching methods piqued my interest in learning, but my grades told a different story.
I remember he asked me if underhandedly if everything in my home life is okay and then wondering why would he be asking me this. I always thought of my home life compared to my friends was great – both my parents were still married and we were a close knit family of three and I was provided for accordingly. I can’t recall the specific questions but apparently his concern for my well-being showed his gentler side. The topic came up again at a conference with my Mom. He was somewhat confused and not quite understanding why a good student like me was so easily distracted and was having difficulty getting above a C. He shared with my Mom, all my homework is submitted neatly and I participate in class discussions but my classwork written work looked as if an exact opposite student of me completed the work. This wasn’t like elementary school and Mrs. Bowling where I could stay inside during recess and have a “redo.” Despite my grades, Mr. Santangelo achieved his goals with me to learn to write in different styles and I became more comfortable public speaking. I already mastered the goal of appreciating reading a good book when I was still in elementary school and it became a lifelong interest. Perhaps, had Mr. Santangelo been my teacher earlier in the day my grades may have reflected my true abilities in language arts and proved to him this good student was the real me, not the one who saw me at my worst.
Experienced Educators or Faculty Failures?
There must be something said which many of us don’t recall details of our middle school or in some cases junior high school years. My thoughts, the interjection of hormones into our bodies over floods our brain’s capacity to only handle irrational extremes and not the daily mundane routines. Whether I intentionally suppressed the events of Grade 7 and Grade 8 years or not, it left a definitive blur. I have only recently cleared the blur through a great deal of emotional inner reflection and discussing with others and eventually putting my thoughts together for my blog.
Although south Florida schools were academically behind my elementary school in Michigan, I was placed in several remedial classes throughout Grade 7 and Grade 8. These classes gave me the feeling of déjà vu as I suffered from repeating a previous grade from elementary school. I was bored in most of my classes. I believe I would have been diagnosed with attention deficit disorder had I been a student today. I often became distracted which interfered in keeping me focused on the teacher’s lecture. A diagnosis of attention deficit disorder would probably have gotten me professional help understanding and handling my situation. My parents and I thought we knew what attention deficit disorder was. We only knew it as the bad students had it and where the one’s that caused all the discipline problems in the classroom. It wasn’t until many years later when I started working with children at the YMCA, I started seeing well behaved children like myself exhibiting the same behaviors and were labeled with attention deficit disorder.
Looking back, my grades reflected a lack of focus and boredom and didn’t certainly reflect my actual knowledge or abilities in the subject. My behavior was not a problem, but if I didn’t like a teacher, I would either drift off to my own thoughts, my lack of participation during class or failed to complete my homework or a combination of all these, then sum up my grade to just barely making a C average. I recall many of my Grade 8 teachers tried to keep me focused and found creative ways to encourage me to learn. There were a select few probably looked at me as nothing more than another delinquent rather than the student who needed additional stimulation to keep me focused. Grade 8 turned out having more experienced educators than the faculty failure of Grade 7. As for student life and extra-curricular activities, I shared these in Dragons in the Dungeon and several other posts about reflecting on this tormentous period of my life. If given the opportunity to do-over Grade 7 and Grade 8, would I? probably not. If it happened today and I saw experience was calling, I wouldn't pick up but let it go to voice mail. Just as back then, I am too busy picking up pieces of life's puzzle. The pieces I find along my journey helped me find my way to where I need to be and with confidence, I found my place in life and become the adult I am today.
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