That’s not what I meant. But that’s what you said. I know, but that’s not what I meant.

How many times have you misunderstood what someone else was saying, even though you heard every word correctly. How many times have you been misunderstood, even though you thought you were being very clear.

A lot, I bet πŸ™‚

It will happen. Try not to be frustrated about it when it does happen.

Speaking of misunderstandings, one of the reasons I understand young people so well is I was one of them once πŸ™‚ Most of the young people I know now are fine young men and women. I, on the other hand, was a terrible student my first two years of high school. I had such outstanding elementary and junior high teachers I was not sufficiently challenged in high school, academically. I remember they kept changing my counselor because they were trying to find someone to “fix” me. I wasn’t broke, I just wanted to do my thing, which happened to be not go to class, except band πŸ˜€

I had a lot of older friends when I was a freshman. They had cars and jobs and money. So choosing between a day at school and a day at the beach or hiking in the mountains, come on.

Let me digress a moment. Hazing in my day was just an excepted part of growing up. All freshmen boys were “trash canned”, literally stuffed into a trash can, or at least punched a few times. Not a beating, just hit hard enough a few times to know you got socked. Depending on whether upperclassmen boys liked you or didn’t like you it either happened once or more times.

Having made it through the first month of high school without suffering a trash canning or any other type of hazing, plus having so many older friends, I thought I had escaped that unfortunate fate.

I was WRONG! πŸ™‚

One day after band class I was putting away my instrument. The band locker room was adjacent to the band room with a door on either end connecting the two rooms. After getting my horn in and closing the locker door I hear one of the locker rooms door close. I turn and see its one of my upper classman friends with an “I’m gonna kick your ass” face. Just then the second locker room door close and there stands an even larger upperclassman friend with an “I’m really going enjoy kicking your ass” face.

I turn and run towards the “smaller” friend. (He outweighed me by at least 25 pounds and was at least 4 inches taller.) There a small table in the locker room and he’s using it to make it harder for me to get around him. I duck and try to squeeze under the table but my knee slams into one of the legs ad makes a large BANG sound.

As I fall to the ground both friends immediately start feeling around my head and ask if I am okay. I realize quickly what they think happened. I start moaning and groaning and reach for my head and start rubbing it gently. As they help me to my feet I act woozy and wobbly, continuing the moaning and groaning. They guide into the band room I continue to stagger and sway, slightly bent over, still rubbing my head.

People in the bad room thought those guys “gave me the business” and was going to do my best to help EVERYONE believe that.

One of those guys that was in the locker room, the one I ran towards, I’ve blogged about twice already πŸ˜€

So, back to jerk Ray who didn’t want to go to class, towards the end of my sophomore year there’s a big meeting. They determine I’m not appropriately placed and I should finish high school at the continuation high school. But I like band, I protest. (I never missed band class or any rehearsals)

Well I had 60 credits instead of the 120 that I should have had after 2 years. I asked that if I earn 60 credits over summer, can I stay. I don’t think a room full of people at a comedy club would have laughed harder. One counselor even had to wipe tears.

I laughed last! πŸ˜€

That entire summer I went to independent study from 8am-12noon. Same campus had a vocational school, took classes from 12noon to 4pm. Then dad drove me to a community college where I took classes from 6pm to 10pm. That was my summer, and I earned my 60 credits.

I grew up that summer. Play the game.

Jump back to after the meeting where they basically tell me they are kicking me out of my school. My dad was pissed, never said a word. I got in the car afterward, he still didn’t say anything. He drove me to an unemployment agency in downtown L.A. and told me to get out. I signed in, about 45 minutes or so later I am talking with a counselor. He went up one side and down the other after I told him my story. Gave me bus tokens and a bus schedule. About 2 and a half hours later I made it home.


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