When I was in elementary school in De Queen, Ark., one of the things I looked forward to was the day I would leave "kiddie school" and be promoted to the hallowed halls where all the "grown-up" kids hung out -- De Queen Junior High School. No more being sequestered to a single classroom all day with a teacher who was either as mean as the Wicked Witch of the West or as old as Moses. No more goofy recess games like Red Rover or Duck, Duck, Goose. No more trying to follow arcane rules that were put in place when George Washington was president and made little sense to anyone other than teachers. I was headed for the "big time."
First period in the seventh grade was a study hall in the old high school gym. Three naïve seventh graders sat at a table with three savvy seniors. I learned more about the facts of life in first period study hall that year than at any other time in my life. I'm not sure who made the table assignments but it was either a very bad idea or a very good one, depending on who you asked. I just kept my mouth shut and took notes. I was a very serious student.
Academic pursuits aside though, the highlight of the day for the boys was P.E. It gave us all a chance to burn off some pent-up energy and engage in some more serious games than we played in elementary school. So we looked forward to that time each day with a certain amount of anticipation, mixed with a bit of nervous apprehension.
There was a reason for that.
P.E. started -- and ended -- in the dressing room designated for the seventh grade boys, affectionately called, "The Dungeon." The Dungeon was the basement of an old service building and by "old" I mean it may have been standing when Davy Crockett passed through. It was dark, dank and cold, even in August. The floor, for some reason, was always wet and covered in dark splotches, which may have been mold, or something worse. The bathroom consisted of a single long urinal and a commode, neither of which worked properly. So the smell that emanated from that room was, well, overwhelming. We didn't go in there unless it was an emergency.
There were long benches along the walls on which we could sit and dress out. Dressing out was a challenge because it involved an intricate dance in which you tried not to let anything get on the floor, including your bare feet. Needless to say, it was pretty much a futile effort but we made the attempt anyway, because we definitely didn't want what was growing on the floor of The Dungeon to be growing on our feet. (Or anywhere else, for that matter.)
On the first day of seventh grade P.E. the coaches told us we would be hurting in places we didn't even know we had. I don't recall that ever happening but I do recall having to deal with issues caused by getting dressed in The Dungeon. Such was the life of a seventh grader in 1968. "It was the best of times; it was the worst of times..."
Doug Chastain is a retired teacher and is currently a large-vehicle transportation specialist for the Siloam Springs School District. (Okay, he drives a bus.) He is also a grass maintenance technician at Camp Siloam. (Yeah, he mows the lawn.) You can contact him at [email protected]. The opinions expressed are those of the author.