Getting off to a Slow Start in High School

I showed up to my first day of high school knowing exactly two other incoming students.  They had been in classes with me years before, but I had no close friends there.  I am someone who is able to operate independent of those around me, and pretty much did for the first few months.  The hardest times to get through were the unstructured times between classes and at lunch.  I had nothing to do and didn't really know anyone.  I used to be pretty quick at learning people's names and such, so I figure I knew everyone in each of my six classes by name within two or three days.  But I didn't really "know" anyone, and the only people who knew me were the staff members.  My mom had been working there since before I was born, so most of the teachers remembered me from when I was a baby, even though I didn't know them at all.

My advisor (or homeroom teacher) was also my Spanish teacher.  Since everyone in Spanish class was assigned Spanish names, mine was Miguel.  Within a week, he started calling me that in my homeroom class as well, and since no one really knew me, many people thought that was my actual name for most of my freshman year.  It got to the point where I responded to it reflexively anyway, and I didn't really care, but it is funny to look back on that now.  That is just one of a variety of names I have gone by over the years.

Somehow, I got talked into joining the ski team that year, by some family friends of ours.  I had only gone skiing a couple of times in my life at that point and primarily focused on not falling.  I was in no way qualified to be "racing," by any measure.  But every Saturday I went up to Boreal to "practice" with the team.  I was the guy crashing into the coach, running over everyone's skis, and falling all over the place.  We started on black diamonds as a minimum, and I know that I have fallen a quarter mile down the slope before.  It is a miracle that I never got seriously injured trying to keep up with them in places I should never have even been.  I am sure I was the coaches' worst nightmare, and I am confident that I still hold the league records for longest time on some of those race courses.  Ironically, after taking a year or two off at the close of that season, I am an extremely good skier now, but definitely not then.

Between skiing, and having it on the ground at school for weeks at a time, I saw a lot of snow that winter.  I lived farther down the hill, where it only snowed once every few years, but I eventually realized that some of my classmates who lived farther up the highway would go out racing their snow-mobiles after school.  Talk about living in different worlds, and going to the same school.  That is an extreme example, but I didn't really feel like I had much in common with anyone there.  As someone who didn't really care about music, fashion, or sports, I was kind of on my own.

My second semester I was moved from the regular "computers" class to help develop the school's website.  (Ironically this led to me never formally learning the features of Word and Excel, but I have survived.)  I had technically never even used the internet when I was sent home with information to learn HTML coding.  That 4th period time slot ended up being the only positive thing that really happened freshman year.  It was a fairly self directed project, working with one other student a few years older.  He was a popular player on the school football team, and to this day I have no idea how he ended up being the other student on that project.  We had occasional oversight from one of the teachers, but were granted an enormous degree of freedom.  The specific experiences in that "class" were unremarkable, but it put me on the technological track that I am still riding today.

Does Jr. High Really Prepare You For High School?

I spent both seventh and eighth grade in another split class, but with multiple teachers throughout the day.  One of the things that our Jr. High class did was go to science camp, so I got to go twice.  This was my first two of many experiences at Wolf Mountain.  I had a good time, and it was very different from my experiences at Boy Scout camp.  From a practical perspective, it was my first opportunity to try climbing ropes course elements, which was very different from rock climbing, which was my only previous legitimate climbing experience.  Ironically my highest climbs are still trees I free-climbed as a young kid, with no comprehension of the danger of doing so with no safety gear.  But the climbing I have done at Wolf Mountain set me on the course I am currently pursuing.

While Wolf Mountain had a dramatic impact on my social and spiritual life in the years to follow, I can't recall it having much effect on me when I was a camper.  But it was good bonding time with the rest of the students in my class, which I probably needed.  The second time I went, in eighth grade, my right arm was in a cast, which put a damper on some of my activities, but it was still fun.

Seventh grade was also the year that I was put in CCD classes at church, to prepare for the sacrament of Confirmation.  Ironically that ceremony was one of the last times I went to mass at the Catholic church, as my family stopped attending soon after.  It wasn't like a definitive choice was made not to go, it just kind of stopped happening.  I had always disliked going, but primarily because I didn't like having to get dressed up.  I had actually been an alter boy in fourth and fifth grade, but probably not a very good one.  Even though I only had fairly basic tasks to perform, I didn't like being in front of the whole congregation for an hour straight.

From that point forward, I didn't regularly attend church anywhere until I arrived at college.  Nor was I a part of any Bible study or other church community.  But I don't necessarily think that had a negative impact on my relationship with God.  I had a constant running dialog in my head with God, for years.  And it actually felt like He was listening.  While His responses were never verbalized in my thoughts, they were frequently made obvious by events around me.

