Going back to elementary school

It felt like I was moving in the wrong direction!

After attending Bentworth Middle School in a small coal mining community south of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania for the better part of six months, this unhappy sixth grader had since discovered that I would be spending the remainder of the current academic year going back to grammar school at Northside Elementary which sat directly across the street from my new home.

Gone were the days of riding the school bus all the way across town with the little band of merrymakers while bonding over the tragedies and triumphs that took place throughout the course of each and every school year as well as making detailed plans for our next grand adventure.

I was a stranger in a strange land!

Upon my persistent mother’s third attempt to shake me from my troubled slumber, this lethargic stripling finally rolled out of bed rubbing droopy eyelids while stumbling toward the open door of a large walk-in closet to plow through my big brother John’s hanging garments on the first of two metal closet rods in order to reach my own at the back end.

What’s that smell?

When the freckle-faced athlete left for Lincoln Junior-Senior High School on the opposite side of Ellwood City earlier that morning, he inadvertently neglected to scoop up a would-be grenade from our friendly Pomeranian named George on the imaginary mine field covered in newsprint; and the heel of my foot sank into the stinky mess.

Following a miniature-sized conniption fit, I quickly bolted to the bathroom on my tippy-toes to remedy the issue at hand.

By the time I scurried down the enclosed L-shaped staircase dressed to the nines for the first day of school at the gargantuan red-brick building right across the street, this apprehensive adolescent barely had enough time to inhale a bowl of Crunch Berries before heading out the front door with Mom and my younger sister Kathleen to register for classes in the administration office.

Why are we walking all the way up to the intersection?

“This will be a perfect opportunity to for you to stretch your legs,” the dark-haired brunette was quick to point out as she led the way up the cement sidewalk. “It will also be a much safer way to cross the street since there are school crossing guards at the intersection; and I won’t have to worry about youns darting out into traffic.”

But we’re walking all the way to Timbuktu and back just to get to the other side of the street.

Mind your manners!

While the tall slender woman meticulously filled out duplicate paperwork for half her brood from the comfort of a stylish wingback chair, my blonde-haired sibling and I looked at a St. Patrick’s Day-themed bulletin board; whereupon the tardy bell sent the last of the stragglers racing off to their appointed destination.

Shortly after waving goodbye to the female members of my family as they sauntered to the other end of the wide corridor, the middle-aged school secretary guided this jittery youngster upstairs to the second floor and presented me to my one and only sixth grade teacher – Mr. Tim Seberna.

The moment of truth had finally arrived!

“May I please have everyone’s attention,” announced the amiable educator while waiting for his young scholars to quiet down. “It’s my privilege to introduce you to the newest member of our sixth-grade class – Mark Price; so, I’d like you all to make him feel welcome on his first day of school with us.”

Once the thunderous applause came to an abrupt end as I followed the brawny schoolmaster to the front of the classroom, he asked if I would like to share three interesting facts about myself with the class; because inquiring minds were very interested in learning more about me.

Will I be graded on my grammar?

Not for this exercise!

“I’ll begin with the awkwardness of my gait,” proclaimed this astute fellow raising one finger into the air to cut the naysayers off at the pass. “When the mood strikes me, I tell people it happened when I smashed my face into a pine tree while sled riding down Dead Man’s Drop in fifth grade; because the real reason is so… boring.”

“Nevertheless, I was born with a mild case of cerebral palsy.” I continued my discourse. “But if anyone wants to make something of it, I’ll meet you on the playground at recess; because one of us will be coming back to class with a black eye, and it won’t be me.”

Everyone erupted with laughter at my humorous remark.

But that sled riding accident is a true story!

With a busted nose, fractured skull and smashed cheekbones, I had blood gushing from my eyes, nose and mouth.

Dr. William Katt – a well-known cosmetic surgeon in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania – performed plastic surgery on my face and now I can smell a fire from a mile away because I am “The Bionic Boy.”

“My family and I had the opportunity to live like the pioneers,” I insisted with two fingers forming the peace symbol. “We traveled all the way to Denver, Colorado and back in a wagon – a station wagon; and I even got to climb to the top of Mt. Manitou – on an incline and viewed Pike’s Peak from a telescope.”

“Last but not least… I can name all thirty-nine U.S. presidents,” this resident history buff continued lifting three fingers toward the ceiling. “However, only thirty-eight men have been privileged to call themselves president; because one of them was counted as two – Grover Cleveland was both the twenty-second and twenty-fourth president.”

We have a few questions for the stand-up comedian!

“Nice try, Jeff Olinger,” guffawed Mr. Seberna after seating me next to the prettiest girl in the class – Elaine DeCarbo. “You’ll have plenty of time to pick Mark’s brain at lunch and recess; but for now, I need everyone to open your math books to page one hundred and ninety-seven, so we can dive into multiplying fractions.”