Our school was located in a tranquil neighborhood in Ravenswood at 4300 N. Hermitage.  The area now is prized real estate but back then it was just another Chicago neighborhood.  The building itself was a handsomely built stone structure that struck a balance between a church and a castle.  Gospel Outreach rented the space from the owners of the property. When you entered the building through the large wooden doors you would go up a handful of stairs, make a right turn and then descend down a wide, long stairwell that led to the bowels of the building.  At the bottom of the stairs you would take a left turn that led to the coat rack area.  To get to the classrooms, one would make a right turn toward the relatively narrow hallway to where the majority of the classrooms were located.  Our classroom was the first room on the righthand side.  We had all of six students in 8^th grade.  In fact, we shared our classroom with the 7^th grade who had the same amount of kids.  It was a diverse group from various ethnic backgrounds that fairly reflected the north side of Chicago.  It’s time to meet the lucky students of this fine scholastic establishment!

Let’s start with my good friend, Danny.  Quiet, unassuming, and genuinely nice, Danny had been my good friend since third grade.   He was an average student academically, but he was an absolute straight arrow, never wanting to cause problems or rock the boat.  He also went years without missing a day of school.  I think he went five consecutive years without missing a day of school.  He would get the perfect attendance award every year.  He should have given himself the nickname of “Mr Perfect”.  Hey, if it was good enough for Curt Henning, then it would have been good enough for Danny.   

Danny loved sports and would always give 100%.  He was strong, determined and had good hand to eye coordination.  He wasn’t particularly gifted athletically, what I mean by that is he was neither especially quick, nor particularly fast.  I remember very well during gym class in 8^th grade when we were having races and he was matched up with Angie, the fastest girl in the class.  Angie absolutely smoked him and the boys, probably led by me, wouldn’t let him hear the end of it!  Danny’s recollection is that the race was close, but I beg to differ!  He was beaten by at least 3 steps.  One of Danny’s best qualities was that he was doggedly determined and would not give up.  I would spend much of my summers in ‘87 and ‘88 riding my bike over to Danny’s house on Sacramento Avenue to play, hang out, watch movies, and be a kid. 

He came from a large family of 5 children.  His older brother, Junior, was a complete motor mouth and as different from Danny as could be.  Meredith, his younger sister by a year was a girl that I’d had a massive crush on since 6^th grade, more on that to come.  Then came Melissa, his younger sister, who was 9 years old and probably shared the most in common with him.  Rounding out the family was David, the youngest sibling.

By 8^th grade, Danny was probably 5’5 or 5’6 and a solid 140 lbs.  Dark brown hair, gentle brown eyes, and big old hands that belonged on a manual laborer.  The reason he wasn’t quick or fast was probably due to the fact that he had the muscle density of a primate.  Danny was a proud Puerto-Rican, but he didn’t really fit any of the stereotypes at all.  What would be an example of a stereotypical Puerto-Rican in the 1980’s you may ask?  Hector “Macho” Camacho, the former world champion boxer would pretty much tick all the boxes.  The “Macho Man” was loud, flashy, fun-loving, charismatic, and unpredictable. 

Danny wasn’t streetwise, loud or flashy at all.  In fact, he projected a kind of good naivety.  He didn’t really talk trash and there was not much of the chest thumping or braggadocio that was commonly associated with Boriquas.  Well, he would try to talk trash occasionally, but it never came naturally.  We sometimes joked that Danny was really Mexican.  Danny was rock solid as a person and a friend. 

Then there was his sister, Meredith, my aforementioned crush for who I’d been carrying the torch since 6^th grade.  It started when we’d catch each other’s eyes and you linger for that moment or two longer than what’s normal.  I was head over heels for her.  In sixth grade I sat in the desk in front of Meredith.  I would often sit with my knees bent back so my legs were under my desk the soles of my shoes were facing up.  On occasion, Meredith would place the soles of her shoes on top of mine, and then just keep them there.   This would have the effect of sending the proverbial shiver up my spine and my heart would race.  My head would spin with that intoxicating feeling of infatuation.  Meredith had long, curly hair and lively, wide eyes that were hazel with hints of green.  She was fun loving and more carefree than Danny.  Certainly, a more extroverted personality than her brother.  Even though she was a year younger, Meredith didn’t give off the same innocence and naivete that was so evident with Danny.  She had a fun laugh, a great, flirty smile that she’d flash from time to time.  I was absolutely bonkers about her.  We’re talking Looney Tunes or Tom & Jerry level when eyes pop out, the jaw drops and the heart visibly thumps. It was to be an unrequited puppy love as I never managed the courage to tell her how I felt for the entirety of junior high.  

We’ll move onto the other girl in 8^th grade, the aforementioned Angie.  The first thing that I have to point out is that she was small.  She was short and she was slight.  She had shoulder length sandy, blond hair and wide-open eyes that were kind but serious.  It was easy to dismiss her at first glance.  She wasn’t loud and didn’t call attention to herself.  I can remember her smiling and laughing, but she didn’t have a lot of time for the jackassery that the boys would get up to.  In fact, I can distinctly remember her exasperated expressions and reactions to some of the foolishness the boys would get up to.  Angie had little patience for the clown show that I’d often times be the ringleader of.  She was definitely more mature and sensible than most of us.   Angie was also made of stern stuff.  She was a very good athlete, but more importantly she was hard as nails mentally.  We both shared a very competitive nature and there was a respect that I had for her, even if I didn’t outwardly express those sentiments.  One of my enduring memories of Angie was of her looking up at me (I had about a foot on her, so she was literally looking up), she had a sheepish, kind smile on her face.  I don’t know the context of the situation other than we were outside.   In retrospect, I wish that I had been a bit closer with Angie as we were very much cut from the same cloth is some key respects.  Angie had a quiet determination that would serve her well as she went on to become an outstanding runner at Lane Tech HS.  

I had a recent conversation with Angie, the first time I’d spoken to her since 1989.  She cited our gym teacher, Jolene as a positive influence in 8^th grade.  Positive from the standpoint that she recognized Angie’s competitive drive and encouraged her to pursue and develop that part of her nature.  She would take Angie to go to the park, play tennis and be active.  Jolene herself was athletic and had the ability to connect with the students.  I’ll be honest, in retrospect, I would have killed to have had that kind of encouragement at the time.  Our school had no sports program and we didn’t engage in any organized sporting activities.  

Someone who was not as mature as Angie, who took clowning around and undermining authority to an artform was Tim.  Tim was a 7^th grader who was really affable and easygoing.  I have the image of what he would wear hardwired into my memory:  White dress shirt, cowboy tie, Bugleboy pants that would be pegged and British Knight shoes.  Tim was probably the best dressed in the class, even if the cowboy tie was a bit suspect.   I was good friends with Tim and we had some commonalities.  Tim came from a single parent household and he was being raised by his dad.  I was in the same boat except it was my mom who was in the picture.  His dad was older, and Tim was the baby of the family. My mom was already 58 years old back when I was in 8^th grade.  Most people assumed that she was my granny!   I was also the baby of my family.  My youngest sister was 13 years older than me and my oldest sibling was 24 years my senior.  Tim’s siblings were also considerably older than him.  I distinctly remember his 30 year-old brother that Tim would tease for not being able to grow a proper mustache. 

Tim was great at undermining authority, but not in a directly confrontational fashion.  He used to drive our aforementioned 8^th grade teacher Ms. Darlene absolutely crazy.  Poor Ms. Darlene…….I don’t know where they found this lady but she was not cut out to handle a classroom of 7^th and 8^th graders.  She was a nice lady but overwhelmed and frustrated by the rambunctious nature of the class.  Tim knew just how to tweak her and get a reaction, usually just with an offhand comment accompanied by a grin on his face.  He would just question what she was saying in a way that would fluster her and eventually lead her to scolding Tim who would simply sit there with a “Who?  Me?” look on his face.  It made for fantastic viewing as an audience member and our muffled laughs and sniggering only added to Ms. Darlene losing her composure.

 

I laughed a lot with Tim.   On one occasion he had come over to my house for a sleepover.  I had gotten a hold of a cassette single by Prince.  “I Wish U Heaven” was the title track but there was a B-side called, “Scarlet Pussy”.  It’s one of the more ridiculous songs that Prince has ever recorded where the lyrics unveil a tale where the neighborhood dogs go looking for Scarlet Pussy, who in the song is an actual temperamental pussy cat.  The feline noises that Prince makes are so goofy and silly, juxtaposed to a song about being horny.  We laughed our asses off listening to this damn silly song.  My sister opened the door to the basement where my bedroom was to check on us.  We turned off the song and remained silent.  My sister called down to see if we were still awake, Tim decided to respond with a Prince like high-pitched cat meow.  I fell apart laughing. 

Tim helped make junior high a hell of a lot of fun.   Another enduring memory was going to the Holiday Inn on the weekend with Tim and his family.  This happened a couple of times.  Me and Tim would play the video game Contra, hang out at the pool, and roam the hallways making prank phone calls.  I remember on the calls I would dial up random rooms claiming to be Spuds McKenzie, the ultimate party animal in a yowling, ridiculous voice.  Juvenile idiocy at its finest. 

Since we shared the same classroom, 7^th and 8^th grade mixed on a social level.  There wasn’t a strict hierarchy.  It’s not like 8^th grade bossed around 7^th grade or anything like that.  OK, maybe I was at the top of the heap because of the fact that I was the tallest, a pretty good athlete and reasonably sociable.  But then again, that’s my point of view of course!  Someone else from 7^th grade who contributed to the general goofiness in the classroom and had an infectious, reckless energy was Reggie.   Man, Reggie was fun and did this kid do some off the wall stuff.

Reggie was a mixed-race kid who lived in a rougher part of town.  He was energetic, wild, silly, and good hearted.  Going back to 6^th grade is when Reggie began to establish his feral reputation in my eyes.  He had come over to my house when I lived on Avers just off of Montrose avenue and we were playing basketball in the alley with my friends who lived across the street, the Porters, Jeff and David.  Let me paint the picture:  So there’s Reggie in his jean jacket (he almost always wore a jean jacket) running around and we’re shooting hoops when all of a sudden, “Hey Jimmy, I need to use the bathroom.”  Half-jokingly I tell him, “Oh, just go over there.” motioning to a corner by the garbage cans in the alley.  I’m thinking that he just has to take a pee, no big deal.  I go back to shooting hoops.  Next thing I know, I glance over to my left and there’s Reggie with his pants around his ankles taking a dump with a giant grin on his face.  “Reggie!  What are you doing?!!”  I was stunned, the Porters were flabbergasted.  Then we started laughing our asses off and laying into him.  Of course, then a car came slowly rolling down the alley.  Reggie wasn’t done and the car cruised past.  I’m not sure if the driver saw what was happening, but it only added to the hilarity in our eyes.  Then Reggie finished up and pulled up his pants.  No wipe.  Must have been one of those solid poops that make a relatively clean exit.  He zipped up his jeans and it was back to basketball.  We howled with disbelief but Reggie with his wild laugh and mini afro didn’t seem to care. 

So fast forward to 8^th grade and Reggie had gotten a haircut that was more in line with the times.  When he had his mini-fro he looked like he was stuck in 1975.  His hair was now close cropped, but he still had that jean jacket.  Reggie parents were both visually impaired.  His dad was completely blind, and his mom had severely compromised vision.  Reggie’s father was employed stocking vending machines, but it was clear that money was somewhat of an issue.  Not that any of us in the class were coming from a silver spoon background, but I had the impression that Reggie definitely came from a less privileged background.  I remember in the winter of ‘88 going into ‘89 going to SportMart with my sister Ann.  SportMart was like the Dick’s Sporting Goods of its time.  I had gotten some money for Christmas and the sneakers that you wore were a big deal.  Reggie was wearing ProWings or whatever they were selling at Payless Shoes at the time.  I wanted Reggie to have some real kicks.  I saw this pair of Adidas.  I was all about Adidas at the time.  This pair of Adidas were low cut, white with sky blue stripes, a sharp looking pair of shoes.  I bought them for Reggie and I felt really good.  Way better than when I had gotten shoes for myself.  It’s funny how that works.  Okay, they were probably a size too big for Reggie.  I didn’t know his exact shoe size, but that didn’t really matter!  For me, it was cool to be able to get Reggie those shoes.  Danny recently sent me some photos from our half-ass yearbook and sure enough there’s a picture of Reggie with his Adidas prominently on display. 

