We just wrapped up production on our Centennial Graduation Guide and it gave me a reason to reflect on my experiences as a high school student in the late 70s, early 80s.

 

I was never really a good student in school. Averaged “Cs” mostly — I think I saw going to school as more of a social learning experience as opposed to book stuff and tests. I was good at reading, spelling, art and activities, but struggled with mathmatics, science, history and languages.

 

My first day of classes at Fridley Grace High School (now Totino Grace) I was approached at the lunch table by someone I easily recognized as a “burnout”. He sat opposite me, eyeballed me, then slid his hand over to me to reveal a “doobie” — or marijuana cigarette. I flicked it back in his direction and said “no thanks”.

 

Sitting up in his chair, he slid it back in my direction and said, “no, here, I’m giving it to you. For free.”

 

I again slid it back to him and boldly looked straight at him and said, “no thanks” again.

 

He shrugged and left. That was my first and only experience of recruitment into the drug life at Grace and I was proud I stood my ground.

 

Bullying was, of course, an issue for us teenagers in the 70s just as it is in every generation. I remember some kids getting roughed up and picked on while riding the bus to and from school. We freshman and sophomores had to sit towards the front of the bus while the juniors and seniors — the bullies — occupied the back.

 

One time at school while finishing lunch, I told a friend of mine I was going to the bathroom and got up. He noticed I was heading a certain direction and warned me not to use that bathroom. He said freshman had to use the lockerroom bathrooom and the bathroom by the commons area was for seniors only.

 

I said to myself, “that’s ridiculous” and headed to the men’s room nearby. As I entered, I noticed two boys were lingering near the sinks. 

 

Two older boys. "Gulp".

 

I didn’t want to show any fear so I went to use the urinal. Out of the corner of my eyes I could see one of the boys take a chair and plop it down right near the door where he sat and put his leg up across the way to block my exit.

 

The other senior leaned back on the sink and crossed his arms like he was Fonzie or something.

 

I was terrified. But after doing my business, I walked confidently over to the sink, leaned past the senior standing there and washed my hands. After toweling off, I walked over to the doorway where a leg was obstructing my exit. I just gave a quick glance to the boy in the chair, stepped over his leg and walked out the door.

 

I don’t know if the reason these monsters didn’t touch me was because they never saw such boldness from someone before or they were waiting for me to cower, cry or beg for mercy. I walked out that door trembling but I also felt good for taking a stand.

 

I had another “bullying” moment when I was in the lockerroom after baseball practice. I had heard all the tales of kids getting hung up by their jock straps on hooks in the shower area or other kids getting “snuggied” by upper classmen monsters while standing at their lockers. Unfortunately, I found myself in the lockerroom with two sophomores who I could tell were plotting to do something.

 

Sure enough, the two boys grabbed me and before I knew it, I was stuffed into a free-standing set of lockers and the door slammed shut. They then turned the locker stall around and pushed it against the wall so I couldn’t get the door open.

 

At first, I reacted as anyone would who felt threatened, so I started banging on the locker and yelling for them to let me out. They laughed and laughed while kicking the lockers and shaking the wobbly unit. I felt like a rattle inside a baby’s toy.

 

They stepped away and I wondered what they were up to when I noticed there was a small hole in the back of the locker that I could peer through to see what they were doing. I told myself to stay quiet as I peered through that hole, watching my captors giggle with glee and mock me verbally. They returned to the locker to give it some more shoves and kicks and when they realized I wasn’t making any noise, I could see on their faces they were growing concerned.

 

They’d pound on the metal some more, shaking the unit and asked, “hey kid, you all right?’

 

I remained still and quiet as a mouse.

 

They shook and rattled those lockers some more and by the look on their monstrous faces, I could tell they were growing concerned.

 

They quickly spun the locker unit around and whipped open the door only to find me standing there with a big smile on my face — no harm done. I walked confidently away from the irritated tormentors who never tried to lay hands on me again.

 

Bullying is just as predominat nowadays as it was in my day and the days of my fathers and granddads. Becker High School just produced a play called the Laramie Project that dealt with bullying, mistreatment and assault. My bathroom and lockerroom tales in no way compare to the torturous bullying Matthew Shepherd endured but almost everyone faces some sort of bullying at some point in their life.

 

What I learned from my experiences is that bullies like to feel the power of hurting, intimidating and getting a reaction from their victims. I learned that if I don’t feed the bully’s appetitie for mayhem, they’ll eventually leave me alone. 

 

I was lucky. My afflictors backed off. Matthew Shepherd’s didn’t. It’s a lesson that’s hard to learn. Harder than mathmatics, science, history and languages combined.

 

Who or what are your monsters? Maybe you should stop feeding them.