Eighth grade was also the first time I took a serious interest in a girl.  As always for me, it was someone I had known for a while, but hadn't taken much notice of.  Unlike every time since then, it didn't happen slowly, and sneak up on me over time, but was like flipping a switch.  I remember the exact moment that I "noticed" that I found her attractive, and I was very conscious of that change happening at the time.  Eighth grade wasn't a very challenging year, so I could afford the change of focus at school, and probably benefitted from the distraction.  Although I never directly addressed that issue with her, (far beyond the scope of anything I could imagine doing at the time) I at least talked with her on occasion and such.  Ironically that girl has now been married and divorced already, so our lives have taken very different courses since then.

More than half of the guys in my class had been planning to attend the same high school I would be going to, but over the course of eighth grade, they all moved or changed plans.  In the end, I was the only one from my school that actually ended up going to Colfax, so I knew almost no one the first day I showed up to High School.

Staying Ahead of the Curve

One other aspect of my new school, that was totally foreign to me, was having split classes.  All of the fifth and sixth graders were in the same room together, pretty much all the time.  In certain subjects we studied the same curriculum, so every other grade level was experiencing it "out of order."   But subjects that are designed to be articulated, like Math and English, would have separate lectures, while the other half of the class was working on their assignments.  The benefit of that was that I heard the entire sixth grade lecture while I was "working" and followed most of it, even without the right workbook.

This of course leaves you with a very boring and redundant situation the next year, but they let me jump into certain "Jr. High" classes to keep me challenged.  (And I knew the seventh graders anyway, since they had been in class with me the year before.)  This catches up with you by eighth grade when there is nowhere to go, but they let me work on my own at that point with High School books for certain subjects.  So there are benefits of going to a small school with a wide degree of flexibility.

As a side note on the challenges of interacting with the opposite gender, there were only three females in my class when I switched schools, which further decreased my level of contact with the alien gender.  That ratio eventually balanced out from 4:1 to nearly equal over the next four years.

In sixth grade, we also spent an entire month putting on a play, building sets and everything.  Pretty much all regular studies were paused during that time, which was pretty cool from a kid's perspective.  My two minor roles in the production were Israelite palace guard, and King of Syria, with a total of two lines. (Seems like there would be a conflict of interest there;)  My acting skills weren't much better then than they are now.

Another big change that happened about the same time I entered fifth grade, was that I moved up into Boy Scouts.  My previous experience in Cub Scouts was kind of a joke by comparison, we never even went camping.  But Boy Scouts led to all sorts of interesting adventures, from basic camping and backpacking trips, to rappelling in caves and small boat sailing.  There were a whole variety of merit badges that I did over the next few years, including things like swimming, cycling, and horsemanship.  At age twelve, I even spent a night in a make-shift shelter that I built.

One side effect of being involved with Scouts, was that Troop  meetings were on Wednesday nights, preventing me from going to the youth group type events at my school.  I didn't realize until years later how much not going to church there or being involved in those activities probably had an impact on the social aspect of that situation.  I was the one who "only went to school" there, and our family wasn't really part of that community, since we were still attending Catholic Church.  I got along with the kids in my class, but was not particularly close with any of them, there was definitely always a distance there.  I usually related better to the students a year ahead of me, but I wasn't "one of them."  I still talk with my fifth and sixth grade teacher on a regular basis, although that is probably the only relationship that I still have from that time period.

Turning Point-In Life and Belief

Going to a new school had a dramatic effect on nearly every aspect of my life.  I starting becoming a better student, stopped fighting so much, and actually learned how to be friends with people.  Switching from a Catholic school to a non-denominational Calvary Chapel school taught me all sorts of new things.  I discovered that being Catholic wasn't similar to: say-being Irish, where you are born that way, and there is nothing you can do about it.  The fact that not everyone believed that Jesus was God, and that that was a disputed idea in the world, had never been addressed in my Catholic background.

I like to describe my perspective on being taught about Jesus, as a cross between George Washington and Santa Claus, and all of them were taught to me the same way, as fact.  (Yes, of course they were real, and they each do some amazing things.)  But of course there is a difference.  Both Jesus and Washington were "real people," (while only Jesus and Santa are "always watching";) but Jesus' true identity is widely debated.  (Ironically a more recent study into Washington and other founding fathers reveals that revisionist history has had a similar effect on how they are now remembered as well.)  But what you believe about Washington's spiritual ideas doesn't actually matter, while what you believe about Jesus' ideas probably does matter, in the grand scheme of things.