Reggie’s birthday is in January and for his 13^th birthday a bunch of the boys in the class were invited to his place for a sleepover.  The weather wasn’t too bad because we actually played tackle football outside in the wet mud.  I distinctly remember being put on my ass by this black kid I’d never met before who was just a neighborhood kid from my recollection.  I can’t remember exactly where Reggie lived but it was significantly different from where most of the rest of us lived.  We walked over to the video rental store and picked out two movies, “Wildcats”, where Goldie Hawn plays a football coach.  You can also see a young Wesley Snipes and Woody Harrelson in the movie as well.  Our second choice was “Soul Man”, with C. Thomas Howell which wasn’t as good a film.  Okay, maybe Wildcats isn’t a comedy classic, but I do have fond memories of the film and as a bunch of 13-14-year-old boys eating pizza, we definitely gave it a thumbs up.  The movie also features a memorable rap by a young LL Cool J over the closing credits.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zNz_ROlyoqA

Reggie had a wild cackle of a laugh and seemingly endless amount of energy.  I had known Reggie pretty much since ’83 and by 1988-1989 we were good friends.  Much like Tim, Reggie cranked up the fun and made 8^th grade very memorable.  Now I have the responsibility of introducing you to the David brothers, my goodness, where to begin.   

John was in 8^th grade and Jonathon was in 7^th.  Yes, they were brothers and why they were named John and Jonathon is a question that only Mr. and Mrs. David could answer.  They were of Indian background but had spent most of their lives in the States.  John had some developmental issues.  I don’t know the exact nature of what they were.  He was a decent student, but he had to work very hard to keep up.  He spoke loudly, wore glasses and almost always had a sweater on.  John moved in a very deliberate and heavy-footed manner.  When he was excited, which was quite often, he would plod/bounce around in animated fashion with a grin on his face and eyes wide open.  He also was shaving regularly and had the physical density of an oak tree.  All of these aspects made John look like he was a 35 year-old man.  John loved to talk about sports and boy would he get excited talking about a game that had happened the night before.  He was easily tricked, and kids made fun of him because of how loudly he spoke, his excitable nature and the way he would physically plod about.  He was like an Indian version of Adam Sandler’s “The Waterboy.” That’s a simplistic way of putting it but it gives you some frame of reference.  He also had superhuman strength at random moments when he would get wound up during recess.  John’s normal speaking voice was low and gravely, in the register of an adult.  But when he got wound up about something, his voice would go to these high octaves that you couldn’t help but laugh at.  His high-pitched vocalizations were similar to Curly from The Three Stooges.  God, he had this habit of rubbing his open palms together.  It was a nervous tick, comparable to when somebody bites their nails.  He would rub his palms together incessantly until bits of dirt and…..I don’t know….bits of skin would begin to appear and he would then stop rubbing his hands together briefly to brush off the bits of skin and dirt onto the floor.  It was straight up gross.  But it was a compulsion that he couldn’t help.  It must have functioned as a coping mechanism of some kind as well.  We all liked John, he had a heart of gold, even if as kids we would tease him and have fun at his expense.

One of my first memories of John was in 6^th grade, when I met him for the first time.  We were playing tackle football at the park.  There was a pile up and John ended up on top of me.  As I was trying to push him off and get up, John decided he was hungry and bit me on the stomach!  He didn’t break the skin, but me most definitely bit down hard enough on the right side of my stomach.  I scrambled up and shouted, “You bit me!!”  What’s the matter with you?!”.  John stood up and seemed to be in another state, staring off and maybe just trying to gather himself.  There were clear teeth marks on my belly!   I didn’t hold it against him, but I didn’t know what to make of it.  It wasn’t malicious, it was just a reaction.  But it established that John wasn’t like most other kids.

While I liked John and we were friends, at times I was a real jerk toward him.  I remember one time in the spring of ‘89 I planted the idea with Jonathon and Reggie that when school ended we’d quickly gather our stuff and head out to the bus stop on Montrose Avenue before John was ready.  I knew that this would illicit a wild, dramatic overreaction from John.  Now John was very deliberate about everything he did, so it wasn’t too hard to get a jump on him.  I can remember us hustling up the stairs that led us outside.  John started to catch on that something wasn’t right and told us to slow down.  No chance.  We began jogging and giggling as we turned the corner right on Cullom street to go north on Ravenswood avenue.  By this time John is in panicked pursuit, “You guys!!  Wait up!!  Stop!!”  he bellowed as he lumbered after us with his huge backpack bouncing up and down, “YOU GUUYYSS!!!”.  At this point we’re laughing so hard as we’re running that we’re almost in tears.  We all thought this was just hysterical.  What about his brother?  Jonathon?  What about being his brother’s keeper you ask?  He might have been laughing the hardest!  We made it onto the Montrose Avenue bus without John and looked back guffawing as John continued lumbering and yelling after the bus as it pulled away.  He somehow managed to get home as he was at school the next day.  I don’t know the details of what happened at the David house that night, but I imagine that Jonathon had his ass chewed out pretty good by his parents.

Reggie and John were responsible for creating one of the wildest, utterly crazy memories of 8^th grade.  I’ve already established that Reggie was a bit of a wildman and at times unpredictable.  Well, during a class break when there were no teachers in the room, the kids were milling about the room.  It was usually a pretty rambunctious and high energy atmosphere during these break times.  I don’t know what triggered the idea in Reggie’s brain, but he decided to pick up a hammer that was lying around, ran up to John and swung the hammer into John’s unsuspecting crotch.  I repeat, he hit him with a tool meant to pound nails into wood and used it to pound John’s nuts.  After delivering the blow, Reggie fled the scene as he let out one of his signature wild cackles.  John bent over, both hands covering his recently assaulted manhood and let out a thundering bellow of pain.  I imagine that the sound was similar to what a bull would utter when its testicles were removed.  Or maybe when Samson was blinded and decided to bring down the pillars on himself and the Philistines.  I remember standing there wide-eyed and open mouthed, stunned as what I had just witnessed.

How John was able to recover from having his balls pounded by a hammer is one of the more remarkable feats of recuperation I’ve ever witnessed.  Eventually, he straightened up, took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.  Reggie could not resist the vulnerable target and ran in again for a repeat assault!  John doubled over again and let out another howl that shook the walls.  How was John’s manhood able to endure such blunt trauma is a mystery for the ages.  Perhaps it was divine intervention or rather divine restoration that allowed John to keep his junk intact.  No doubt if John had existed in the Viking Age he would have been called John Iron Balls. 

There is a part three in the saga of Reggie and his laying siege to John’s twig and berries.  During recess it could be a free for all at times with kids running around in the gym.  Reggie, taking advantage of the general chaos, took a ball that was lying around and from approximately five feet way whipped the ball into John’s crotch.  It was a direct hit!  Once again cue up John’s anguished bellow that reverberated around the gym.  Reggie ran off again and to my knowledge was never brought to school justice for his crimes against certain body parts of John’s anatomy.  To our shameful discredit, none of the boys admonished Reggie or at least discouraged his multiple crotch assaults.  We were too busy being stunned, then howling with a combination of shock and amusement.  I don’t know why, but it’s always inherently funny to see someone get hits in the nuts, especially if you’re a boy aged 12-14.

So where were the teachers during each of these incidents?  Coffee time?  Bathroom break?  Perhaps a quick prayer meeting?  Who knows?  It’s shocking that no one heard the commotion or John’s loud, anguished yells of pain.  Tim says that he remembers Principal Steve storming into the classroom demanding to know what all the commotion was about.  But that was almost a weekly occurrence.  To my knowledge, nobody told on Reggie either.  You may be reading this as an adult in complete shock and horror, my wife certainly was.  To be clear, nobody was encouraging Reggie to deliver these hammer blows to John’s crotch.  Reggie himself was not a malicious, mean kid.  He was a rambunctious 13 year old who clearly thought it would be hysterical to hit an unsuspecting classmate in the balls…..with a hammer. 

Jonathon, John’s younger brother was a very different character.  First of all, he was considerably overweight.  To be blunt, he was very fat!  He was also one of my good friends in 6^th, 7^th, and 8^th grade.  Jonathon was smart and loved sports as much as me and John.  While he was smart, he was also naturally aloof which was then interpreted as arrogance by others.  I recall that some of the kids in the grades ahead of us did not like Jonathon at all.  The truth is that looking back he wasn’t a very likable personality in many ways.  For many, Jonathon projected an attitude that conveyed, “I’m better than you” and it wasn’t totally off base.  However, I got along great with Jonathon and it was due primarily to his passion for sports, his smarts, and that he had a great sense of humor that wasn’t immediately recognizable to others.  Jonathon loved to laugh, and I remember very well that he’d literally hold his big belly as he would tilt his head back and guffaw.  I mean, we would laugh until we were on the verge of tears. I can’t remember what the hell it was that we found so funny, but humor was definitely something that connected us. 

When I was in 7^th grade, Jonathon was wearing the Air Jordan II’s.  They were easily the coolest pair of sneakers that I’d ever seen.  The shoes were primarily white with old, red Air Jordan logo.  The leather was super soft and pliable.  Normally when you bought a pair of leather basketball shoes in the 1980’s, you needed at least a couple of weeks to break them in as the leather wouldn’t be very flexible.  The Air Jordan’s were on a completely different level.

Now, did these shoes help Jonathon jump any higher?  I don’t think so.  His vertical leap stayed around 2 inches.  That being said, Jonathon was actually a pretty good basketball player.

He wasn’t athletic at all, but he was a good ball handler and a good shooter.  He was an intelligent player and didn’t try to force shots or try anything outside of his capabilities.  He was probably the only classmate that I trusted when I passed the ball when we played basketball at recess or in gym class.  Looking back, due to John’s condition, Jonathon was probably forced to be more responsible and mature than most kids his age.  You could tell at times that he would be embarrassed or annoyed at some of John’s antics or when kids would make fun of John.  Ultimately, from my point of view, Jonathon was probably a more complicated personality than most of the other kids I went to 7^th and 8^th grade with.

Someone who was considerably different from Jonathon was fellow 7^th grader Michelle.  I think that if an independent observer had been allowed the opportunity to examine the kids in 7^th and 8^th grade that they would have concluded that Michelle was the most likely to have a more or less normal life.  Michelle was nice, upbeat, liked to laugh, and was one of the more popular kids in class.  She was cute, with dark hair, and brown eyes.  She also had small hands and small feet.  I don’t know why I remember that, but I do. Michelle went to church at Faith Tabernacle, a similar type of evangelical church where Tim, Angie, and a few of the other kids in the class attended.  I have no idea if was a squirrelly as G.O.  I had always assumed that it was slightly more normal as the kids in general seemed to be better adjusted. 

Michelle didn’t seem to have any hang-ups and was well liked by just about everyone as I recall.  She was not an athlete and she fit squarely into the “girly-girl” category.  While relatively even tempered, she would stand up for herself and respond with attitude if the situation required it.  I don’t recall too many direct exchanges with her, but they were usually in reaction to me doing something to get a reaction.  I was embracing my role as a burgeoning instigator at that point and I loved getting a rise out of people.  I would elicit a lot of eye rolling from Michelle as my antics probably amused myself way more than anybody else.

Another girl that went to the same church as Michelle was Jessica.  She was also a 7^th grader and full of Puerto Rican attitude.   Not in an over the top, Rosie Perez kind of way, but it was there.  Jessica was slender with large glasses and long hair.  She had olive skin and thin hands with longer nails.  Not as quick to smile, but not unfriendly either, she carried a more wise to the world vibe about her than the other girls.  Sometimes she wore jeans, but on most occasions, she wore a dress that ran below her knees along with white socks that folded down just above her ankle. 

There is an image that I can remember very well when we were in the school gym at recess.  She was sitting on a stage that was adjacent to the gym floor.  I was practicing my dunks on the 9 foot rims, over and over again.  I recall looking over and she was just watching.  She was sitting with her palms down on the stage, her legs swaying up and down as she just took it in.  I couldn’t tell if it was with a hint of flirtation or if she was simply watching.

Another memory that stays with me was when one of the 6^th graders, Robert, thought he was really clever when he ran over, pointed at us and shouted out with glee, “Hey look, it’s Jimmy Swaggert and Jessica Hahn!  Hahahahahah!”.  Jimmy Swaggert was a tele-evangelist who had just been caught having an affair with his secretary, Jessica Hahn.  I wasn’t real thrilled to be the butt of this joke but to be fair to Robert, it wasn’t a bad line considering we were attending an evangelical school. 

Tasha Butterfield, also a 7^th grader from Faith Tabernacle was very different from Jessica.  Tasha had dark, very curly hair that hung about shoulder length.  Quieter and dainty, I always came away with the impression that she belonged in an episode of Little House on the Prairie.  Maybe not where she would be on the frontier, probably in more established settings in the South.  She also wore those same type of long dresses with the socks folded down above the ankle.  It was easy to imagine her with an umbrella to shade herself from the sun and white gloves to that effect as well.   I was far too rambunctious and goofy for the likes of Tasha who was probably not very taken with my less than genteel ways.

I didn’t have too many interactions with Tasha to be honest.  She seemed pleasant enough, but I was a 13-14-year-old focused on sports, music, goofing off, and girls.  And it was definitely in that order. 

