From study hall to star connection

I was bored to tears!

But when this mild-mannered seventh grader, who was on the verge of having a nervous breakdown, attempted to start a public waterworks display, there was absolutely nothing stored inside the tear duct reservoirs waiting to spill from the lacrimal glands down onto his rosy, red cheeks.

If I had a comfy pillow at my disposal, I’d curl up on the wooden bleacher upon which I was sitting and fall fast asleep; so, I resorted to twiddling my thumbs until the male junior high school gym teacher — Mr. Robert “Bob” Timmerman — stepped through the door of the girls’ gymnasium to begin another day of modified physical education, which was nothing but a glorified study hall.

Insert stifled yawn here!

Unfortunately for me, this was how I spent gym class two days out of every week — for a period of 45 minutes — during my seventh-grade year at good ol’ Lincoln Junior-Senior High School.

Due to my physical disability, I was required to take the “bird course” for liability insurance reasons, because the educational institution didn’t have a desire to deal with a lawsuit if I were to—shall we say—have any unforeseen incidents.

After all, I was an accident waiting to happen!

As a 12-year-old boy with an undiagnosed case of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (wink, wink) I had been rushed to the emergency room to get stitches on various body parts more times than could be counted on my 10 fingers and 10 toes; not to mention the fact that I smashed my face into a pine tree while sled riding as a fifth grader an incurred a fractured skull, smashed cheek bones and a broken nose.

Looking on the bright side, I could at least fly right through phys ed and pass it just by showing up.

Talk about an easy “A.”

If only my other courses — English, history, life science, math, music, reading and wood shop — were just as easy, then I could sail right through seventh grade without a care in the world.

However, my boon companions didn’t share the same lackadaisical view of the modified course as me.

In fact, they were downright perturbed about it!

“That’s just plain stupid,” quipped Robert “Mags” Magnifico with a furrowed brow as he carried my backpack down the corridor near the administrative offices. “If you were in full-length leg casts like you were in third grade, I could totally understand the school making you take that class; but you’re just a little bit slower on your feet than the rest of us.”

I don’t make the rules, I just follow them.

“Since when did you ever let that stop you,” responded Robert “Robbie” Brough with a sarcastic tone when wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “There are still plenty of things that you can participate in; and when you can’t do what the rest of our gym class is doing, you can do something else.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, boys,” I wholeheartedly agreed with outstretched hands upon explaining my usual routine at Bentleyville Elementary School. “During my elementary school years, I became an expert at throwing free throws; because any time I couldn’t participate in gym class, the gym teacher let me practice my jump shot.”

“Nevertheless,” I continued my discourse while nearing my destination at the set of double doors across from the school library. “One time in third grade, I jumped off the stage after retrieving the basketball and hit the floor like a sack of potatoes with blood squirting everywhere; and I landed in the hospital for another round of stitches.”

On second thought, maybe “special gym” is the best place for you, because you are like a ticking time bomb ready to explode.

There was an array of explosion sounds followed by contagious laughter as we parted company.

When this adolescent preteen stepped into the girls’ gym with a backpack chock-full of his books from other classes, he spotted a half dozen other students already seated on the north-facing bleachers, getting a head start on homework in an effort to free up their time for more exciting endeavors once the dismissal bell rang out at the end of the school day.

Once the tardy bell sounded, I had to shake the cobwebs out of my head as the starting quarterback for “The Fighting Wolverines” — Joe Barbati — nearly bumped into me while attempting to hobble around on a pair of crutches and carry a couple of textbooks all at the same time.

Let me help you with those books.

“Can I interest you in a game of checkers,” I questioned with a bashful grin splashed across my face after getting my brand-new friend set up in the first row of seating. “I read somewhere that if you engage in a challenging brain teaser, it might help to take your mind off your troubles; so, then you won’t be sitting over here feeling sorry for yourself.”

Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a very wise young man?

“Nah ah,” I exclaimed with eyes as big as saucers before both of us burst into a fit of laughter. “You’re the very first one to ever tell me that.”

Well, I am both honored and humbled.

Shortly after beating the high school senior in two out of three bouts of the classic “King Me” board game with those black and red discs, I helped carry his books to the library just across the hall prior to hightailing it to my next class — life science with Mr. Bruce Badger — around the next corner.

Suddenly, I realized Joe’s chemistry textbook inadvertently landed in my backpack as the next tardy bell rang out.

Upon hearing a rather familiar voice at the door, I looked up to find the most popular guy in school holding my misplaced science book hoping to exchange mine for his before class commenced.

“How about I give you a ride home after school,” suggested Joe Barbati with a wink and a nod after I made my way to the classroom entrance for the hand-off. “Not only would it be a perfect opportunity to give your big brother John a few pointers for next season, but you’d also get a break from riding that special needs vehicle.”

You don’t need to ask me twice!

For the entire class period, there were whispers swirling about over my friendly banter with the star quarterback of the football team; and my intimate friends were itching for an explanation once the dismissal bell sounded.