I had also never heard of ideas like evolution in the closed off world of the Catholic perspective, which never even acknowledges opposing views.  Calvary was much more open about things like: "these are beliefs, not everyone shares them or agrees about them, and what you think about them is significant."  They also had a fairly anti-Catholic view on many things, that my Dad was completely oblivious to until about 15 years later, especially since we were still attending a Catholic church for most of that time.

The idea that I had to accept the belief in Jesus as the Son of God was first presented to me during this time, although not in any dramatic fashion.  In many cases in life, there is more to be learned from other people's presuppositions than what they are actually trying to communicate.  For a long time I wondered whether I believed in Jesus because I truly believed it in my heart, or just because it had been taught to me as pure fact for so many years.  The only thing that eventually put that anxiety to rest was that a year later I was able to look back and see how much I had changed.  I no longer was fighting all of the time, got a long with my brother (although not perfectly by any means), wasn't lying to my parents anymore, and had more positive ways of seeking attention.

That doesn't necessarily prove that I am a Christian, by any means, but I know it was God changing me, as opposed to being the result of me trying to be a better person.  I wasn't even conscious of the fact that I needed to change, because even though I was aware that life pretty much sucked at that point, I didn't think that there was anything I could do to actually change that fact.  So that change was evidence of God working in my life, and went a long ways towards putting that fear to rest.

History is Written by the Victors

Once my friend moved away, the rest of the school year developed into a pretty consistent pattern.  During recess and other free times, I would usually get involved in violent physical altercations.  As the smallest guy in the class, I never had the advantage, regardless of being outnumbered.  The end result was that people would get hurt, usually nothing serious, just scrapes and bruises, but enough to get into trouble.  Since by that point, no amount of physical pain was going to make me cry, (or give up) the situation usually ended when someone else got hurt.  That whole not crying thing means that you never let anyone get the best of you, but there are some downsides.  You end up enduring more pain than you otherwise would have, and you are usually held responsible for the outcome, regardless of who initiated the conflict.

Since they were crying and I wasn't, for some reason the blame for the incident was nearly always placed on my shoulders.  This is completely illogical, but happens all the time in many other contexts.  The idea that "history is written by the victors" doesn't seem to be true in liberal societies.  Instead the blame for the conflict is placed on the survivors, regardless of who started it.  And once I got punished at school, I would get in trouble for the same incident when I got home, and then a similar situation would frequently develop with my younger brother.

Now I am not going to claim that I was always a completely innocent victim, especially once the pattern had developed, and habits had formed, but I absorbed far more than my share of the punishment for those situations.  I didn’t have the greatest social skills, and probably developed negative ways of getting attention, but I can’t recall a single instance where I initiated a violent response to a situation.  The same pattern played out at home with my brother, probably even to a more extreme degree.  My Mom’s perspective was that any of my brother’s negative behavior must have been learned from me.  The logical response of asking where I must have learned it from, never won me any points.

The good news is that my parents did eventually realize what was happening, and we switched schools after fourth grade.  That came about because my Dad worked nearby, so he volunteered for "yard-duty" to help supervise recess after lunch.  He was able to observe what was going on, and realized that I wasn't lying when I claimed that "I was just minding my own business when so-and-so came and ...”  That was just the way things worked there.

Going into fifth grade at a new school brought all sorts of interesting changes to my life.  I would consider that transition to be the biggest turning point in my entire life.  It took a while for some of the deeper seated issues to get resolved, but it at least put things on the right track.

Something to Cry About

Things didn't get any better over the next couple of years at school.  Even after my favorite troublemaker got kicked out of the school, things were still rough, now that certain patterns had been established.  I continued to do well academically but decline socially.  Recess times had basically devolved into a routine of going outside, picking teams, and then fighting.  I guess the supervision just figured "boys will be boys."  Being small for my age, I probably appeared to be an easy target, and probably absorbed more than my fair share of abuse.

In fourth grade, I managed to become close friends with one particular individual.  I have no recollection how that happened, since we had both been in class together for years and rarely talked.  It likely started because we were the two smallest kids in the class, and got picked on the most.  Having a common adversity builds strong relationships; I have definitely seen that happen at camp.  That relationship must have developed very quickly, which is uncharacteristic for me, but I remember becoming quite close, definitely by November that year.  And then at Thanksgiving break, his family moved to Southern California.

That was a multi-dimensional problem, in that not only was my closest friend leaving, but really my only friend.  And I would become the only one that the rest of the guys in the class routinely singled out.  The Wednesday before Thanksgiving was his last day at school, and we got out at noon for the holiday weekend.  I remember crying about it for hours in the after school day-care, until I was picked up around four that evening.  That was in November of 1993, and I have never "really" cried again since then.

