- Jun 9, 2002
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If you believe in parallel universes ...
In a universe 40 years distant, a young man is waking up and getting ready for his first day in 10th grade. Known then as High School, he was both excited and scared.
These questions, and many others, surged through his brain as he got ready for the journey into the future. He had practiced driving the route, so as not to become flustered. Driving was still new to this 15 year old kid.
Well I guess he did alright, as the he is me. Arlington Heights High School left its mark on me, as did the events being played out daily around us. Viet Nam, High Powered Hot Rods, Peace Marches, Hippies, Flower Power, Drugs, Sex and Rock and Roll were the influences that colored my high school years. Every single year we has memorials to lost brethren in our High School Annual.
How we made do without a covey of psychologists to help us cope is beyond me.
By the time I graduated in 1969, I had seen so many people die on the battlefields of Viet Nam that I (along with most of the Americans) that the war was not going all that well ... according to Walter Cronkite anyway. Everybody trusted Uncle Walter to give us the straight scoop. We all knew or had older brothers heading to or coming back from the war. They would leave as 19 year old kids and come back in every condition from normal to body bags.
Gas was only $0.25 per gallon and we burned it at a maddening pace. We were racing, to where we had no clue.
They drew my number ... 137 ... (I will never forget that number) ... They had drafted to 262 (or something close) the previous year, so college became the focus ...
Some would say that I threw away my high school years, and in some ways I did. We stayed drunk most every weekend although I avoided the drug scene (it was just arriving in Fort Worth at the time). We swam in Benbrook Lake, ate burgers at the Circle Drive In and drag raced up and down Camp Bowie Boulevard.
Most of us never thought we would ever make it to Thirty.
In a universe 40 years distant, a young man is waking up and getting ready for his first day in 10th grade. Known then as High School, he was both excited and scared.
- What would high school be like?
- Would there be a lot of cute girls?
- Would there be lots of bullies like Junior High?
- Would he be able to find the two people he wanted to find from Junior High?
- Would his 1964 Corvair stand out in the crowd of cars in the parking lot? He had been spit shining it for days.
These questions, and many others, surged through his brain as he got ready for the journey into the future. He had practiced driving the route, so as not to become flustered. Driving was still new to this 15 year old kid.
Well I guess he did alright, as the he is me. Arlington Heights High School left its mark on me, as did the events being played out daily around us. Viet Nam, High Powered Hot Rods, Peace Marches, Hippies, Flower Power, Drugs, Sex and Rock and Roll were the influences that colored my high school years. Every single year we has memorials to lost brethren in our High School Annual.
How we made do without a covey of psychologists to help us cope is beyond me.
By the time I graduated in 1969, I had seen so many people die on the battlefields of Viet Nam that I (along with most of the Americans) that the war was not going all that well ... according to Walter Cronkite anyway. Everybody trusted Uncle Walter to give us the straight scoop. We all knew or had older brothers heading to or coming back from the war. They would leave as 19 year old kids and come back in every condition from normal to body bags.
Gas was only $0.25 per gallon and we burned it at a maddening pace. We were racing, to where we had no clue.
They drew my number ... 137 ... (I will never forget that number) ... They had drafted to 262 (or something close) the previous year, so college became the focus ...
Some would say that I threw away my high school years, and in some ways I did. We stayed drunk most every weekend although I avoided the drug scene (it was just arriving in Fort Worth at the time). We swam in Benbrook Lake, ate burgers at the Circle Drive In and drag raced up and down Camp Bowie Boulevard.
Most of us never thought we would ever make it to Thirty.