Chapter 5 –Junior High School
I made it through Junior High School on talent because I sure didn’t study much.
I spent more time buying candies early in the morning at the drug store to take to school and sell them for a profit before the bus came.
I usually cleared 100%. Sweet-tarts, Jujubes, and an occasional candy bar would fill my bag to sell at school. And I would usually sell all.
Dad came back into my life about 1968 and tried to get me involved in a fraternity called the Knights of Pythias. I hated the indoctrination process.
It wasn’t me to become involved with a bunch of guys that raised hell, drank alcohol, and partied all weekend. I was more like mom, quite, reserved, intuitive, and a nature lover.
The first day of being a fraternal brother at Lake Taylor High School in the initiation process was too degrading for me, making me do pushups, carrying other kids’ books, etc . . . I was already being degraded by my targeting; the last thing I needed were co-students harassing me. I think I actually finished the initiation process one night when they made me drink a quart jar of something ungodly. And then I got flogged.
I don’t believe any of those actions prepared me for being a better person or enjoying fellowship: it reminds me of sadism, and the very actions I now fight against. But anyway, I participated in very little activities of the fraternity, choosing instead to be with my girlfriend Kitty.
I went with Kitty for several years in my teens and now I realized why I felt so comfortable with her in the den at her parent’s house: it was below ground and the electronic targeting couldn’t get to me.
One other memory I have that has been so prevalent was a shopping venture mom and I went on one Friday night after her work. Or maybe it was a Saturday. But anyway, the part I remember most was looking at and being able to select a race car set at a Sear’s store when I was about thirteen. So why is that etched on my mind?
It was below ground: I was less targeted.
What may have been a simple event to you reading this was a monumental one to me when I was free of electromagnetic targeting!
There have been certain geological areas where I felt free years later, but the perpetrators eventually covered those areas. One was the Nantahala Gorge in Western North Carolina, which was surrounded by cliffs. Another was a gap in the mountain near Cherokee. I could have stayed there for days enjoying the freedom.
About this time in 1969 Dad re-married, and I lived with him, Mary, and her son in Virginia Beach for a short time. Her son David was real cool and would take me out at night in his mustang. He eventually became a pastor. But he and dad really never got along too well.
While at Virginia Beach, I got a job at high volume gas station at Witchduck Road.
After the summer, I moved back home with mom.
To further complicate my life, forced school busing arrived in the city in 1970, and I would be bussed to an all black school, Booker T. Washington High School near downtown Norfolk
Looking at the dilapidated tilted bus with a near flat tire, exhaust smoke covering the road behind it, and students hanging out the windows made me want to turn around and go back home.
I pleaded with mom, “Mom. I can not go to that school. Is there any way you can send to the new private school that has formed up at the church.”
“I’ll think about it,” she responded.
And that was the last I heard of it. But every time I passed the church on bicycle while delivering papers, I envied the little brown church where I could have gone to school.
I attended cross town Booker T. Washington High School for three days, and then I looked for greener pastures, I didn’t need fighting on the bus, mayhem in the classrooms, and the weapons that were exhibited by the students; so I decided that State of Florida would be a better place to spend my time.
So I found my neighborhood friend Brian and asked him to go with me. I had made my plans.
“This school situation is not going to work. I can’t learn anything there and I think we ought to go somewhere else.”
“Yea, and I’m getting sick of my mother telling me what to do,” he responded.
“Meet me over in the field at the end of the turn around tomorrow morning.”
Brian and I met at the parking lot of our good old playground, and we took off in my newly bought Pontiac.
It took us quite some time to get to Florida because I took Route 17 nearly all the way.
We stayed for about three months, up until the time Brian was making his money getting his pictures taken by someone who used a hotel room off the boardwalk.
I got a little paranoid about it all, though I had a good job as a busboy with a rest home and making decent money. But I did get homesick for Kitty, and one day I told Brian I wanted to go back home. I had an empty feeling at our motel room, and I didn’t want anything to do with drugs that Brian was messing with.
One good thing that happened on the trip was that we had stopped off in Myrtle Beach, and I enjoyed the laid back atmosphere. I doubt it’s no accident I’ve made my home near there forty years later.
But anyway, when I got home, Mom was gone! There was no one at the house! And there were no signs of her being there!
I rushed up to the corner drugstore and called Kitty, and she said mom had moved to a neighborhood across the highway.