Paula Zito also fell into that category except that she was very tall.  Very tall and pretty skinny.  She looked like she could be Keanu Reeves younger, taller sister. She had dark brown hair, smaller eyes and she was more introverted than a lot of the girls.  Maybe because she was so tall compared to them.  Since I was the tallest boy in the class of course I’d hear cracks about how we should be boyfriend and girlfriend.  I think even Jessica’s mom made a remark about that!  I was not amused.  Paula probably wasn’t too thrilled about being paired with me either!

Rounding out 7^th grade was Mabel.  She was quiet and English was a second language.  To be honest I didn’t have too many interactions with Mabel.  As I recall she had a deeper voice and a face that didn’t give away much emotion.  You know how some kids look like adults at an early age?  Mabel had that kind of face where she could have passed for being 30.  I don’t say that to be a jerk, she just had that kind of air about her.  She also wasn’t particularly energetic or rambunctious from my recollections.  So that contributes to the profile I’ve retained in the memory bank.  Her hair was thick, black and wavy.   She wore it just shy of shoulder length…….it was like a haircut that a 45 year-old mom would have. 

I suppose there is always a loose hierarchy in a class amongst kids, and I resided at the top of the food chain so to speak.   Almost by default it could be argued.  Now remember, we’re talking a classroom of 12 so I’m not making a grandiose claim in regards to my standing in the class.  This was a very small ecosystem from which I emerged as the Alpha.  On the opposite end of the spectrum, there was Michael.  He was not athletic, and he was a mediocre student at best.  In fact, he was 15 years old in 8^th grade so he had been held back at some point.  He wore glasses and his body language gave off the impression of someone with very little self-esteem.  Slightly hunched over with small eyes and a shuffling gait, he almost slinked around when he moved. In spite of being the oldest in the class, he was physically small for his age and unimposing. 

Michael came from very modest financial means and that was reflected in what he wore.  Non-descript, schlubby pants and shirts paired with shoes from Payless.  However, beyond his physical traits he also had personality traits that also contributed to his status.  He had an air of sneakiness to him which was heightened by how he carried himself physically.  He was someone that most of the kids fundamentally didn’t trust.  He was probably closest to Reggie, and I think that was due to the fact that Michael’s mom and Reggie’s parents had some kind of friendship.  This will sound very harsh, but the fact of the matter is that there was a creepiness about Michael that led to him being ostracized from social circles in the class.

Gym Class, Recess, and Class Hierarchy

Something I need to establish is that I lived for gym class and recess.  It wasn’t just that I enjoyed playing games and running around.  It was far beyond that.  I loved sports and I loved competing.  It was a love of sport that became an obsession and a tremendous source of building self-worth.  I don’t think I can overstate the importance that sport played in my life at that time and how it shaped my personality and standing within the class.  There was a little bit of Jekyll and Hyde about me.  When I wasn’t playing sports, I was relatively amiable.   However, my demeanor would significantly change during recess or gym class, it was a mix of John McEnroe meets Jimmy Connors.  Even though I never played tennis, those are the best examples I can think of.  Ultra-competitive, obsessed, intense, married with a temper and a lack of self-control.  Don’t I sound like great company? Dodgeball was a popular game at recess and provided a good example of the social pecking order.  We played with an inflated red rubber ball that when thrown with velocity would make a thudding, loud noise when it bounced off the walls or worse if it hit it’s intended target.  Michael was often the target and easy prey. 

I can recall very well lining him up as he ran across the gym floor, his feet would move quickly but his knees would barely raise up, so he wasn’t actually moving that fast. I would race to the dividing line and whip that ball as hard as I could at his legs…………Bang!  The ball would detonate off his legs, knocking him off his feet and sending him crashing to the gym floor.  Everyone in the gym would collectively go “Ooh!!” once he was hit and then laugh as he fell down from having his legs taken out from under him.  It was almost like a video game from the 1980’s where a figure comes scurrying across the screen only to be forcibly taken out.  The laughing is what sent Michael over the edge.  Being the object of ridicule understandably enraged him and he came running up to me, his cheeks puffing in and out and his small eyes narrowed in anger.  As he ran up to me and squared up, I wasn’t sure what to expect.  I don’t remember what he said, but I instinctively responded with a two-handed shove to the chest that took him off his feet and sent him crashing again to the floor.  The class reacted first with an audible, “Woah!” then laughter.  This time the humiliation was utter and complete, he got up crying and scurried away, swearing his revenge.  That was a huge moment looking back.  Michael was viewed as a whiny, less than masculine, sniveling misfit and that reputation would only worsen as the school year progressed.

In the gym we had basketball rims that were approximately 9 feet high.  Remember the baskets that I was practicing my dunks on in front of Jessica?  Well, they were definitely a foot lower than regulation 10-foot rims.  The baskets were stand-alone structures connected to a thick metal pole and a heavy, round metal base.  The metal base had two small wheels at the back so you could move the baskets to accommodate half court matches.  Which was often the case because the girls would get the other half of the gym during recess.  What would they do during recess?  Pull out gym mats and do half-ass gymnastics if memory serves me correct.  I loved those low rims and there were many occasions when I would imagine that I was Dominique Wilkins.  As great a player as Michael Jordan was, Wilkins was my favorite dunker.   I would use any opportunity to practice my dunks on those rims.  The boys in the class would lose patience at times because I would take the first 5 minutes of recess to show off my various dunks.  I remember in spring of ’89 finally being able to throw down a two handed reverse dunk and being over the moon.  That was my favorite type of dunk at the time and I loved trying to replicate the dynamic moves of Wilkins.  Most of Jordan’s dunks were with one hand and I could never palm a basketball, so two handed power dunks were always what I worked on.  There was a basketball rim in the alley behind Ann and Greg’s house that was similar in height to the rims at Gospel Outreach.  That spring I absolutely pulverized that poor rim with hundreds of dunks.

Back to the basketball games at recess.  They would be intense affairs, especially when John was matched up with me.  John was such a hack and he would foul me on almost every play.  I was a pretty big kid and I would embrace the physicality, but sooner or later I would get fed up with John and let him have it.  There was more than one occasion when after a hard foul I’d simply punch John in the side of the arm as hard as I could.  It was like punching a bag packed with sand.  John would let out an anguished yell, the other kids would yell at John for being a hack and we’d simply get on with the game.  The teachers apparently never saw this, the administration was out to lunch for much of 8^th grade.  One example of John’s super strength was on one occasion when we were jostling under the basket for rebounding position.  It was getting very physical as I tried to move John out of the way. I threw an elbow and John locked onto my arm.  I tried to break free but it was like my arm was in a vice.  Then John flung me over to the side like I was a ragdoll and I staggered back.  You did not mess with John in those moments.  It was like the Waterboy meets The Incredible Hulk.  There was never any ill will after the games, but during recess it was a battle.  I wanted to win every single time we played, and every game was life and death for me.  Each recess I would work myself up into a sweaty, intense, easily aggravated jerk who didn’t care about anything else but winning.  Not just winning but being completely dominant was the goal.  I was a big fish in a very little pond.  I decided to orchestrate different ways to display my absolute athletic dominance over the class.  One day I decided to issue a challenge to 6^th, 7^th, and 8^th grade.  Me against the JV in a game of dodgeball. 

The challenge was accepted, and it was game on.  I knew the tactics that I wanted to employ:  Get rid of all the easy targets quickly.  This really was survival of the fittest and very Darwinistic.  I picked out all the slow-moving easy prey, mercilessly lined them up and whipped that red, inflated rubber ball at them.  This initial tactic served its purpose of thinning out the herd.  Now it was time to eliminate some of the real threats.  Danny would have been one of the tougher outs in dodgeball.  He threw the ball pretty hard, but he had a big windup and you could brace yourself.  He was also very good at getting low and catching a ball targeted for him.  The best way to get Danny was to have a ball and entice Danny to throw his ball first, then use the ball I had to block his throw and then sprint to the halfway line and nail him before he had opportunity to set himself.  Soon enough I had gotten rid of Danny.  I was now like Sherman on his march through the South during the Civil War, tearing through the junior high of Gospel Outreach.  One by one I was picking off the remaining targets until there was only one kid left:  Kevin.

Kevin had been clever to survive to this point.  He really hadn’t done much and he hadn’t put himself at risk.  Kevin was a 6^th grader, very tall and skinny with glasses.  He was not athletic, and he could be a real smartass.  His mom worked at the school, but I can’t recall in what capacity.  She wasn’t a teacher, that’s for sure and Kevin’s smartass ways were definitely a hereditary trait.  During the game Kevin had laid in the weeds and basically waited things out.  Now it was just me and him.  This was going to be easy, Kevin moved like a slow giraffe so once he threw a ball at me, I’d be able to easily line him up and blast him.  The problem is that Kevin decided he wasn’t even going to really try to hit me with the ball.  He wouldn’t go anywhere near the halfway line when he had the ball. He would only make a weak half-hearted throw aimed at the floor with no intention of trying to hit me.  It was unmanly and very unsportsmanlike if we’re to be honest.  But this was about survival for Kevin.  As soon as he threw the ball he would quickly retreat to the very back of the gym and squat down against the back wall of the gym.  This made him a very small target and he was a fair distance away.  I tried to keep my throws as low and as hard as I could.  I would charge up to the line and whip the ball at Kevin, it would bounce off the wall with a thud and Kevin would meekly throw the ball back nowhere near me.  Once again, not making any attempt to hit me.  I would try to tempt him by stay near the halfway line, trying to entice him to throw the ball at me.  He wouldn’t bite.  I was getting more and more frustrated so finally I reared back and looked for accuracy more than power.  It was time to end the charade and claim my glorious victory.  The throw was low and hard enough.  Kevin was on his knees against the back of the wall so he couldn’t really move.  He had no choice but to try and catch the ball.  Well of course, he caught it and held on.  Game over.  I was stunned.  The rest of the kids in the gym cheered the result as I could only stand at the halfway line with my hands on my hips and shake my head.  Kevin was a real weenie, but he gets full credit for being very clever with how he played that game of dodgeball.  

Now I have to make something clear.  I wasn’t a bully. In fact, I very rarely got into any confrontations in grade school or high school for that matter.  By nature, I tend to avoid confrontation.  But kids can be cruel, and I was no exception.  An incident happened later in 8^th grade that permanently damaged Michael’s reputation.  After school in early 1989, Michael came up from behind on Danny and put him in a chokehold.  He chocked Danny until he passed out.  I don’t know why he did it and especially to someone like Danny, who wasn’t the type to antagonize or make fun of people.  I wasn’t there and I don’t know many of the details, but this incident quickly made the rounds and turned most of the class against him in a significant and permanent way.  I honestly wonder why he was allowed to continue going to school after chocking Danny, but he was.  Later that spring, playing basketball outside in the alley, after Michael had dropped a pass that I had thrown to him I picked up the ball and whipped the basketball off his head with some real intent.  He didn’t do anything, and he knew better then to try.  It was unnecessary, it was mean, but it was also a message that he was not well-liked, and he was not respected.   It wasn’t far away from a Lord of The Flies situation.  He was not part of the tribe.

His efforts to curry favor were clumsy and obscene.  In early ’89 he constructed a letter that he somehow convinced John to sign.  I can barely remember the contents of the letter, most of it was extremely juvenile and stupid, but one part stated how he liked to rape girls, or something to that effect.  Then Michael goes around showing all the boys in the class the letter, he may have even shown some of the girls.  He seemed to think that this was somehow funny, and it would be a way to ingratiate himself with the boys in the class.  Well, it didn’t.  What I do remember is reading the contents of this letter that he had duped John into signing, dismissing it as “crazy” and tossing it aside.  I don’t remember anybody thinking that it was funny or clever.  Eventually, one of the teachers found the letter and Michael was suspended from school.  But not only was he suspended, anyone who read the letter and didn’t report it to school authorities were suspended as well.  So, I was suspended for a day along with Reggie.  Not sure if anyone else was suspended, but this was another mark against Michael.   It reinforced the feeling that he was a social outcast, creepy, and disturbed. 

