I regretted leaving school at the end of my seventh grade year. The attention I got from Mr. Q had me missing him and looking forward to when we'd meet again in eighth grade gym, where we'd continue to expand my athletic skills.

Going to Florida for the second summer in a row took the sting out of leaving behind my mentor. Getting out of the house was especially satisfying and each time I left, things improved somewhat by the time I returned. Perhaps absence makes the heart grow fonder, or maybe I was getting too big to constantly be disciplined. Maybe it was getting old, or maybe something else led to the peace inside the house of dread I'd always lived in.

No matter the forces at work, I hadn't changed. I escaped at every opportunity and stayed out for as long as possible. I gobbled my food to leave the dinner table nightly, zoning out in front of the TV or up in my room. After twelve years I was set in my ways and the patterns of my existence were already well established.

Turning thirteen didn't represent anything earthshaking. I was a year older and a teenager but it felt a lot like twelve without the highlights. The entire year of twelve had altered what went on inside me. Mr. Q was my hero and I lived to impress him.

Avery was close at hand as quick as I arrived. He'd grown in a year, his voice had gotten deeper, and he was even more handsome than ever. Avery had a knack of making me feel special, simply by including me in his rounds. He was the expert on the area and I was with him.

I must say I'd never seen a kid who could handle adults the way Avery handled them. No matter the circumstance or location, when Avery showed up at your door it was a game changer. Kids being punished were only allowed out with Avery, who promised to keep them out of trouble and deliver them safely home.

Avery was a sweet kid, but he had a little devil inside him. It didn't matter to me, because if I was sent to my room for failing to complete my chores satisfactorily, Avery could spring me in a minute. If Avery didn't my Pop did, so I had it easy in Florida. Even when I was being punished, it was like being on vacation.

Avery's friend Joe had a ski boat and on planned mornings I ate breakfast, did my chores, and told Granny I was meeting Avery and Joe. Joe's dad was the town doctor and Joe was the neatest fellow you'd ever want to know. No one objected if I said I was going to meet him.

I'd walk to the end of Broadway, slip down through the bushes, and if Joe wasn't there he'd soon arrive. I'd wade out into the water to meet him in his blue and white Lone Star boat with the 40 horsepower Mercury engine that could pull one to four skiers. Usually it was two of us at a time with one of us driving the boat.

Yes, at thirteen I took a giant step into self-confidence among boys to whom driving a boat came naturally. This was another world surrounded by water, adventure, and happy-go-lucky boys who liked having me around. Being only summer friends, I went along for the ride, not being threatened in the least.

Without hesitating Joe told me, "Just make sure you're going in a straight line. We'll put up our arms when we are ready. Go immediately to half throttle, which will get us moving, then do full throttle as quick as you see our ski tips rising out of the water. It'll pull us straight up and just check now and then to see if we're still there. Nothing to it."

Joe didn't ask if I could or if I wanted to, he told me what to do with no doubt I could do it. Of course with a brain that malfunctioned a lot I wasn't good at picking up new stuff. I never tried anything if I might embarrass myself by doing it. In Florida the rules weren't so set in concrete. Even though I was scared I'd mess it up, I couldn't say, 'I'm too stupid to do this.'

There was the bay, the boat, the boys, and miles and miles of water, what could go wrong? Nothing did.

Driving the boat liberated me in an odd way. The concept of controlling something was new to me. There was a feeling of power that came with driving the boat. Even though I loved skiing behind it, I never passed on a chance to drive to let my buddies ski. This was the best thing yet and I could do it without embarrassing myself.

There were days Avery had things to do and so I met Joe at the end of my block and the two of us explored the waterways around the bay. There was a kind of freedom that went with this that was infectious. I didn't know how lucky I was to have grandparents who not only retired to Florida, but who wanted me visiting them each summer. I'd never been lucky before, but this would qualify.

Some days we'd stop at Joe's house for lunch, parking the boat at the pier a hundred feet from his backdoor. We walked up the path through the huge magnolia trees with their huge flowers.

Joe's family had a maid. She called Joe, "Master Joe" and me "Master Dick." Any connection with 'Gone with the Wind' was lost on me. It was all quite pleasant and when she wasn't on duty, they shared a cordial relationship that kept me laughing. Needless to say, this was a part of the old south I knew nothing about, but I didn't know much about anything.

Summer flew by. No sooner had I arrived than it was time to leave. Both Avery and Joe came to see me off. No one came to see me off when I left home. I didn't know anyone and had no desire to, but in Florida it was a different world, and my life was good and I never thought about it ending until it did.

I was back home facing 8th grade. I'd managed to pass all my courses in 7th grade and knew that sooner or later I was going to be found out as someone without a brain, which was often on my mind, but there was Mr. Q to soften the blow. No matter what the situation I knew I could go to him for advice and he'd give me a square deal.

Gym came right after lunch in 8th grade. This provided for a vacation in the middle of the day. We got forty-five minutes for lunch and then a period of gym. CORE, my biggest hurdle, came on first, second, and on some days, third period, followed by lunch.

Mr. Warnock, CORE teacher, was unique. He was a no-nonsense teacher who had everything under control. You best not let him catch you slumbering on his time. His stern style was my biggest nightmare.

It took me until the second day to figure out he was calling on each student in order of how we were seated to read. I'd raced to each class the first day of school to lay claim to the last desk in the last row in each. It was the rear seat next to the window, which gave my brain plenty of room to roam.

Watching as each student stood to read meant I would be last and my seating arrangement gave me plenty of time to think it over. I was lost in the textbook because of my lack of reading skills and I was about to be found out. I'd been at this for eight years and never once had a teacher started with the first student in the first row to work his way around the room for each student to read. Was he going to get a surprise when he called on me.

