These days, it’s cool for people to say they hated their high school years. They will often add that the other students didn’t like them and they didn’t like the other students. Nothing could be further from my experience.
High school was a feast of football and basketball games, sock hops, field trips, proms, cheerleaders and summer camps.
At North Augusta High School, graduating in 1965, we told bad jokes when we were dissecting frogs, and made bad rhymes when we discovered limericks. We enjoyed some quality educators who made learning fun.
I also remember the day we all hid in a closet to confuse our physics professor who was late to class. When we weren’t there, he turned around and left. Of course, even when he wasn’t late, he was confused. Terry Bodiford and I played spitball basketball during his class. That could explain my grades in that class.
I remember the coach whose most memorable counsel was, “Do something, even if it’s wrong.” During the Cuban Missile Crisis, those of us at baseball practice started drilling with our bats. Not long after, each of us has an exact memory of where we were when we heard President Kennedy had been shot.
High school was a time of discovery, some of which happened in the classrooms, but more took place in the hallways, on ball fields, in locker rooms, and on afternoons and weekends.