There was only one occasion when Michael seemed to meld into the group.  It was the junior high talent show.  The event took place earlier in the school year.  I don’t remember much about how it was organized or any of the other events.  It’s likely that it coincided with the “Harvest Party”.  Gospel Outreach didn’t recognize Halloween (remember now, that’s a celebration of evil), so we had the “Harvest Party”.  By the way, there were no Christmas trees either in December due to the pagan roots of that tradition.  For Gospel Outreach, Christmas trees and Santa were nefarious influences of “The World”.  The boys had decided that we’d put on a wrestling match for everyone’s entertainment, but mostly for our own amusement.  Hulk Hogan and Macho Man Randy Savage were super popular at the time and we choreographed our matches using their antics as a template.  The talent show took place in the school gym on the main stage.  We took the blue gym mats and set them on stage floor.  Metal folding chairs were set up at the four corners of the mats to create the wrestling space.  We were all in socks and shorts, ready to put on a show.  Michael willingly played the heel who took his beating.  He scurried around the stage for a while before getting cornered.  I remember delivering 10 pulled punches to his head, counting them out as I delivered the blows.  This is a very standard move in wrestling and is meant to pull in the crowd participation as the audibly count the blows and cheer.  I don’t think anyone in the audience counted out loud.  The finish came when I jumped off one of the chairs with a flying elbow to Michael’s head.   I secured the pin, and the preordained victory.  Michael had played his role in the talent show and if the audience wasn’t entertained, we certainly were.  If only there had been more moments like the talent show perhaps the situation would have been different for Michael.   

Music

Pop music was a huge part of 8^th grade!  Back then there were two primary stations that kids our age listened to:  B96 and Z95.  Later in 8^th grade I started listening to Rapdown with Ramonski Love on 107.5 WGCI, but for most of the year it was Z95 and B96.  Music was all over the map in the ‘88-‘89 school year.  All the big acts of the 80’s were popular:  Michael Jackson, Madonna, George Michael, and Prince to name a few.  But they aren’t the artists that stand out for me.  Chicago radio had an interesting mix of pop music in the late 80’s that reflected the diversity and uniqueness of the city

Chicago is an urban metropolis, but for such a large city, it’s very provincial in its outlook and mentality.  I guess it makes sense if you think about it.  Chicago is a thousand miles from New York, three thousand miles from LA and we’re nowhere near any kind of international borders.  Sorry, Canada doesn’t count as it’s too similar.  The end result is that we’re not overly influenced by any one type of music or cultural trends.  It’s a mix of divergent influences and that was reflected in what I was listening to in 8^th grade.

When the school year started, I remember the track “Big Fun”, by Inner City.  This was like September/October ’88.  Inner City was the brainchild of Kevin Saunderson, one of the originators of Detroit Techno, and a Chicago vocalist, Paris Grey.  The sound was pure house and inaugurated the era where house music began to get mainstream traction.  What was so cool about Inner City and “Big Fun” was that it was a smash hit internationally as well.  Normally, Europe is the center of the dance music universe.   To have a Midwest collaboration blow up at that level was very cool in retrospect.  “Big Fun” holds up and has been voted one of the most influential dance tracks of the past 30 years.  A couple of years ago I played the track for my wife and my brother-in-law, both of whom were raised in Detroit.  They had never heard the song nor had ever heard of Inner City.  I was in shock.  It took me awhile to get over that.

What was great about the music is that we’d go from a dance heavy track like “Big Fun” to something completely different………like Fine Young Cannibal’s, “She Drives Me Crazy”.  I remember watching the video for this song over at Danny and Meredith’s house in winter of ’88-’89 and I was blown away by the crunching guitars offset by the falsetto vocals.  The combination was magic.  Fine Young Cannibals were from the UK and music from that side of the Atlantic was a huge influence on me.  A lot of that stemmed from my years living in Ireland. My first memories of pop music coming from a show called Top of The Pops that would come on every Thursday at 7:00 pm:  Musical Youth, Eddie Grant, Culture Club, Eurythmics, and loads of other groups helped form my musical tastes (thank God for that as well). 

“She Drives Me Crazy” travelled well and was a huge hit in the US as well.  When I think of the other UK acts that were big during 8^th grade you had Samantha Fox, Duran Duran, Pet Shop Boys, and of course George Michael.  Def Leppard were also from the UK but their sound was more arena rock.  Funny enough, rock acts like Def Leppard and Guns N Roses were not hugely popular in our class.  At least that’s my recollection.

Hip-Hop and dance music were far more prevalent.  Paula Abdul and her first single, “Straight Up” was a big, big hit.  Tone Loc had two tracks that were super popular, “Wild Thang” and “Funky Cold Medina”.  As 8^th grade progressed, hip-hop’s influence seemed to grow and grow.  De La Soul’s “Me, Myself, and I” was one of my favorite tracks of 8^th grade. 

It’s funny, but there was a song in January/February of 1989 that I remember vividly because of how much I hated it.  The song was, Sheriff’s, “When I’m with you”.  The girls loved this damn song and it I couldn’t stand it.  It was a rock ballad from 1982 that got rereleased in early 1989.  My overriding memory is the song being played in the gym as I’m playing basketball with Jessica sitting on the stage, her legs casually swinging up and down…..I hate to admit it but I have a soft spot for the song these days.  But not back then!!  You won’t find any rock ballads in my 8^th grade mix tape.

One element of pop music that grew out of American Latin culture was freestyle.  Wow.  Where do you start……Freestyle was big in Chicago.  Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam, Expose, and Stevie B to name but a few.  Okay, I liked some freestyle, but man when it was bad it was dreadful.   Tinny sounding electronics, overwrought emotional lyrics usually about love, longing or betrayal, and big hair.  Stevie B was unfortunately very popular in 8^th grade.  I couldn’t stand his thin, whiny voice and sugary, vapid lyrics.   When his songs would come on the radio, it would be a visceral, physical reaction as I would scramble to change the station.  Girls seemed to absolutely love this music and while there were some good songs within the genre, it’s the bad ones that stay with me.  Probably because for every decent Freestyle tune that existed there were a half-dozen that were unbearable.  Let’s just say it was a very particular genre of music that was a big part of the scene from like 1986 through 91.

There were also Chicago based DJs that took some of this music along with other party tracks to create mixes that were played on B96 every Friday and Saturday night.  Julian “Jumpin” Perez and “Bad Boy” Bill were two of the more prominent names I remember.  What I liked about the mixes was that it was a way to find more obscure dance tracks that didn’t necessarily get mainstream radio airplay.  But man, sometimes you had to sift through a lot of freestyle type junk to find those gems. 

Speaking of other music my classmates loved that I wasn’t the biggest fan of:  New Kids on The Block.  Danny was a fan of these jokers and so were many others.  I’m still happy to remind Danny of that fact today.  To his credit he doesn’t deny it.  One of the other groups that Danny flew the flag for was Milli Vanilli.  I’ll cut him some slack on Milli Vanilli.  Okay, their public image was a sham but the actual singers were talented and the production was excellent.  “Girl You Know It’s True” was a polished, good pop song and of course Danny owned the cassette single.    

1988-89 also was the peak for Bobby Brown.  “My Prerogative” was hugely popular and was so late 80’s.  Bobby Brown burned out pretty quick and became a hot mess in the 90’s, but he put together a string of hits in the late 80’s:  “Don’t Be Cruel”, “Every Little Step”, “Rock Witcha Baby” all came off the same album.  It was an impressive debut album with four top 10 hits.  Then the wheels came off in a major way in the 90’s.

The song that sticks with me the most from 8^th grade is Nenah Cherry’s “Buffalo Stance”.  When I heard the song and saw the video for the first time I was mesmerized.  The track to me sounds so urban New York and combined with her look you’d have thought that she was born and raised in Queens.  She raps ferociously, sings beautifully, the attitude is megawatt, and the production is tight.  She’s tough and no nonsense, but she as she sings in the song, “it’s sweetness that I’m thinking of.”  The defiance mixed with the longing in her voice as the song fades out allow it to hold up very, very well.  It’s crazy to think that Nenah Cherry is Swedish and spent a large amount of time in London as a teenager.  Great, great song.

Here is my personal top 10 from 1988-1989 school year (No Freestyle and no Rock Ballads):

1. Nenah Cherry,  “Buffalo Stance”
2. Fine Young Cannibals, “She Drives Me Crazy”
3. Inner City, “Big Fun”
4. Bobby Brown, “Every Little Step”
5. Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock, “It Takes Two/Get On The Dancefloor”
6. De La Soul, “Me, Myself, and I”
7. Tone Loc, “Wild Thang”
8. Inner City, “Good Life”
9. Bobby Brown, “It’s My Prerogative”
10. Living Color, “Cult of Personality”

Sneakers

Sneaker culture for all intents and purposes started in the 1980’s.  The sneakers that you wore in junior high were vital.  They very much formed a part of your identity and style.  It was a stylistic statement that you were making to the public at large.  My obsession started at the beginning of 7^th grade when I bought a pair of Etonic basketball leather hi-tops that were endorsed by Akeem Olajuwon, the Nigerian center who played for the Houston Rockets.  The hi-tops were white with red and accents of yellow.  They came with red laces and the color combination popped big time.  I loved big, loud, flamboyant hi-tops and the late 1980’s had some killer hi-tops.  I bought white shoe polish to try and keep those shoes looking new and fresh for as long as possible.  My buddy Ranjit bought the low-top version of the same shoe.  The hi-tops were way cooler in my humble opinion.   Etonic wasn’t really a major player in the sneaker game and after my hi-tops started to wear out in spring of ’88, I switched to Adidas and this brand quickly became my favorite.  First of all, there was the look.  The three stripes and the trefoil were so cool and since the brand was European that added allure to the brand.  At least for me it did.  But what made the brand unique was that it was a European brand also popular in rap culture.  Run DMC had scored an endorsement deal with Adidas a few years earlier and so the brand effectively straddled the line between sport and fashion.

My initial Adidas purchase was a pair of white tennis sneakers with dark blue stripes.  They weren’t the Ivan Lendl Competitors or the shoes that Swedish tennis star Stefan Edberg wore, but they were a nice shoe and I was very excited to get a pair of shoes that I considered to be very cool.  Adidas was a major player in the tennis world.  Lendl and Edberg were two of the top players at the time and I was drawn to the style and fashion of tennis.  However, my next pair of Adidas would be my transition from cool, European tennis shoes to big, flashy, in your face American basketball hi-tops.  For my back to school shopping before 8^th grade, we went to SportMart, where I found what were to become one of my favorite pair of shoes ever:  The Adidas Conductor endorsed by Patrick Ewing.  Ewing played for the New York Knicks and he wasn’t even one of my favorite players, but the shoes caught my eye immediately.  The hi-tops were white with rich, sky blue stripes and orange accents.  The colors of the NY Knicks.  I didn’t care.  The color scheme took these shoes to the next level from a visual standpoint.  I was over the moon to have found them and on sale for $59.99.   They normally retailed for $80.00.  The Adidas Conductor would be the shoe I would wear for the majority of 8^th grade.  One of my signature outfits would be my khaki colored Bugleboys, a multi-colored, yellow, blue, and white Nike sweatshirt along with my Adidas Hi-tops.   I felt like the King of Cool.  

By March of 1989, my Adidas were wearing out from the everyday beating that an active 14-year-old puts their shoe through.  My mom and my sister took me to the Footlocker near Six Corners for what would be the seminal moment of my sneaker shopping history.  I had somehow convinced my mom to think about buying me a pair of Air Jordan IV’s.  Let me put this in some perspective for you.  My mom worked as a live-in housekeeper and made approximately $300 a week.  The Air Jordan IV retailed for $110.00.  I cannot believe I had the temerity to ask for these shoes.  But my mom always had a soft spot for footwear.  That proclivity was displayed when I came back from Ireland in July 1983 when she bought me a pair of hi-top Nike Air Force One’s for $38.00.  In 1983 that was a lot of money for shoes.  But there was no shame in my game.  I knew that I could score the Jordan’s.  These shoes represented a significant jump in both shoe technology, quality and style.  The leather was soft and pliable.  There was a luxurious feel to the shoe.  The styling of the sneaker was futuristic and yet understated.  When I put the Jordan’s on my feet, they were unlike anything I had worn up to that point.  The cushioning was soft and the shoes were relatively light weight.  The hi-tops that I had previously worn were heavy and clunky in comparison.  It was like switching from driving a Chevy Tahoe to a BMW sports coupe.  Add to that the fact that they were Michael Jordan’s signature shoe and it resulted in the total sneaker package.  As much as I loved Adidas, these shoes were simply a cut above anything else that was available.  It wasn’t even close.  My mother paid the $110 and I was elated.  Shame took a backseat to sneaker superstar status.  I love you mom!!

One of my enduring memories of those Air Jordan IV’s was that I left the square, orange plastic tab that had “Nike Air” engraved on the shoe for at least the first month.  I remember standing at the bus stop in my Jordan’s with the plastic tab on thinking that I was part of sneaker royalty.  It was a huge status symbol at the time to have those shoes.  Nowadays everyone and their grandpappy have the shoes and it’s lost some of its prestige.  Back in 1989, not nearly as many people were wearing Jordan’s.  But it’s incredible that the shoe has maintained its popularity for so long.  The Air Jordan IV is over 30 years old and stylistically it still holds up favorably to anything else out there.  New versions of the Air Jordan’s would come out each year, but I don’t think they ever made cooler shoes that the Jordan’s that were released in ’87, ’88 and ’89.  It’s funny, but I never owned another pair of Air Jordan’s.  Part of it was that I felt guilty about my mom spending that much money on my shoes.  Then once Nike jacked up the price of the shoe to $125 the following year, I never considered the shoe again.

