Sophomore

Grade Ten

Having survived the rigors of accelerated (3 years in 2) learning at Robt. E. Lee, regular classes in the ninth grade were b o r i n g. I blame this for my loss of interest in academia. “Homework”, which I considered to be some form of punishment, was given short shrift – if done at all. Usually whatever the homework was would be discussed in class and I was able to cull enough from that to pass the tests. No, I was not an “A” student, but MY plan was only to survive, not excel. So, with a minimum of effort I was promoted into the tenth grade.
Now, we sophomores had a whole new class of freshmen to look down upon and sneer at. Readin’, writin’, and ‘rithmatic poured into my little brain. “Mad” magazine made its debut to the delight of us juveniles. One of my classmates convinced a few of us that collecting “cigar bands” was a worthy project. You merely wrote to the manufacturers and they would send you samples. Then we traded with each other for the ones we didn’t have. Sneaking water pistols into class was standard practice. Mere water for ammunition was for sissies. The inventive gangsters loaded up with perfume, or better yet, some stinky substance to douse the targets. Somehow, I believe this activity introduced me to something called “detention”, a mandatory “stay after school” for committing unseemly acts.
I became a regular at the Saturday night Teen center dance, where the band was made up of high school students and we rocked, rolled, bunny-hopped, and hokey-pokeyed the night away. On the rare occasion that I actually had a date, dear Mom would chauffeur us. My date and I would ride in the back seat and giggle.
During the summer vacation we played baseball on a vacant lot whenever we could get 6 or more players. The so-called baseball field was more like an obstacle course with hills and gullies, strewn with various size rocks to deflect the ball and trip up the fielders.