There wasn't much that scared me, not threats and not being batted around, and not driving a ski boat, but the idea of humiliating myself in front of a class full of kids terrified me. There didn't seem to be any escaping the inevitable. I was always considered stupid but no one mentioned it to me. I'd always found a way to deflect a teacher's need to include me in class work.

"Charles, stand and read from where she left off," Mr. Warnock said.

Not recognizing my name came first. It almost always worked, but even an idiot would know I was the only student left who hadn't read yet.

"Charles!"

I look sleepily up from my desk. Seeing his determination to run his class on his terms and before I had time to act like I was looking for the place, he was swiftly scooted between the desks, stopped at my desk. Seizing my textbook, his stubby finger stabbed the pages, which made a ripping sound as he turned to the proper place. With a loud thump he slapped the book on my desk, holding his finger at a spot on the page.

"Here, read from here," he said, holding his finger in place until mine moved to the same line on the page.

I slumped forward, leaning my head down closer to the words to see if I could recognize the first one.

"The ... con ... gress is ...,re ... res ... re ...," I stuttered hesitantly.

"Responsible," Mr. Warnock said.

"Res ... Responsible for ... passing leg ... legi ..."

"Legislation," Mr. Warnock corrected.

I stuttered, stammered, stumbled, sweated, shook, and pulled each word agonizingly slowly out of the book. I made three words in a row one time before he had to correct me. The class laughed. Mr. Warnock hollered, "Shut up! Go on, Charles."

I read twenty-four words, one paragraph, and it took just short of forever. By the time I sat down my face was burning, my stomach was churning, and the sweat ran off my face as kids took turns turning to get a good look.

At least he'd never make that mistake again. I'd always been stupid but I kept it to myself before. Now everyone in my class knew and they looked at me like I was the stupid kid, which jacked up my rage a few notches. I'm sure I gave off an aura of danger, because no one came near me from that class.

Being exposed in CORE did nothing for my disposition. I went to gym after skipping lunch and hoped Mr. Q could rescue me from what I felt. Mr. Q always beamed when I came into view. He always said, "Hi Charles."

By now I knew his name was Andrew, but Mr. Q worked for me. As forgiving as he was concerning everything I did, I think one Andrew would have cancelled it all out. I'd never been that familiar with any adult and especially not any teacher I'd known.

The following morning as I returned to CORE class, it was with the knowledge I wouldn't be doing any more reading and in time my classmates might forget the display of ignorance I'd given them. I still got stared at and I still hated it. Mr. Warnock was the teacher from hell as far as I was concerned. The quicker he figured out I wasn't adding anything to his class the better off we'd both be.

"Get out your textbooks. Turn to page 27. Charles, read from the top of the page," he said calmly.

This wasn't happening, but it was. The first order of business in the first CORE period each day was laugh at the dumb kid time. I'd read. The class would laugh. Mr. Warnock would yell, and then tell me to continue. I'd disliked a lot of teachers in my time but I'd never hated one the way I hated him for making me humiliate myself in front of my classmates every day.

By the end of the second week I knew the first order of business each day was for me to read a paragraph. Gradually I was resigned to my fate. I kept thinking he had to give up sooner or later. Teachers don't usually like wasting so much time.

First, the stuttering and stammering reduced. The sweating and shaking disappeared next. Mr. Warnock had to correct me less and less often. The kids found less to laugh at by mid-October. Slowly my seething anger eased off. I made a more serious attempt to sound out and pronounce the words on my own. If I hesitated for more than a couple of seconds Mr. Warnock said the word, and it took less time to complete my ordeal.

The rest of my classes were a piece of cake compared to CORE. Math was easy as long as it was about numbers. Science was interesting but mostly boring. Art & Music proved I had no talent for either. Gym continued to be where I excelled and Mr. Q was always there to give me a boost.

One morning something very different took place as I completed my paragraph.

"That's very good, Charles. You've come a long way," Mr. Warnock said, I was waiting for him to laugh.

It wasn't clear to me what that meant. I tried to figure out what would make him say that. What was he up to? I finished out the week reading first thing each morning in first period CORE. I received a similar comment at the end of my paragraph.

Then, the following week, 1st period CORE class began without him calling on me to read. I was ready to read. It wasn't even painful any more, but from that day forward he didn't call on me to read any more often than he called on anyone else. I made no more mistakes than anyone else. He had no cause to correct me any more than anyone else did when I read. He never missed a beat or made a big deal out of it. We simply moved on.

The unmistakable conclusion was, he'd taught me to read.

This was cause for a reassessment of my teacher. Maybe he wasn't the villain I'd made him out to be. No one had cared enough to take the time required to teach me to read before. I felt no less stupid. Reading didn't change my state of being. For thirteen years that was the one consistent element. I could now recognize words when I saw them. What did that change?

Once read I forgot it a second later. Reading a sentence correctly didn't tell me what it meant. It didn't change anything, except maybe I wasn't as suspicious of Mr. Warnock and I lost my desire to punch out my fellow students in CORE.

I didn't race home each night to read myself to sleep. I didn't read anything except in CORE class and things from my science book, but mostly the teacher demonstrated and showed you what he wanted. My memory had always keyed in on what teachers emphasized. What they emphasized would eventually appear on a test. If you remembered those things you'd pass most tests. That's how I passed until 8th grade. I didn't need to read but I could.

It was all well and good and by November school was nothing more than the usual routine, except for one thing that was as amazing as Mr. Q, Mr. Warnock teaching me to read.


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"Gay Boy Running" Copyright © 1 April 2010 OLYMPIA50. All rights reserved.
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