I can remember the shoe that each boy in class wore in junior high.  Tim wore British Knights, more of a street fashion brand than a sports brand.  But they were a very nice-looking shoe.  Danny had a pair of Brooks leather hi-tops, the same design as the shoes worn by Dominique Wilkins but not the same color scheme.  The ones that Danny had were primarily white with black lettering.  They were a very underrated pair of hi-tops.  I’d put them in the same category as the Etonic’s and the Adidas hi-tops I’d previously worn.  Brooks made very good shoes. John and Jonathan both wore Puma hi-tops.  Puma was not a big player in basketball but looking back the hi-tops the David brothers wore were probably the Ralph Sampson Pumas.  A solid hi-top but not like the Jordan II’s that Jonathan had when I was in 7^th grade.  Reggie had the Adidas that I had bought him in January 1989 and while they were loose on him, they looked very cool.  I’m not convinced that they were much of a basketball shoe.  In his case it was more fashion over functionality.    

The brands that were popular back then were Nike, Reebok, Adidas, Converse, Puma, and maybe Fila.  I vaguely remember Diadora, but more as an exotic, hard to find brand that wasn’t available in any of the stores I’d go to for shoes.  Nike really started to completely take over in the late 1980’s.  Signing Michael Jordan was such a huge move for them. The advertising campaigns they created with Michael Jordan and Spike Lee’s character Mars Blackmon were funny, slick and well done.  They were so far ahead of the competition back in 1989.

Even so, I held onto my love for Adidas with the apparel that I’d wear.  My spring windbreaker that year was a green and black Adidas jacket with a big trefoil on the back.  In April of 1989, I had the Adidas jacket with the Air Jordan’s and white Air Jordan track bottoms.  Add to that my flat-top haircut with two lines engraved on each side and I was read for my own rap album cover.  I was Chicago’s version of Vanilla Ice before that joker ever came on the scene!  Is it cringe worthy looking back?  A little, but not really.  It was totally authentic, and I’ll own my ridiculous athletic leisure wear look with pride.  I followed what I identified with and it felt right.

This also feeds into what was my unbridled passion for “Urban” culture. For many this means Black/African-American culture and that is accurate in many respects.  My favorite athletes were black. For example, white kids would be more likely to look up to Ryne Sandberg, but my favorite Cub’s players were Leon Durham and Andre Dawson.  Basketball had become my sport of preference and well…..most of the players were black!  I loved the athleticism and the style that many of them played with.  Think of Michael Jordan competing at the dunk contest in 1985 wearing a gold chain back in 1985.  It literally was the way they moved on the court that appealed to me.  It was simple:  Black athletes were exciting, cool and I wanted to be like them.   

Then there were my musical tastes as well.  It was Dance/Electronica/Rap/R&B and then Rock.  it was very much in that particular order at the time.  That also represented the part of Chicago that I belonged to and I naturally gravitated to those musical genres.  I remember going to Pittsburgh in the summer of 1988 for a ten day vacation with my cousin’s family.  He was four years older than me and came from much more of a conventional background.   He attended a traditional Catholic High School in Pittsburgh, was a member of the wrestling team, and listened to Van Halen.

When we were talking about music and I was sharing the groups/songs that I liked he made the statement, “Oh, so you like black music.”.  My reaction was to recoil from that type of labeling.  I didn’t like it.  It just rubbed me the wrong way.  Not because I had a problem with being associated with “Black Music”, not at all.  But it was a broad, sweeping statement that put me in a box.  Kool & The Gang were one of my favorite groups growing up, but I was also discovering Prince who would  become my favorite artist and the most influential musician of my adolescence.  Billy Ocean, Bobby Brown, De La Soul, Peabo Bryson, Inner City, Terence Trent D’Arby, Sade, Janet Jackson, Living Color, and Tracy Chapman represent vastly different genres of music.  I was drawn to artists you couldn’t easily label and I felt a kinship to that kind of desire to be something distinct, even if it didn’t fit with society’s expectations. 

So yeah, I listened to LL Cool J and Slick Rick.  On the flip side I also loved The Pet Shop Boys, the Human League, Depeche Mode, and Yaz.  I was all over the map and loathed being put into a category.

Taking the bus 

So how did we actually get to school in the morning?  Many of us took the bus.  I would catch the Montrose bus one stop east of Cicero Avenue at the Blue Line train.  That was also when I started getting into the habit of grabbing a newspaper in the morning whenever I had a quarter in my pocket.  That’s how much the Sun Times and the Tribune were back in the late 1980’s.  This was my initial exposure to Chicago print journalism and the writers that I began to read with some consistency:  Bernie Lincecome, Terry Boers, Fred Mitchell, and Sam Smith were the main sports writers that covered the Bears, Bulls, Cubs, and White Sox at the time.

I’d grab a newspaper, jump on the bus, show my student pass which allowed for a reduced fair and grabbed a seat.  It was about a 30-minute ride or thereabouts to the Ravenswood stop.  When I wasn’t reading over the sports section and examining the box scores, I tended to observe and take notice of my surroundings and the ride along Montrose Avenue through Jefferson and Albany Park gave me plenty to take in.  There would be people going to work, mothers with their small children, and of course students from other schools.  You know, schools that unlike G.O. were actually known to the general public.  I vividly remember this girl who would get on the bus, long light brown hair, olive skin, soft features but intelligent eyes.  Yeah, she definitely caught my attention.  She would often wear a sleek black jacket.  In retrospect I would describe her look as understated and classy.  I would look forward each morning to seeing her get on the bus and take her seat toward the front.  I would steal glances every now and then as I’d look up from my paper pretending to simply look up.  I don’t think that I ever got a look back.  She would get off at Western avenue, which meant that she probably attended Lane High School.  She always made the morning bus ride a more pleasant experience.

One of the more enduring memories was how cold it would be waiting for the bus on winter mornings and how desolate that bus stop right above the Montrose Blue Line train stop was.  I also remember late in the school year when everything came into bloom, the lush green leaves on the trees as the bus passed Welles Park on Montrose and Lincoln.   

Rides in the morning were by the numbers for the most part, but the rides home after school with John, Jonathon and Reggie were almost always more eventful.  One occasion in particular stands out.  We had gotten onto the bus and made our way to the back as we normally did.  When we sat down, we immediately noticed that across from us was someone we had never seen before.  I don’t mean a person that we didn’t know.  I mean a person who we weren’t quite sure was a man or a woman.  They had makeup on and a feminine blouse, but there was something distinctly manly about this person as well.  Maybe it was the hints of a five o’clock shadow or an Adam’s apple.  Initially, we were very quiet and tried not to stare but soon we were whispering to each other and giggling.  Our fellow passenger was beginning to grow increasingly annoyed with our staring and muffled laughing.  They began with some justification to call us out.  I don’t remember their exact words, but it was to the effect of, “What are you turkeys looking at?  I will whip your ass!”.   

We were bewildered, amused, but also uncertain and off balance.  This unique individual kept up a running commentary for practically the entire bus ride, muttering their grievances and directing jibes our way, “Goofy ass white boy.  I will teach you something……turkey!”  The insults and threats only served to feed into the situation as we fought an increasingly one-sided battle to keep from laughing.  Finally, Reggie stood up and asked out loud in a silly, high pitched, exaggerated voice, “Excuse me, are you a Trans-Sexual?”  Tim Curry would have been hard pressed to better Reggie’s delivery.  He had timed his question as the bus was pulling to a stop.  We jumped up laughing uncontrollably at Reggie’s nerve and immediately rushed to the side door exit to make our escape.  You had to wait for the light to flash green before you could push the side door open.  The problem was that they were beginning to get up and come toward us!  We weren’t waiting for the damn light, in our panicked delirium we just pushed and pushed until the green light came on and we spilled out of the bus.  I’m not sure what would have happened if our disgruntled fellow passenger had gotten a hold of us, but I’m glad we didn’t find out.  In retrospect it probably wasn’t our finest hour.  However, it’s important to recognize that this was 31 years ago and we wouldn’t of had any frame of reference for a transgender person outside of ……Boy George? 

Looking back, the person on the bus probably had some mental health issues as well.  For Gospel Outreach, this type of individual was a sinner engaging in behavior considered abhorrent and worthy of eternal condemnation.  There wouldn’t have been a lot of gray area or room for discussion.  Tolerance and understanding would not have been a prominent part of the church’s teachings.

Each year we would have to buy a student CTA pass that would be valid for the school year.  Students could then ride for a reduced fare.  My student bus pass had a yellow background with my basic info and a photo.  The beginnings of facial hair, a few pimples, and my unibrow were all in effect.  That’s right, a unibrow. 

The Unibrow

My eyebrow merits a very prominent place in my adolescence.  I didn’t just have your run of the mill unibrow where someone’s eyebrows meet in the middle.  I had heavy brows and my unibrow was like a dark bird of prey in permanent flight above my eyes.  I was terribly self-conscious about it.  As puberty and adolescence progressed it had the effect of filling in my unibrow with thick, dark brown hair.   Think of spring when the rains come and the grass which was a faded yellow becomes a vibrant green.  That is the effect that puberty had on my unibrow.  I resembled a not too distant descendant of the wolfman.  My oldest sister suggested that I let her pluck them out but for some reason I was horrified by that thought.  I think my mindset was that it was less than manly to pull out the hair, but good Lord she should have insisted.  In fact, there should have been a family intervention.  Perhaps the school should have sent a notice home mandating that my unibrow be addressed before I would be admitted back to class.  But alas, none of that occurred.  This probably also explains my painfully shy way with girls at the time.  It wasn’t until I was 18 that I finally said enough was enough and declared war on the unibrow.  It was a long and hard campaign.  It took over six months of regular visits to an electrolysis to slay the beast.  Little jabbing jolts of electricity between my eyes for sessions of 30-60 minutes in the summer of 1993 was what it took to bring me out of the Cro-Magnon era.  Good times. 

Most kids become self-conscious of their appearance at age 13-14 and that was certainly the case with me.  My goodness, I can remember the horror of having a pimple and scrambling to find the Oxy-10 with the desperate hope that the stupid cream would wipe out the pimple in the 30 minutes before I’d arrive at school.  Since my skin was fair, whenever those red blemishes would emerge, they would really stand out.  I would do most anything to avoid people seeing them.  I would lean my head against my hand to cover the blotches.  I would angle my head or face to one side to hide those cosmetic blights.  You see, in spite of my unibrow I was still a narcissist of the highest order.   Appearances were of the utmost importance!  Hair styles were also very important and by 8^th grade I had adopted a flat-top.  Tight on the sides and about one and a half inches on top.  Hair was very, very important and as the year wore on my flat-top became more and more edgier, the sides became tighter to where it was almost shaved on the sides.  Once 1989 rolled around there was a point where I had two lines shaved in on both sides of my head.  Where would I go to get my customized flat-top?  June’s Barbershop on Irving Park Road.  June was this older Filipino man who ran a barbershop on Irving between California and Kedzie.  He was a machine.  There were few words once he motioned you to the chair.  This wasn’t some kind of stereotypical barbershop where people were talking and it was some kind of social hangout.  June was all business.  He would take about 10 minutes, but he was meticulous and careful.  He charged $10 at the time and it was money well spent.  I always felt sharp coming out of June’s.

The clientele at June’s was mostly Hispanic and there was (still is) a significant Latino population and influence in the area.  This was reflected in our class as well.  Out of the thirteen kids in 7^th and 8^th grade there were six who came from Latino backgrounds.  This would have a major influence on my adolescence, and I saw that in a mostly positive way.  I was the minority in this setting and it was ok.  In fact, looking back I embraced the multicultural aspect of my circumstances.  But there was no conscious thought given to it at the time.  It’s just how it was, and it was great.   While there was a major Hispanic presence at the school it’s not as if the kids were speaking Spanish.  Hell, Danny and Meredith couldn’t speak Spanish and I’m not sure that Tim could either.  I think that the best way I could sum up and describe the culture was that it was diverse and urban.  There was no single, predominant culture like there would be when I went to high school in Pittsburgh.  

