As the minutes ticked by on the analog clock above the classroom door, I knew the instructional period was winding down, and it was time to head to the cafeteria before the bell rang.
Afflicted with a mild case of cerebral palsy, I had a special dispensation from school administrators to leave each class a couple minutes early, ensuring I could navigate the hallways without getting caught in the hustle and bustle of other students.
Consequently, this arrangement served as a safety precaution, to prevent me from being inadvertently knocked to the floor in the crowded corridors.
However, this mild-mannered eighth-grader ran into a proverbial brick wall when attempting to leave at the appointed time.
Sprawled out on the tile floor, I looked up to find Lori Knechtel, a former elementary school classmate, standing over me with narrowed eyes and crossed arms, her imposing figure blocking out the fluorescent light overhead.
When I moved to Ellwood City two years ago, that long-legged giraffe seemed to relish any opportunity to assert her dominance, often treating me as if my disability made me inferior; and though years had passed, her attitude toward me hadn’t changed.
“You might as well sit back down, because you’re not going anywhere!” she snapped, seething with rage.
In that instant, a line was drawn in the sand.
I had two choices — I could either cower in fear and return to my assigned seat, or I could stand up to this overgrown bully and head toward my intended destination without looking in the rearview mirror.
This was my David meets Goliath moment.
Once the bell sounded, signaling a class change at Lincoln Junior-Senior High School, I lingered outside my next class in the South Hall, eager for a brief chat with my intimate friends — Robert “Robbie” G. Brough Jr. and Robert “Magsy” Magnifico — before they hightailed it to the boy’s gymnasium that first Friday in February.
“Didn’t we just see you in English class with Mr. Pietrcollo at the other end of the East Hall?” Robbie teased, lifting his head to acknowledge me as they approached.
“Are you sure you’re not Superman?” joked Magsy, playfully slapping my face as we passed like ships in the night. “Because you’re definitely faster than a speeding bullet.”
“Hardy har-har!” I exclaimed.
“If you took regular gym, you’d be coming with us instead of sitting in a boring study hall,” explained the fair-skinned redhead with an exaggerated finger wag, turning my way.
“I’ll see youns at lunch,” I noted, “but just make sure to take a shower.”
“We’re gonna make you smell our armpits!” exclaimed the youngest son of the police chief, looking back over his shoulder with a wink and a smile before descending the stairs on the other side of the short cut.
Shortly after bidding my boon companions’ adieu at the entrance to the second-floor bridge, I quickly ducked into the science lab and slid into my assigned seat at a two-seater workbench with a black epoxy resin top, just before the tardy bell rang out.
Considering this was a laid-back study hall with a glorified babysitter like Mr. Frank Geniviva, I could either use the next forty-five minutes to complete my English and Math homework, or kick back and take a short siesta before the noon meal.
The one-armed chemistry teacher spent most of the class in the lounge at the end of the hall, sipping coffee and leaving us to our own devices — as long as we kept the noise level down and avoided setting the room on fire with flammable liquids.
With mild temperatures in the low fifties and no rain expected in the weekend forecast, I decided to finish all my assignments so I could enjoy more exciting activities during my time away from book learning.
“You all know the drill,” the junior high football coach noted as he emerged from the supply room behind his desk. “This is a study hall, so use your time wisely; but if you choose to engage in extracurricular activities, keep your voices down, don’t start any fires and please — no drooling on the desks.”
That last tidbit of information — directed toward the catnappers — always gave us a chuckle.
In the blink of an eye, the head rooster had flown the coop, leaving us chickens to scratch around aimlessly.
After two trips to the garbage can and another to the pencil sharpener, I completed the solution to the last math homework problem, leaving me with exactly five minutes before the class period ended.
If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought I was sitting in the school library — it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
Nevertheless, things were about to get heated when I stood to exit the classroom, and head for the cafeteria on the other side of the second-floor bridge.
Without warning, I was slammed to the floor, taking my drawstring book bag with me.
Propped up on my elbows, I looked up at my sixth-grade arch nemesis, her glare fixed on me like a rabid dog, deciding whether or not to pounce.
She was still foaming at the mouth about a crossing guard incident — when I ran through all the alleys around the outside perimeter of the intersection just to avoid her tyrannical oversight — at Northside Elementary School a short two years earlier.
Even though the blonde-haired troll reported me for breaking the safety rules, I had the last laugh. I sat on the front steps of the school, waiting until she finished her duties the next day, then made a beeline for the church parsonage directly across the street.
If that overgrown tyrant, a head taller than me, thought I was going to listen to her, she was sadly mistaken.
Fueled by righteous indignation, I stood and swung my book bag in circles, just as David spun his slingshot when he faced Goliath on the battlefield.
“This ends here and now,” I shouted, standing my ground against the bow-legged Amazon. “My mother always taught me never to hit a lady, but let’s be honest — you’re no lady. Try to stop me, and I’ll knock your block off.”
Then, channeling my best Dirty Harry impression, I added something along the lines of, “Go ahead… make my day.”
My menacing threat suddenly recoiled, retreating into the shadows of her imaginary cave.
Everyone, including the missing-in-action teacher who overheard everything, stood frozen, jaws dropped, as I calmly composed myself and strode from the room.
For the first time, Goliath backed down.