“That is really weird.”
“Let me ask you a question.
“What’s that?”
“Did you like high school?”
“I don’t know. It was alright.”
“My dad says there are two groups and only two groups—people who like high school and people who hate high school. Clearly you have not decided and this will haunt you for the rest of your life. People who liked high school usually do better in life.”
I shrugged.
“I guess I liked it. I mean I don’t agree that if you liked it or hated it that that determines how you will do in life. But what about you? Did you like high school or did you hate it?
He squinted and shifted his head.
“I hated it until my last year or rather my senior year. That turned out to be my best year.”
“Really? What made it your, best year?”
“I went to a small school in Indiana and rode in the Homecoming parade and went to the dance with the most popular girl in the school,” he answered.
“Next thing you’re going to say is you caught the winning touchdown.”
“Yes. As a matter of fact I did,” he said, with no trace of sarcasm. “But it wasn’t the winning touchdown, but the team did carry me off the field on their shoulders.”
I looked at him sideways.
“No offense, but you don’t look like Mr. Jock or one of those popular guys.”
“I was a late bloomer.”
“Oh,” I nodded. “So I guess you are one of those people who liked high school then.”
For the first time he looked at me. And then he changed. Like a flower blooming or something. I don’t know how to say this, but he had the biggest smile I had ever seen. You’d think the guy had just won a million dollars.
“Yes,” he said.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Many thanks to John and Joe and Leticia; what a journey.
My Best Year Page 16