Rivalry with the High School

As the school year progressed, a rivalry of sorts had begun between the high school and our class.  This was a continuation of the rivalry that had begun when I was in 6^th grade.  Back then we’d play the 8^th graders in football and usually get beat pretty convincingly, but the games were competitive and there was a lot of trash talking.  I was also beginning to tap into the fact that I was insanely competitive.  I would do everything I could to try and beat the older class in tackle football.  We’d lose most of the time, but we would definitely have our moments.  One of the biggest moments was on one occasion I broke into the open field and was running straight towards a touchdown.  There was only one person in my way, Nathan, who was a year ahead of me in 7^th grade but was actually the same age as me and physically smaller.  I was not going to try and run around Nathan.  I was going to run through him.  There was a bullheaded determination to my running and I was taking the direct route.  Nathan stood his ground and had his arms outstretched, bracing himself to try and bearhug tackle me to the ground.  Charging forward I stream rolled over Nathan and scored.  Think of when you see footage of a tank at top speed running over bushes and incidental obstacles in its way.  It was emphatic, brutal and glorious.  At least in my mind it was!  The 6^th graders celebrated wildly, and the rivalry was born. 

Two years later the sport had changed to basketball, but the embers of the rivalry were still burning.  I had only started playing basketball in 6^th grade but had quickly become obsessed with the sport.  This coincided with the incredible popularity of Michael Jordan in the late 80’s.  His athleticism, his talent, his drive, and his manner were so overwhelmingly obvious and compelling.  To this day he’s still the most dominant sports figure of my lifetime.  It’s really not even close.  The release of the “Last Dance” documentary is introducing a new audience to Jordan’s dominance on the court.  Sports in general were my overriding passion and once the weather cooled down it was basketball every day in the gym during recess.

I was probably about 5’10 when 8^th grade started and right before the school year had started, I had played a game of one on one with David Moreno.  He was going into his junior year at Gordon Tech.  David had attended G.O. for grade school and his family lived in a house next to the school building.  He was someone who had commanded respect from the younger classes just by the way he carried himself.  He was smart, athletic, tough, and a very decent guy.  Well, we played one on one in the gym and I was fortunate enough to beat him.  This was a huge boost to my confidence.  David may not have been a great basketball player, but he was a good athlete, physically strong and he wasn’t the type to let you win.   This was quite a feather to put in my cap and I must admit that I was also a little surprised to have beaten him.

In my 8^th grade class there was no one like David to test me or push me.  Danny was all effort, strong and determined, but not skillful or really athletic.  Jonathon was a good shooter and ballhandler, but too heavy to move really effectively.  Reggie was waterbug quick, but he didn’t really have any skills or fundamentals.  Tim had a decent shot, but he was short, a little tubby and his easygoing temperament didn’t translate to being extremely competitive at the time.  John was intense and physical, but there was little to no skill.  It was pretty much Neanderthal type tactics from John.   He loved the Detroit Pistons, who were the best team in basketball at the time and their bruising style was an inspiration to him.  The Bad Boys, as the Pistons were known as the time would have loved John.

Coaching soccer and track over the last four years has reminded me how much kids physically change in 8^th grade.   When I look back on my photos from 8^th grade I see the difference from the fall of 1988 to the spring of 1989.  I probably grew two inches over those 6-7 months until I was about 6 feet tall.  I took a size 10 ½ shoe and weighed around 150 lbs. My hand to eye coordination and athleticism were both pretty good and improved as the school year wore on.  I was feeling confident and even cocky about what I could do on the basketball court.  I’m not sure how the back and forth started with the high school, but in the winter of early 1989 the trash talking started to heat up big time.  The high school boys had little regard for our impertinence and had no problem telling us.  Insults and putdowns were sent back and forth for weeks.  Finally, we issued a challenge to the high school to play the 7^th and 8^th grade.  They accepted and the countdown to the biggest sporting event in Gospel Outreach School history was on.

I don’t think that it’s an exaggeration to say that this was probably the biggest event of the school year.  Keep in mind, we didn’t really have many events in general at Gospel Outreach so there wasn’t a lot of competition for that title.  Once we knew that the game was happening, we started organizing practices at recess, there was no coach, no adult to put together a game plan.  I was in effect the player/coach.  I told everybody what their role would be and what we were going to do.  My classmates pretty much accepted my dictatorial approach.  The offensive game plan was pretty simple:  I would function as the primary ball handler.  I would also be the number one offensive option.  I assigned people their defensive responsibilities and as I remember there wasn’t really any pushback from my classmates. Tim remembered one of my clear instructions:  Don’t pass Danny the ball on offense!  Danny was a good defender and solid rebounder, but he was a dreadful shooter and at best an average ball handler.   Tim was an excellent teammate and did as he was told 😉

Everyone embraced their role and we really believed that we were going to beat the high school.  The day arrived the gym was packed.  It would have been late February when we played.  We didn’t have any stands or anywhere for people to sit on the sidelines.  The only places people could sit were on the stage towards the front of the gym.  Anyone on the sideline had to stand.  Pretty much everyone from the high school was there, all eleven kids or however many of them there were.  Most of the grade school was present in attendance at the gym as well.  There was genuine excitement and anticipation before the game started.  We had no uniforms.  Neither team did.  That’s how ghetto it was!  I’m not sure if it was even color coordinated where one team wore blue and other team wore red.  I think we wore white shirts, in fact now that I think back, we did wear white.  I recall being very, very nervous the day of the game.  An eagerness mixed with an anxiety and an impatience to play.  I had so much personally invested in this game.

I should probably talk about the high school team and the boys that were on it.  Danny’s older brother Junior was 17 and never shy about expressing his opinion and making outlandish claims.  He could speak Spanish and he loved talking trash.  Danny would sometimes serve as his verbal punching bag and poor Danny was no match for Junior.  But Junior wasn’t really malicious or mean.  In fact, he was good fun and I got on well with him.   One thing was certain, once whispers started about the grade school thinking they could beat the high school in basketball he took the bait and dismissed us as a joke.  Junior was about 5’11 and very skinny.  He was a decent basketball player but a complete gunner.  Junior never met a shot that he didn’t like.  That’s great if you’re an excellent shooter but Junior wasn’t.  He was an average shooter at best.  But that didn’t stop him from thinking that he was the Puerto-Rican Chris Mullin.  I matched up very well against Junior whenever we played because I was a little bit taller, a little bit quicker, and stronger.

Ravi was a sophomore and probably the coolest and funniest kid in G.O.  He was a smart-ass and he liked to undermine authority, but he was clever in how he did it.  He used to drive some of the teachers absolutely up the wall with some of his witty comebacks and sarcastic comments.   He was more solidly put together physically than Junior, but while he was strong enough physically, he wasn’t really an athlete of note.  I remember he had this weird hop that he’d do while dribbling the ball up the court.  Now while me and Junior were friends or at least friendly with each other, I didn’t really have that relationship with Ravi.  There was some tension there that went back a couple of years when he was in 8^th grade and I was in 6^th.  Nothing serious or significant, but there was an edge.  He was the confident, cooler, older kid and I was wary of him.

Ravi and Junior were shouldered by Nathan and Ranjit, both freshmen.  Nathan somewhat resembled a Latin freestyle singer.  He had a thin, wispy, adolescent mustache and a well looked after head of black hair.  As a basketball player he was average.  I had the impression that Nathan had only a passing interest in sports.  He was a bit like Robin to Ravi’s Batman.  He’d be the one to join in or laugh along when Ravi would make a comment that would illicit a reaction.  Remember the film Top Gun?  Ravi and Nathan were a bit like Iceman and Slider.  There was definite posing and posturing at church when we’d cross paths.  They were the cool kids and we were the young upstarts who were not as cool.  They listened to rock and were much more about Guns N Roses and Def Leppard while we were into dance music and rap.  Ranjit straddled the line between both worlds.

Ranjit was my best friend dating back to 3^rd grade.  While we were the same age, he was a year ahead grade wise.  I hung out with Ranjit a hell of a lot.  We were on odd pair on the face of it, he was a small Indian kid with glasses and I was a tall, pale skinned Irish-American boy. We talked on the phone a ton and it was almost always about sports.  Conversations would mostly be about the Bulls, the Bears, and boxing.  But as far as allegiances were concerned, Ranjit was a freshman at the high school and he was part of that crew.   He would often times function as messenger between the two groups.  He would also instigate situations by telling me what some of the high schoolers were saying about us.  It was almost always derogatory comments and it would fuel the fire of the rivalry.   I would take all of these insults to heart and it was very personal to me.  I would stew and dwell on the negative feedback and work myself up into a state where I felt that these comments were an affront to my very character.   If it were Victorian England, I probably would have requested a duel at 12 paces.   Ranjit relished having this role and took great pleasure winding me up.  As a player, Ranjit was small but he was a decent shooter and had respectable skills.  He loved the game and had a pretty good variety to his game.

   

There were two other boys that rounded out the team:  Carlos and Roland.  Carlos was an interesting cat.  He was quiet and carried himself like he was 30 years old.  He was only 15 but had the air of someone much older.  Carlos had a slick home entertainment set-up at his place with great sounding speakers.  When me and Ranjit went to his place to watch “Die Hard” we were both impressed.  Carlos had a wry and sardonic way about him.  He had very little time for Gospel Outreach Church or school and he had even less time for Pastor Tom.  Carlos had not grown up in Gospel Outreach and his mother had only recently joined the church.  He was an outside observer and he quickly figured out that he wasn’t buying what was being sold.  He was quiet most of the time and was not a loud or boisterous presence.  But the way he’d question a point that Tom was trying make and the tone of his comments would soon land him in Pastor Tom’s doghouse.  Carlos was a gem from that standpoint.  He wasn’t really interested in sports and that was reflected in what he brought to the court. 

Roland was probably the tallest kid in the high school, and I didn’t really know him at all.  He was new at the high school and I don’t think that he and his family were members of the church.  He had brown hair and wore glasses.  He was probably as tall as me, but he wasn’t much of an athlete.  Are you picking up on a pattern here?  The high school didn’t really have any outstanding players or big-time athletes. 

As for the game itself, it took place after school at the grade school gym and as I mentioned there was considerable excitement and anticipation.  The stage at the front of the gym is where most everyone was and kids were pounding on the stage, generating noise and eager to see the game get underway.  I was nervous and at the same time impatient to get the game started.  There were no smiles, I was all business.  Cometh the hour, cometh the man.  That pretty much summed up my mentality and approach.  It was a wildly disproportionate sense of ego and I embraced that delusional mindset wholeheartedly.

The game began and we jumped all over the high school early on.  I don’t have many recollections of exact moments in the game.  Much of it has blurred together.  I do remember that Junior was matched up with me and I worked him over.  Trying to reply in kind, he took a ton of shots and missed most of them.  The high schoolers clearly didn’t have much of a plan.  Anything that they missed I would grab the rebound.  There was an intensity to everything that I did.  No quarter asked and none given.  I was fully invested in every aspect of the game.  Defense, rebounding, handling the ball, barking instructions.  It all came together that afternoon.  The pattern of the game was pretty much as follows:  Jonathon would inbound the ball to me, I’d push the ball up the court with the intention of driving to the basket or pulling up for 10-15 foot jump shots off the dribble.

When the high school had the ball, I would guard Junior and then cheat over to wherever the ball would go.  I’d clean up on the boards and once I grabbed a rebound, I would push the ball hard up court, often times going coast to coast for a layup.  I was simply faster than most of the high schoolers as well so there were a lot of easy baskets.  The high schoolers were getting embarrassed in the 1^st half and we had a lead of 20 points by halftime.  At the break we were thrilled to be leading but knew that there was still work to be done.  In the early part of the 2^nd half the high schoolers started to get a foothold in the game.  However, the comeback was short-lived and we went back to controlling the game.  We weren’t as dominant in the 2^nd half, but it was still pretty comfortable.  We ended up winning 72-56.

It was pretty easy to put together my stats for the game.  Jonathon had scored 4 points and Danny had added a bucket.  I scored the remaining 66 points.  Danny sent me a clip from the grade school yearbook in 1989 and my numbers according to the article were 66 points and 33 rebounds.  Who were the authors of this article documenting such a sporting feat of herculean proportions?  See below..  What do they say?  History is written by the victors.  That’s right. 

Once the game ended, we absolutely reveled in the result.  I soaked in the moment and paraded around the gym with arms raised.  This was complete vindication.  But I wasn’t walking around smiling and happy.  It was arms raised in righteous vindication.  We said that we were going to beat you and we came out and did exactly that.  It was a massive “I told you so” moment.  I was not a gracious winner.  Minutes after the game I was approached by Rochelle.  She was a high school senior and Junior’s girlfriend.  She said something to the effect that I was a very good player but a terrible sport.  She was 100% right.  What was my response?  It was short and to the point, “That’s how you play the game.” I was utterly dead serious.  Anybody who didn’t understand that mentality I simply had no use for them.

I look back and have a good laugh as well as cringe when I run back the memories of this game.  But what I cannot emphasize enough was that it was a personal validation.  I knew that I was becoming a very good player, but more importantly I had the mindset to be very good at sports.  This obviously made my ego swell, but in my own mind I was just doing what I knew that I was capable of.  This was a crowning moment and I lustily basked in it.  Part of my own hubris was born out of the fact that nobody really encouraged me to play sports.  There was definitely a resentment within me since I had no support system or direction when it came to sports.  As a 14 year old, this was my proverbial middle finger to the nonbelievers.  Even people at the church had heard about what had happened and had complimentary things to say. This should have been the beginning of my scholastic sporting life, a launching point for developing my abilities as a basketball player, but it would actually be the apex.  

