What was your first day at middle school like?
Some say “The Awkward Age” starts at 12 and ends with dead.  Did you feel lonely or unhappy making that important transition from childhood to teenage years?  Was there anything or anybody who made it easier?

I went to Matilija Jr. High School for 7^th and 8^th grade.  There is really only one thing I remember about my first day at middle school; my mom wouldn’t let me wear shorts.

I desperately wanted to wear shorts my first day at Matilija.  A couple of days earlier I had been riding my bike home from the other side of town, no-handed of course because that’s how cool I was!  At an intersection a car turned in front of me which caused me to do a weird herky-jerky movement to try to get my hands on the handlebars to gain control.  I was half successful.  My hands did land on the handlebars just as I went flying off the bike.  I hit the ground with a thud and skidded into an old oak tree.  Even at that young, tender, awkward age, the first thing through my head was, “how can I get up from this and still look cool?”  Turns out I couldn’t, I could only be embarrassed and jump on my bike to ride the mile home as if nothing happened.

This was how uncool I looked though; I had to hold my hands at a 45 degree angle just to go straight because I’d bent my handlebars.  On top of that, blood was running down my leg and dripping off my foot (Hansel and Gretel had nothing on me!) causing my foot to continue to slip out of my flip-flop.  Oh yeah, no one cooler than me!

I wanted to wear shorts to show off my awesome injury.  I thought that might give me an advantage so people could see how tough and cool I was, lets face it I needed all the help I could get.  Also, I didn’t want pants rubbing on it, truth be told…it hurt…a lot.  No such luck, I wore pants.  My mom was a tyrant.

Other random middle school memories:

My math teacher, if someone was not paying attention, would huck erasers at students.  He had deadly accuracy.

My art teacher had a sense of humor.  We sat in groups–she sat me in a group with Rosemary and Ginger.  (If you know me, you’ll see the humor in that.)

My English teacher could not hear out of her right ear.  Everyone wanted to sit on that side of the room.

Bubble gum was a hot commodity.  You could purchase a pack for 50c and sell each piece for 25c, that’s like 150% ROI.  I made a killing.

My History teacher was…very, very large.  She was also mean, I suspect because she was unhappy.  Once, I finished reading my current events newspaper and she told me to read it again because I couldn’t have possibly read it as fast as [this other student].  I had.  I didn’t read it again, I just looked at the pictures.

Troy Peterson snorted powder sugar.

I skied in New Mexico with my uncle and got a t-shirt saying so, when I wore it everyone said, “There’s no snow in Mexico.”

Check me out over here in Qwendykay’s hood!

I’m going to make a confession; I love fire. Anything having to do with fire intrigues and fascinates me. I have wanted to be a pyro-technician forever! When a fire breaks out my friends, jokingly, ask for my alibi.

When I was a kid, as a service project, my church group would clean up the high school after the 4th of July. Fireworks are done from the field by the high school and people purchase tickets to watch up close and personal. One year while cleaning I wandered off to the tennis courts adjacent to the field and found these little round pellets scattered all over. Of course I filled my pockets to overflowing with the interesting items!

Upon arriving home I set up a “lab” on the front porch. I carefully made a pyramid of pellets with a makeshift fuse and lit a match. I touched my fuse with the match and WHOOSH FIRE…pretty, colorful, dancing fire. That was a good test but I wanted more!! Knowing that I was far too exposed on the front porch I realized I needed to move to a protected area where I wouldn’t get caught (stupid nosey neighbors). So I went unto the bomb shelter (also known as the garage–my dad was a bit of a fanatic).

Giddy with anticipation I dumped a giant pile on the makeshift plywood covered concrete desk and lit it up. The colors were beautiful and the flames almost went to the ceiling!  I did this over and over….

I secretly look for these pellets every time I’m around fireworks.

Yes, mom, I do know where the burn marks in the garage came from…

Today I am grateful I am not the Sports Illustrated photographer whose neck was stepped on by an errant player in the Lakers vs Suns game.

O U C H

** Note John W. McDonough is actually a former LA Times Photographer.  [edited; accuracy counts]

Yesterday I cleaned the kitchen, the “dining” room table, the living room and my bedroom.

Today I bathed 2 kittens and a hedgehog.

Guess which was harder?

So, I missed the earthquake….

Because…

Post Bailing!

Rabbit is poultry?