Chapter 7: Mrs. Miller

I was thirteen years old, insecure, and in the eighth grade. I wasn’t attractive, I wasn’t athletic, and I wasn’t popular. I had an accent, and my hair was far too long for an era that favored crew cuts. The Beatles were just around the corner but, alas, they hadn’t yet arrived. I was bony, gaunt, lank, lean, thin, and scrawny, and I refused to go swimming with anyone lest I should have to remove my shirt and expose a body so emaciated and feeble. I did feel “smart,” but what few brains I might have had were no advantage to me in such a capricious world. You might think that simply out of a sheer sense of inadequacy I should have developed a bit of humility, or perhaps a quiet and introspective nature. You might infer that I should have been shy. No. I was loud, obnoxious, and arrogant. Always the class clown. Such were the tools with which I began my teenage trek to adulthood.