It was an audacious claim to plant our flag and say that we could beat the high school. Then we went out there and not only beat them but dominated the game.  It didn’t really matter that they didn’t have any outstanding players or athletes.  Who cares!  The grade school had beaten the high school.  The humiliation for them was utter and complete.  Predictably, they were sore losers with a bagful of excuses.  They claimed that they didn’t take the game seriously, that they weren’t used to playing on our court.  There was no credit given for what we had accomplished.  I was steaming with anger and basically was ready to do it again.  There would be a rematch and it would be on a neutral court.

The rematch happened about a month later.  It was early spring and the circumstances were very different.  For one it was at a park district gym on a Saturday.  My sister thinks it was Horner Park, but I can’t say for certain.  We weren’t familiar with the court and it had regulation rims that were 10 feet high and glass backboards.  Since it was a Saturday there were not many people there.  Ranjit says that my mom came to watch but I don’t remember her being there to be honest.  One of our players, Tim, had been suspended from playing in the rematch.  This was due to a mocking letter he had authored, denigrating the abilities of the high school players.  This fine piece of writing had made the rounds before eventually being turned into the school authorities.  This was a completely lame move by the administration, and it was our job to make sure that Tim would be vindicated by another victory over the high school.

However, the deck was stacked against us going into the game.  Rochelle, the high school senior who had been so put off by my intense, win at all costs attitude had somehow convinced the school to have her father, Gene, serve as the referee.   Well, this guy took his responsibilities very seriously and showed up in a pinstriped referee shirt.  He looked the part, his hair parted to the side and thick glasses.  Gene wasn’t going to let any chance to blow the whistle get by him.   

I was less certain of myself in this game because of the surroundings, but also because Gene called a very tight game.  I think we played with 10 minute quarters.  The game felt shorter than the first game which was basically just two halves if memory serves me correct.  I was an aggressive player, especially defensively and this guy was calling fouls for minor contact.  I would challenge and try to block any shot taken within a reasonable vicinity.  I have more clear recollections of particular moments in the game.  There was one sequence in the game where I blocked three consecutive shots by three different players:  Junior, Nathan, and then Carlos.  Something else that stands out is that Carlos was wearing jeans instead of shorts.  At one point in the game Reggie stole a pass at around midcourt, but his shoes had no traction and he slid all over the gym floor as he tried to race down the court.

The game was tighter, and baskets were harder to come by.  That said, we were still winning but it was far from comfortable.  Playing against the hometown ref and trying to adjust to the regulation rims wasn’t easy.  But winners find a way and that’s what we did.  We were leading 26-18 or 26-20 with about 5 minutes left when Gene found a reason to blow his whistle and call me for my fifth and final foul.  I had fouled out of the game.  At that point I had scored 24 of our 26 points.  I was despondent as I walked off the court to watch the remaining few minutes.  But I quickly snapped out of feeling sorry for myself and adapted into my new role as Coach Cook.  I was barking instructions and encouragement to the team.  Jonathon assumed the ball handling duties and the team picked up its intensity.  Danny may have been a horrible shooter, but he was a very good rebounder and he cleaned up on the glass as the high school pushed to try and close down the score.

The score was 26-22 and it did begin to feel that the high school was gaining momentum.  Ranjit was shooting the ball well when his team remembered to pass him the ball.  But then Jonathon stepped up and hit a 17-foot jumper from the left side of the court to stretch the lead back to 6 points.  I went berserk!  That was the breathing space that we needed.  We ended up holding them off and winning 28-24.  This win was gratifying in a different way, it was much more of a team victory.  I was truly very proud to see the fellas close the show without me.  We had beaten the high schoolers twice and they could have no excuses this time.  We had overcome the hometown ref and the unfamiliar surroundings to become undisputed Gospel Outreach basketball champions of 1988-1989.  Maybe I’ll have commemorative shirts made that educates the public of this incredibly impressive achievement 😉 

Spring 1989:  The Victory Lap

Spring of 1989 was also the time of year where Gospel Outreach would have its annual jog-a-thon fundraiser.  The event was held at McFetridge park where there was an oval track.  Money would be raised by each runner getting a monetary commitment from sponsors for each lap completed.   Participants would have 60 minutes to run as many laps as they could.  The jog-a-thon had been taking place ever since I had been a student at G.O. starting in the spring of 1984.  I can remember as a 9-year-old running 30 laps and the following year running 33 laps.  In 5^th grade, I didn’t attend G.O. so I didn’t participate in the event.  I don’t remember running the jog-a-thon in 6^th grade but I definitely recall 7^th and 8^th grade.  In 7^th grade I had just bought my new Adidas tennis shoes.  They were similar to what tennis star Ivan Lendl was wearing at the time.  Please note that I just described them as tennis shoes, not running shoes.  There is a huge difference between a running shoe and a tennis shoe.  Running shoes have cushioning meant to absorb the impact as you run.  Tennis shoes don’t have any of that cushioning.  They’re flatter to give a player the ability to feel the court and facilitate side to side movement.  But what the hell did I know?  They looked cool and I was going to debut my shoes at the jog-a-thon.  I ended up partnering with this little Mexican kid Jose who was 2-3 grades behind me.  English was definitely a second language and he almost always had a happy smile on his face.  We knocked out 44 laps together and I developed blisters on my feet from the shoes.  God bless little Jose, he probably could have cranked out 45 or 46 laps but he was kind enough to stop with me on the occasions where I had to give my feet a break.  I wonder if Jose ever became a runner.  Can’t remember his last name but for a kid his age to be comfortably keeping pace with a 7^th grader was pretty impressive.

The 8^th grade jog-a-thon was a solo affair, I had arrived later than most of the other runners and was the weather was temperate.  I also wasn’t wearing tennis shoes this time so my feet wouldn’t be an issue. I remember cruising to 50 laps and there weren’t many kids who had ever hit that number.  I wasn’t naturally a distance runner by any stretch of the imagination.  I didn’t like long, testing runs in general.  I enjoyed running fast.  That still holds true today.  All these years I thought that I had blown the class out of the water with my total of 50 laps.  I knew Danny had run around 43 or 44 laps but outside of that I wasn’t aware of anyone else who was close.  Well, when I reconnected with Angie Payne recently said she thought she had run 60 laps!!  Angie was a runner built for distance, so I believe that it was possible but I’m going to go on record and say that I need someone else to corroborate her total!  I would have really enjoyed running with Angie that day, a kindred spirit from a competitive standpoint.  It also would have likely provided the class with the opportunity to see me taken down a peg or two.  I’m fairly certain that she would have outlasted me over that type of run.

As spring bloomed, we started what was in effect our victory lap of grade school.  The end was now in sight and by April I was now going to different high schools to determine where I was going to attend school.  Gospel Outreach Christian High School was not a practical choice as far as my mom was concerned.  I recall going to open houses at Notre Dame High School in Niles and Loyola Academy in Wilmette.  Both of which were Catholic schools that are still in existence.  It was determined that Loyola was too expensive, so I took the entrance exam at Notre Dame.  I remember going in for the testing and seeing one of the kids I had gone to school with at St Edwards in 5^th grade.  His name was Kevin.  We exchanged looks and may have acknowledged each other but nothing more.  It’s just one of those distinct moments that I can clearly remember.  Nowadays testing for high school is a complicated process in Chicago.  My daughter tested for both public school and Catholic School testing.  She took 4 separate tests that involved huge preparation.  None of that back in 1989!  One test, that was it.  No special preparation, just show up and take the two hour test and go home.

Great America Trip

In late May of 1989, the school arranged for a junior high trip to Great America.  This included the 7^th and 8^th graders, but the 6^th graders may have tagged along as well.   Great America was and still is a huge amusement park located in Gurnee, Illinois, about 50 minutes outside Chicago.  All the kids who were going met at the school in the morning along with the adult chaperons.  I can remember us meeting and waiting in the hallway at the school.  The only adult that I clearly remember was Jessica’s mom, but there were of course others.  I also remember Jessica’s mom because she barked at us to get off of a car we were sitting on in the Great America parking lot at lunch time.  Aside from that moment the presence of the adults was an afterthought.  We were so excited to go as a group and this was going to be an epic adventure.

We arrived at the amusement park when it opened at 10:00 am.  These days a chaperone would normally be assigned to each group of kids to make sure that everyone was accounted for.  Well, that definitely did not happen with the group that I was in.  I’m guessing that this was due to the fact that we were 14 and they were reasonably confident that we would be fine by ourselves.  Who knows?  All I know is much of the nonsense and foolishness that happened that day would not have occurred if we had been accompanied by an adult.  Thank goodness we didn’t have a chaperone with us!  The group that I was a part of included Danny, John, and Jonathon.  I think that Reggie was there as well but I’m not sure. 

Our mission was clear when we broke off into our group in front of the giant carrousel once you enter the park:  Get John on a rollercoaster.  John had expressed extreme trepidation at the thought of getting on a rollercoaster.  John did not want to go on a roller coaster.  Well naturally we knew we had to do everything in our collective power to get him on the biggest, fastest coasters the park had to offer.  The two roller coasters that were the feature attractions at the time were the American Eagle, one of the largest wooden roller coasters in the world and the Shockwave, a newer roller coaster that had made its debut in 1988.  We had a plan.

As we plotted our strategy, Danny and I knew that there was no way we’d be able to get John to agree to ride the Eagle straight out of the gate.  We were going to break him in nice and easy with a ride that would get him warmed up for the heavyweight rides.  The group decided to get in line for the Tidal Wave.  The Tidal Wave was an underrated roller coaster.  The rider would get on and the harness would come down over the rider’s shoulders and lock into place.  The roller coaster would then shoot out quickly and speed into a giant single loop.  Once the coaster came out of the loop it would scale high on the track and hang momentarily before plunging backwards into the same loop it had just exited before hurtling straight backwards on the tracks that ascended about 100 feet in the air before descending back into the station.  It was a really quick ride that took maybe a total of 20-25 seconds, so it was over quick, which was kind of a bummer, but on the plus side the lines would move quickly.  

We entered the line and John almost immediately began second guessing his decision and started to express his reluctance.  John normally had a big, loud voice that came from his chest or even deeper.  But now he was speaking in a worried, high-pitched whimpering moan.  Me and Danny began to realize to our devious delight just how petrified he was of the ride.  Almost the entire time was spent trying to convince John that everything was going to be ok.  Danny and I would take turns assuring John that there was no need to stress out.  I played down how fast the ride was and insisted that the Shockwave was no big deal.  Danny, being the far more trustworthy character, tried hard to get John to calm down.  But the grin sneaking onto his face betrayed what he was trying to convey to John.  Jonathon would also chime in with a more no-nonsense approach telling John that it would be fine and to shut up.  John was suspicious of our assurances and he continued his whiney whimpering as the line moved forward.  “I don’t know….oh no…..I don’t think I can do this…..oh no….no no no……I don’t think this is a good idea you guys…Oh no..” Add to this his high-pitched moaning and whimpering and then think about the fact that we were in line for a solid 35 minutes.  Me, Danny, and Jonathon while embarrassed at the spectacle John was making of himself thought that this was just hysterical. 

As we inched closer to the entrance where riders would get into the corrals depending on where they wanted to sit, John began to act even more dramatic and it all started to go downhill.  I used every trick in the book to walk him off the ledge.  “John, it’s ok.  It’s gonna be fine.  It’s no big deal.  Look at all the people who are going on the ride.  Nothing bad is gonna happen.  C’mon John, we’re finally here.  Just get on the ride.”  Danny chimed in as well, “C’mon John!  Let’s go!”  Jonathon was getting fed up with his brother, “C’mon!  What’s the matter with you?!  Just get on!”  John was getting triple teamed with peer pressure and he couldn’t handle it.  At the entrance to get on the Tidalwave there were tall wooden pillars that were located about six feet from where individuals would step into the ride.  John grabbed onto the wooden pillar closest to him and hung on for dear life.  He hugged it like a long-lost friend who had just saved him from imminent disaster.  “Noo!!!  I’m not going!!  No! No! No! No!!!”  We couldn’t believe what was happening and I quickly moved over to try and salvage the situation with strongarm tactics.  “John, you’ve got to get on the ride.  You can’t do this!  GET ON THE RIDE.  Everyone is waiting.  Cut it out!  Let’s go!”  It didn’t work.  John was not letting go of the pillar.  His eyes were closed and his mind was made up.  There were only a few seconds to decide what to do.  I hadn’t waited in line for 35 minutes to have John’s meltdown sabotage our first roller coaster. Self-interest won out.  Me and Danny cut them loose and got on the ride.  Jonathon was stuck with his brother who remained in his amorous embrace with the wooden pole.  I’m not sure how they got John off the pole but I think that Great America employees had to help convince him to let go.  Then John and Jonathon had to walk back though the line.  A walk of shame of an altogether different nature. 

