—School Skipper—
I hated school.
When I was in the 7th grade, I skipped school a lot.
Believe it or not, getting in trouble for skipping school sounded much better than actually going to school.
It was easy for me to skip school too.
We walked a quarter of a mile to the bus stop. (“Uphill both ways,” if this was my Pawpaw’s story)
The bus stop was right next to a bridge that ran over the “Black Creek.”
I would walk to the bus stop with my brothers, and then I would hide under the bridge and wait for the bus to run.
The day before, I had put together a survival kit to take with me.
It had cans of soup, a handheld can opener, a canteen filled with water, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a mess kit used to cook food, and things such as matches, etc.
After the bus ran, I would come out from under the bridge and head back home.
Mom and dad would have already gone to work by then.
I would then gather my survival kit, my .22 rifle, or sometimes a rod and reel for fishing. But, I didn’t take both the gun and the rod; it was either-or.
I hated school because of my medical problems mainly.
It was tough being a kid with Spina Bifida.
Kids can be mean, and we didn’t have “anti-bullying” campaigns in the ’80s. Not where I lived, at least.
My survival kit was in an army backpack bought at the army surplus store.
I would put it on my back. It allowed my hands to be free for my rifle or rod and reel.
I would then head off down the train tracks and play all day long.
This is the part of the story where some of you will ask, “Didn’t the school call your parents to tell them you were absent?”
No. The school knew I had Spina Bifida and had gotten told by my parents that I might have to miss school a lot.
Now, I knew my parents had told the school that, and I knew the school wouldn’t call… I digress.
Down the train tracks, I would go.
To the deep hole, I would go for some fishing.
Or to the woods for some squirrel or dove hunting.
The world was my oyster.
I felt like Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn.
I just had to be back home by 3:45 to answer the phone when mom would call to check on us.
One time, though, I took it too far.
I skipped on a Monday, then Tuesday. Then, Wednesday and Thursday.
I remember my brothers telling me that I had gone as far as I could.
They said that the teachers were asking about me.
But, I thought, “Who misses Monday through Thursday and then shows up on Friday?” It was a no-brainer to me.
So, I skipped Friday.
I didn’t go far from the house on Friday. I felt I needed to play it safe and stay close to home.
Around 11 AM, I went up in the woods to hide because my dad came home to eat lunch many times between 11 and 12.
This day was no different.
Around 11:15, I saw dad’s truck driving down the road headed towards our house.
What happened next was different, though.
Dad got out of his truck and walked over to the bottom of the hill where I was hiding.
He hollered out, “Lynn! Lynn! Get down here! I know you’re up there! Get down here now!”
The jig was up. I got caught.
The school had called mom, and she called dad at work.
Many phone calls got made trying to find me that day.
My dad knew precisely where I was, though.
I came trotting down the hill and asked, “Dad! What are you doing home?”
I do not remember what was said to me. I don’t know what kind of trouble I got in. I guess my mind has blocked that out. The mind tends to do that.
I remember showing up to school the following Monday, though.
Every kid knew that I had skipped a whole week.
I was a regular “Ferris Bueller.”
And, If I had it to do over, I think I would do it again.
I hated the 7th grade.
I would go on to graduate college, though, and everything did work out for me.
7th grade, though …
I hated the 7th grade …
Sometimes a kid needs to get his rod and reel or rifle and go and be Tom Sawyer.