I used to consciously suppress the urge to cry, which served me well for the rest of that year, alone at school.  But over the years that builds up wall that are hard to topple, from either side.  I have thought a lot about that fact, especially in light of events over the last few months.  In C.S. Lewis's "The Last Battle" there is a line: "I have seen my mother's death...It were no virtue, but great discourtesy, if we did not mourn."  Can one mourn without crying?

And Then Came School-Time to Socialize

The next major step in life was school, starting with Kindergarten.  This was quite a transition, but with a class of about 15 people, it wasn't too bad.  There were four kids in my class whose families all carpooled with us.  We frequently ended up at each other's houses after school, and therefore were friends at school as well.  There were two guys and two girls, and back then I didn't make much distinction between the genders.

The progression from there to first grade was fairly smooth, I even got to keep the same teacher, so most of those memories blend together a bit, but we got desks by then.  I was probably a reasonably normal kid at that point, both socially and academically.

Things definitely went down hill at school after that.  My second grade teacher was an elderly nun, who may not have been cut out to be dealing with kids anymore.  I got A’s in all my academic subjects and C’s in both effort and conduct.  Looking back, that should have been an indication to my parents of a problem with the school, if I can still get A’s with a lack of effort.

The biggest problem was that one of the primary troublemakers in the class really had it in for me, and found various ways to get me into trouble.  Once I had a reputation for getting into trouble, and suffering the consequences, I started actually earning it.  Hence the C’s in conduct.  It’s a classic example of people acting in ways to meet the expectations placed on them.

On top of that, the only other guy in our carpool switched schools that year, leaving just me and the two girls.  While there is nothing inherently wrong with that, my teacher noticed that I was closer friends with them than the guys in my class.  She recommended that my parents isolate me from girls so that I would get better at socializing with guys.

It would appear that they did a pretty good job between then and when I graduated from high school.  I was not aware of what they were doing, but I do remember suddenly not being friends with the girls from my carpool, and not knowing why.  It wasn't until college that I was able to resume having relaxed social interactions with females.  I am now proud to have a number of significant friendships with females, but that is the result of years of deliberate effort to reverse most of the effects of that “socialization” process.

Where I am Coming From

If I am going to tell the story of where I am coming from, I guess it makes sense to start from the beginning.  My earliest memories are from around age two, and all relatively vague.  I lived in a townhouse with my parents until I was two and a half, and I remember that location, as well as the neighbors, and that the girl across the street was my age.  I had a series of different people who used to take care of me at home, while my parents were working.  And Taco Bell was the only fast food restaurant that we were allowed to go to, on the rare occasion.

Both sets of my grandparents lived about two hours away, in the Bay Area and the Central Valley, and their houses were my favorite places on earth to visit.  That happened fairly frequently, when my parents were traveling, or wanted a weekend off.  My uncles were usually around, and I did all sorts of things with them, from ride go-carts and motorcycles, to play chess in the evenings.  We took a trip to Pennsylvania to visit my extended family when I was two, which I have faint recollections of.  The big changes that took place in that period that affected the rest of my life: were moving to a house outside of town, and my brother joining the family when I was three and a half.  At that point my mom reduced her work schedule to part time for the rest of her career at the high school.

I have no real recollections of my brother and I ever really getting along.  I usually acted older than I was, while he usually acted younger, which increased the gap.  I had grown up without him for long enough that I was perfectly capable of entertaining myself all alone, while even today he appears unable to do that.  But he was always big for his age, and I was not, so while he was never taller than me until college, we were similar in height much of the time.  And he probably usually out-weighed me, but I didn't let that deter me from being in charge.

My Dad still lives in that house we moved to, and it was the primary environment that I grew up in.  Much of my summers were spend watering the extensive gardens, or removing fallen fruit from the orchard.  Pruned branches provided source material for forts, swords, guns, or anything else we could think of.  A steep driveway with a tight turn at the bottom led to all sorts of creative ways to get injured.  The most unique feature is probably the large finished shed in the back, which contained our extensive collection of Legos.

Legos were my favorite things to play with growing up.  I remember getting my first set when I was about three, and my first castle set from my grandmother at age four, and a pirate ship from her when I was five.  By the time I was six, I had sets with gears and motors, and was building all sorts of things.  Our collection continued to expand, usually courtesy of my grandmother, and provided source material for many school assignments, science projects, and other endeavors.  Even in college I used them for making videos.  And someday my kids will play with them as well.