Well, if at first you don’t succeed.  Try, try, again.  Right?  We decided to take a different approach.  John could not be fast tracked onto a roller coaster out of the gate.  We needed to ease him in by taking John on a less daunting ride:  The Fiddler’s Fling (I had to look that on up on the Great America website) was, and still is, a ride where two people are seated in each car.  The ride then swings and flings you back and forth at a reasonably fast pace.  The momentum generated by the back and forth causes you to lean into the person you’re sharing the car with.  I thought that this ride would be doable for John chiefly because it wasn’t high off the ground.  We were making a concession to John and we communicated to him the fact that we were making this decision for his benefit.  It was to be conveyed and understood that this was very benevolent of us and we had nothing but his best interests in mind ;). John was still very wary, but with the proper mix of encouragement and cajoling we were able to get him on the Fiddler’s Fling.

John yelled and howled and held on for dear life as the ride accelerated and began rapidly swinging back and forth.  He was wide eyed with fright and his body was completely stiff from bracing himself with his arms straight forward and his hands gripped to the handlebars with vice like pressure.  I watched him pretty much the entire time and there were tears in my eyes  from laughing so hard.  But there was part of me that was also trying to determine if he was going to have a complete breakdown.  After the ride was over, we came together as a group.  Me and Danny immediately employed the tactic of enthusiastically confirming that he had loved the experience, “John, that was awesome!  Wasn’t it?!”.  John wasn’t as enthusiastic and put his hand up to his forehead as he sought to recover from the trauma he had just been put through.  “You guys are crazy…..I don’t know….”

Doubt could not be allowed to creep in.  “You did great John!  I think you’re ready for the Eagle.”  John did not agree with this assessment at all and bellowed out his response, “No!!”.  

This called for a change in tactics.  It was time to play dirty, time to question his manhood. “John, are you a baby?!?!  Are you a baby?! Quit acting like a baby!  Maybe we should just send you over to the Tea Cups with the other babies!”  Danny and Jonathon followed my lead.  “Yeah John, don’t be a baby!” added Danny.  Jonathon stepped in to add some brotherly love, “C’mon John.  What’s the matter with you?!”. 

The baby talk seemed to strike a chord with John and he began to reconsider his position.  We then shifted our tactics to convey that we were really looking out for his best interests, “John, we came here to have fun right?  You’re going to love the Eagle.  Trust me.  That’s why we’re here right?!  C’mon!  You’re not a baby!  Let’s go!”.  It worked.  We ran towards the entrance to the line for the American Eagle for an epic roller coaster experience.

The wait for the Eagle was about 45 minutes.  It didn’t take long for John to fall back into his whimpering whiney ways that had led to the meltdown before he had even got on the Tidal Wave.  We could not have that happen again.  No way.  We countered his reluctance and fear with a variety of tactics.  It followed a pattern of playing down how scary the roller coaster was, “It’s nothing John.  There’s nothing to worry about.  You’re gonna love it.”.  Trying to be as casual and relaxed about it seemed to work best.  Distracting him by moving the conversation in another direction was also employed with limited success.  Most of the time John continued to work himself up into a state of over the top fear with his constant stream of gibbering worriedness which alternated in pitch and volume to dramatic effect.  But we were able to manage him effectively enough to progress through the line without too much drama.

Danny, Jonathon, and I could barely conceal our giddy delight with the anticipation of finally bringing our dastardly plan to fruition and getting John on the Eagle.  As we entered the corrals where you stepped into the seat of the roller coaster me and Danny sat in the car just ahead of John and Jonathon.  They were right behind us and within earshot.  Once the bar that functions as a seat belt was brought down and locked in, the realization seemed to hit John that there was no escape.  “Oh no!  I don’t know…..You guys!  Let me out!  No!”.  At this point we made no attempt to hide our glee and could only laugh as he carried on. 

The roller coaster slowly moved out of the station and made a quick left turn that would pull us onto the steep incline towards the summit of the ride before we plunged downhill at over 70 miles an hour.  The slow, rhythmic click-clack sound that the roller coaster made as the cars are being pulled up the tracks created a great sense of anticipation and dread.  For John, I’m sure it felt like he was being pulled up to his execution.  Imagine some unfortunate soul being pulled along in a cart before being led up to the guillotine.  As soon as we started our ascent his whimpering moans and fearful gibbering gave way to hysterical high pitched squeals and comical threats, “Mr. Cook!!  Mr. Nunez!!!  I’m gonna get you guys!!”.  Me and Danny were laughing so hard we couldn’t even speak.  John’s threats soon gave way to cries for maternal intervention, “I want my mommy!!”.  At this point my stomach was cramping from laughing so hard but I found the wherewithal to add some final words of comfort to John as we approached the very top, “We’re almost there, John!  It’s almost time!!  There’s no escape!  Mommy can’t help you now!  Here we go!!!”.  The Eagle plunged downwards at over 70 mph and John’s bellowing howls were joined by our own yelling and celebratory whoops.  The rest of the ride was a blur until we pulled into the station.

The Eagle slowed down and eased into the station.  John wanted out as soon as possible.  In order to exit the ride, you had to wait for a buzzer to sound and then you would press down on the bar across your lap and the bar would release, allowing you to exit the ride.  Well John was too frazzled to pay attention to that nuance.  As soon as the buzzer sounded, he simply pulled up on the bar to get out.  The bar would not release, you had to press down first.  Danny and I had already gotten off and watched as John dissolved into total delirium as he could not get out, “No!  Help!!  Let me out!!”  An irritated Jonathon tried to tell him what he needed to do but John wasn’t listening, “Let me out!!  Not again!”  he yelled, then in a higher pitched squeal, “NOT AGAIN!!!”.  A Great America employee had to come over to help John get out.  Danny and I were doubled over laughing and staggered off in a mix of intoxicated giddiness and embarrassment at the whole spectacle.  Jonathon was not as amused and let John know, “What’s the matter with you?!”  John was just happy to be off the ride and in one piece.

How we managed to get John on the Shockwave after having traumatized him on the Eagle remains a mystery for the ages.  I’ll put it down to our collective power of persuasion and pressure.  I do remember selling the Shockwave by telling John that he had already conquered the biggest, fastest ride at Great America.  This was partially true.  The Shockwave had been introduced in 1988 and was one of the featured attractions at Great America at the time.  It had a considerable drop, not quite like the Eagle but it may have been steeper.  One significant difference was that the Shockwave had multiple loops.  Similar shenanigans ensued as we spent the 60 minutes in line convincing John that the worst was over, and the Shockwave would be a breeze.  Once again, John sat behind me and Danny.   As soon as the harness came over our shoulders to lock us into the position, John started with his whimpering, high pitched moaning.

He again tried launching promises of retribution at me and Danny, “Mr. Cook!  Mr. Nunez!!  I’m gonna get you guys!!!”  Oh No!!”.  I don’t know what triggered John to be so formal and address us as Mr. Cook and Mr. Nunez.  Perhaps it was John’s way of communicating the gravity of the situation.  Danny and I were in stitches and there was banter back and forth as the roller coaster climbed upwards towards the top for its initial drop.  John howled and yowled while roller coaster raced through the loops.  Something to note about the Shockwave, man it was a rough and rocky ride.  The roller coaster would jerk you around as the curves were tighter and the design was aggressive.  There was no additional drama when the ride came to its conclusion.   John had once again survived.  We were thrilled to have accomplished our mission to get John on the biggest, scariest roller coasters at Great America.  Was he truly traumatized?  Well, only John can answer that question.  I had the impression at the time that while terrified at the prospect of getting on those rides, he actually handled both roller coasters fairly well.  Was part of what we did mean spirited and cruel?  It certainly could be interpreted that way.  I would strongly argue that it wasn’t.  While we were no doubt ridiculously excited to see John’s reaction to being on those rides, it wasn’t with the aim of torturing John.  I think the most honest answer is that there were no doubt selfish motives to amuse ourselves with his over the top, cartoon like reactions, we also wanted John to have a good time and have an authentic roller coaster experience.  The easy thing would have been to leave John behind and go off on our own.  But John was a part of the group and I’m glad we took him on the Eagle and the Shockwave.  They were the two most memorable roller coaster rides of my life.

Graduation and Looking Back

After the Great America trip all that was left was graduation.  I remember in that period of time me and Danny went to go see Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade with his dad Al, and my brother-in-law, Greg.  The film opened on May 24^th, 1989 and it was a warm spring evening when we went to see the film.  I recall that it was better than Temple of Doom, but not as good as Raiders of The Lost Ark.

When graduation arrived, I just remember being happy.  The graduation ceremony took place at the Gospel Outreach Church building that was located on Lawrence avenue just a few blocks east of Pulaski.  The house of the Lord was in close proximity with the Admiral Theatre and the L’Amour Bookstore, a strip club and a pornographic bookstore.   I wonder if the church elders ever tried ministering at either establishment 😉 My mother and all four of my half-sisters were in attendance.  All six graduates were on stage and our ceremony was held in conjunction with the high school graduation.  Aside from Rochelle I’m not sure there was another high school graduate.  Steve, who had served as the grade school principal and Pastor Tom were on stage with us and awarded us with our diplomas.  There are a couple of pictures of me and Danny after the ceremony.  We were on top of the world and the pictures convey that happiness.

It is very disappointing that my daughter is not going to have the same opportunity to enjoy a traditional graduation ceremony.  Due to the Covid-19 pandemic, she and her classmates have missed out on what is in many respects the best part of 8^th grade:  Those last couple of months when the pressure is off and the atmosphere is more relaxed.  Childhood is reaching it’s natural conclusion in many respects.  You’re ending a journey with classmates that you’ve known for years, most of whom will go separate ways.  It’s significant. 

8^th grade stands out in my memory as such a fun and formative year.  I think back to the outstanding British documentary Seven Up! which follows the lives of several children from various backgrounds based off of the assertion that, “Show me a boy when he’s seven and I’ll show you the man.”  The documentary follows these children starting at age seven and checks in with them every seven years to track their progress.  It’s a fascinating documentary and I think it largely validates the premise that inspired the project.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sghiwzkvH7I

Looking back at myself at age 14, two of the biggest drivers for me were sport and music.  I can clearly identify that those passions were established when I was a boy aged 7 in Ireland.  These interests were also completely organic as I didn’t have anyone pushing me in those directions.  I see the parents who push their children and I do wonder where I would have gone under those circumstances.  But it didn’t happen, and it doesn’t do much good to fret about what might have been.  That doesn’t mean the pangs of regret don’t bite every now and then.  They do and they probably always will.

My penchant for calling attention to myself through sport and some of the grandstanding was a precursor to my interest in performance and theatre.  My love of laughter and instigating situations that I thought hilarious have stayed with me as well.  All of those traits were present in 8^th grade and I’m glad to say haven’t diminished in the least.   Thankfully, my overinflated opinion of myself has subsided to some degree as perspective and time has helped quell those delusions of grandeur. 

Looking at my classmates and seeing where life has taken them has been fascinating.  Most of them seemed to have found their place and appear settled.  I’ve reconnected with some that I haven’t had contact with for over 30 years and that’s been wonderful.  Some of them are in places I wouldn’t have expected.  We were a small group in very unique circumstances.  Few of us came from traditional backgrounds and some of us grew up in dysfunctional situations that left wounds that are still painful to this day.  While I’ve painted a less than flattering portrait of Gospel Outreach Christian School, there were some genuinely good people involved who had the right intentions. 

The school year of 1988-1989 was the apex of my childhood and cemented perhaps my oversized sense of self-importance that would never completely dissipate.  But to my ongoing frustration, I would spend the rest of my teenage years in many ways trying to recapture those feelings.  There was very little genuine teenage angst at that point.  While I was always rather sensitive and self-aware there wasn’t a lot of self-reflection at that time.   That’s ok, the following years would provide me with plenty of opportunity to look inward.  The summer of 1989 transitioning into high school was a real turning point and that story is a very different tale.

What I experienced that school year at Gospel Outreach left a mark on me that has always remained.  This is my fond look back to that bygone era of youthful innocence.  The Chicago group Ten City released, “That’s The Way Love Is” in early 1989.  Ironically, I totally missed this song when it was originally released.  I happened upon the song when revisiting an old mix by Julian “Jumpin” Perez from spring of ’89.  The track goes some way towards capturing the soaring, intense emotions mixed with the aching sadness of a time long since passed that meant so much to me.

Special thanks to Danny for sending me the yearbook photos!