Finding a Place in 1976
When I was young, it was more important
Pain more painful, the laughter much louder, yeah
When I was young
Pain more painful, the laughter much louder, yeah
When I was young
When I was young[1]
Finding a Place in 1976
My mother started me in elementary school at the age of five, believing
I was smart enough to keep up with the other kids who were usually older, while
my dad opposed; him saying I was just an average kid at best who would fall
behind, and probably fail. He, also,
wasn't around much to enforce his rather low opinion of me, as was the day my
mother brought me to school. My mother
spent the next six years trying to prove dad wrong and was wise enough to teach
me to enjoy school and appreciate learning.
But, perhaps—I think—my dad spent the same time trying to prove her
wrong. There was often a lot of
arguments and a lot of yelling—none of it to clear.
I really wasn't aware of the age differences while I was going through
elementary school and usually being younger than most of the other kids. I also
found it difficult to get to know someone new, and quite often assumed we'd be
moving again anyway so I wasn't really sure if it mattered. After all the years
of school with older kids, you would have thought it would be easier going into
the seventh grade, but junior high was different . . . Very different. They were teenagers here; much older
teenagers and some, the consistent failures, were often hauntingly
intimidating. Although I went through a growth spurt during that first year
before turning thirteen, this was no place for a child like myself: a slightly
insecure twelve-year-old outsider that knew no one and was socially inept. I was always uncomfortable; having met only
one kid, Harley Peters, I could call a friend. While the rest of the kids
seemed to be a part of some clique group or friends since birth, school, the
place I once enjoyed, now became painful . . . continue reading. 
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