Published: August 26, 2008 11:12 am            

I still don’t talk to her

It is this time of the year I begin to get the shakes. Nightmares keep me awake when I try to sleep. Flashbacks to that horrible event haunt me at work and at play.

It was the first day of classes, 1979, and I was — yet again — entering a new school. In those days, the father worked for IBM, which many people think stands for “International Business Machines” but those of us reared in the family of itinerant laborers who at that time constituted “Big Blue” know the truth: those three letters stood for “I’ve Been Moved.”

So there I am, standing outside a new school, the first day of eighth grade, and all I can think about is my shoes. For some reason, the mother had got it in her head that school children in Nevada, unlike every other place in the world, wore dress shoes.

I was, without exaggeration, the only child within 200 miles of the entrance to Swope Middle School who was not wearing sneakers.

I stood there, trying to lengthen my pants between the knees and ankles to cover my shoes. Of course, by pulling on my pants, all I managed was to progressively show more of my underwear as I “stretched” the material to cover the clodhoppers.

Us students crowded into the gym (escaping our parents), sat on the bleachers and waited for the normal first-day-of-school speech from someone who bore the semi-authoritarian bearing of a public school official.

“Welcome to Swope Middle School,” this principal began. “We’re looking forward to a great year blah blah blah …”

I drifted away as it became clear he would not announce a ban on dress shoes.

“But before we go any further,” the principal said, “would Ricky Hoover please come down and meet his mother.”

“NO &%#@*&^ WAY!?” I thought.

Yes &%#@*&^ way.

Not only had the mother called me out in front of 1.73 million middle schoolers, not only had she made me wear dress shoes that all those students could now see as I tromped down the bleachers, but she had done so using the nickname — “Ricky” — that only she and my sister have ever uttered. And my sister only used it to be annoying.

I was missing one inoculation and, thusly, deemed a health threat to the myriad students who I now hoped would kill me and put me out of my misery. Being that meanest of ages, they refused. All they did was stare at my shoes.

I was given two shots that day — one inoculation, and one sedative so I would stop screaming at the mother for ruining my life.

Sometime that year, I returned to Swope Middle School. I don’t know when or for how long because my head was inside a paper bag for the next year (including summer vacation).

The last person to call me “Ricky” never uttered another word. And I have not worn dress shoes since.

Rick Hoover is the NewsPress’ managing editor. Telephone 372-5000 extension 201; e-mail rhoover@stwnewspress.com.

        

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