My mom and dad decided to send me to 1st grade
when I was 5 years old (my birthday is in November). Back then in our hometown
of Fridley, there were no Kindergarten Schools so 1st grade was my
initiation into the world of scholastics; I had no idea what school was all
about. Why did I need to get up so early
and leave the house without my brother Mark? Where was I and why was I
there???
My first day of school was the worst day of my young
life. To make matters worse, I had to go to St. John the Baptist Catholic
School in New Brighton, and my best friend Cris got to go the grade school in
our neighborhood where we both knew lots of kids. At St. John’s, none of the
kids knew me and I didn’t know any them; I had no friends.
To make matters worse, I was very small for my age and
was the undisputed smallest boy in 1st Grade - even the girls were
bigger than me. I was scared, and I have to say that I did not like school even
one little bit. Eventually, I made fast friends with Timothy Gunzel, Steven
Paquin and Joey Bishop, but not for some time. All the kids were bigger and
stronger than me. But, there was one thing I excelled at: I was the fastest
runner in my class. I ran everywhere because I got there faster and after all,
wasn’t that the pointl? We had lots of races during recess which was always the
best part of each day at St. John’s.
We all wore school uniforms. The boys wore dark blue,
white flecked corduroy pants with short sleeved white shorts. This trim outfit
was accessorized with an aqua blue string tie with a silver, Virgin Mary slide
clasp. My buddies and I taught each other how to tie different kinds of knots
with these ties. There is a big difference between and a Square Knot and a
Granny Knot (which is really just a bad tangle!). In the winter we wore thin
red sweaters with blue and white embroidery on the edges. The sweater buttoned
about halfway down our tummies. Very classy. The girls wore about the same
thing only with below the knee dresses. Also very classy.
Although I was supposed to make my shirts last for two
days, they generally didn’t last past the first day and mom had just that much
more ironing to do. However, I usually
was able to get through the whole week with the same pair of pants, unless I
blew out one of the knees by playing ‘keep-away’ during recess. Mom used some
blue, iron-on patches she could ‘glue’ to the inside of the knee’s of my pant
legs. They chafed pretty bad after a washing or two, but they extended the life
of my pants by weeks – if not a month or more. We were a frugal family.
I grew to dread the school bus ride from Fridley to New
Brighton. I was the first one on the bus in the morning and the last one off in
the afternoon. The ride took the better part of 45 minutes coming and going.
All this boring time on the bus was bad enough, but to make matters worse,
there was a bully on the bus named Tommy Parks, a big kid, who took great joy
in picking on me. It was awful. I tried to make a good show of it, but I
dreaded these daily, to and fro bus rides.
I really didn’t like the whole school thing in 1st
grade.
My dad was a pretty adventurous guy and had traveled by
hitchhiking when he was younger. My brothers and I listened to his tales of the
many hitchhiking adventures he had been on, and they sounded like great fun. He
also picked up every hitchhiker he ever spotted, so I was very familiar with
what hitchhiking looked and felt like. The guys we picked up were always pretty
interesting and my dad and these ‘rides’ were pretty animated story tellers. It
was always a fascinating ride when we found a hitchhiker to pick up.
After attending school for most of that first year, I
emerged from St. John the Baptist one fine Spring afternoon to a truly
sparkling day. I stopped and smelled the sweet scent of the blooming lilacs,
marveled at the glistening green lawns, listened to the returning song birds
and relished the soft warm breeze as it rustled around my nice, white, ironed
shirt. What a nice day, I thought to
myself. Then I started the walk to my bus, #38; I dreaded whatever nasty thing
Tommy was going to say or do to me on the 45 minute ride home, trapped in the
bus.
As I slowly shuffled toward the waiting line of school
buses, I had a fabulous, joyful idea; why
don’t I hitchhike home? I know the way, and if I get lucky with someone picking
me up, I might even beat the bus home! Wow, what a great, fun idea.
So that is just what I did. I walked out of the school
parking lot and kind of hung around a neighborhood house until bus #38 drove by,
then started walking toward downtown New Brighton. I knew some of the basics of hitchhiking from
listening to my dad, and knew it was a good strategy to start out at a
stoplight. There was just one stoplight in New Brighton at that time, so I
figured I would start hitchhiking from there. Good plan.
However, after I got to the light, there were lots of
people milling around that corner and the idea of hitchhiking with all the
grownups around didn’t feel right, so I kept on walking for a block or two. Then,
when it felt right, I turned around and stuck my thumb out when I heard a car
coming. They didn’t stop. I walked a little further until the next car came.
Nothing. So I walked a little further and tried the third car. Nothing.
Oh well, it was a nice day and I was really enjoying the
walk. If I don’t get any rides, I can
always run part way so I won’t be too late getting home, I figured. I really didn’t think there was a
problem and anyway, I didn’t have to deal with Tommy Parks on the bus.
I continued on my journey like this for awhile, crossed
over old Hwy 100 (before they changed it to Hwy 694) and walked north along
Long Lake Road, the longest stretch of my outing. Just after the little church,
the bus would always take a right turn into a neighborhood and emerge further
on down the road. Well, I reasoned, I don’t need to take the exact same route
as the bus; I’ll just keep going straight on Long Lake Road. I will be kind of
like taking a short cut. An advanced strategy indeed!
A mile or so down the road from there was a small hobby
farm with a little red barn and a brick house. Each day on the bus I had seen chickens
and geese in the yard, doing whatever it was the chickens and geese did. I
didn’t have any experience with farm animals at this point in my life and hadn’t
given these creatures much thought until I was walking past them that day.
Then, for whatever reason, 5 or 6 of these geese started running toward me as
fast as they could waddle along. Huh, I
thought, I wonder what they are going to do when they get to me? So I
stopped to see what would happen.
End of ‘The First
Ride’ Part I
See what happens
with me and the geese, and if I ever got a ride, next week in Part II of this
adventure.
By: John S Mickman
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