My last Christmas in Lebanon, Missouri, is one of my most memorable, highlighted by my favorite gift as a boy, the Nintendo Entertainment System that was the toy/gift of the 1988 season. Mom and Dad surprising my brother and I after all the presents were opened will always be the crown jewel in an upbringing full of humbling gifts from parents scraping to get by most of the time.
I don’t remember much else about that holiday season. At the time, I was a seventh grader and expected to be a Yellowjacket for life. My parents were talking about building a small house on their rural property just north of Russ, and I can still see the blueprints.
Even though I was mostly anonymous at Lebanon Junior High, I loved school and enjoyed most of my classes. What I didn’t love was going from Hillcrest, which was quite a bit smaller and only sixth graders, to the junior high, which included seventh, eighth and ninth graders.
I was nervous about attending LJH, which had multiple buildings on a city block, in the weeks leading up to the first day of classes, and that didn’t change after I took my mom’s advice the week before and walked around the campus. All I could think was, “Is seven minutes really enough to get from here to there?”
It was, of course, but that often was a challenge. I started the day in science with the late Barry Wahl, a funny and fair teacher, and transitioned to English and Mrs. Worley on the floor directly above my first class. Then I was off to P.E., a class I typically loathed as a chunky 12-year-old.
Art, a class in which my teacher didn’t take a liking to my dry, snarky sense of humor, was next, followed by the awkward-as-hell experience of lunch in a room full of eighth and ninth graders. The rest of the day, I had cooking, social studies/government and math.
Most of us remember our teachers, especially the good ones. Aside from one or two I didn’t get along with, I loved being in their classes. Mrs. Dudley and Mr. Willrett were kind in P.E. and social studies, Mr. Sewell was hilarious in government, and Mr. Maskey’s math class was one of the most competitive courses I ever had.
As with any big school and as a small seventh grader, the journey from one class to the next was always an adventure. I saw my first fist-a-cuffs fight on the sidewalk leading from the main building to the gym, a battle that led to school officials making it a rule that you would be suspended if you stopped and watched a scuffle.
The other thing about those treks I remember is moving very quickly to avoid bullies I’d seen make the lives of others miserable. I don’t recall being bullied, but I was still on my toes. At times, it felt like “Lord of the Flies.”
Despite the trepidation, I liked the junior high and was ready to roll for 1989-90, when my folks dropped the bomb on us late in the second semester: We were moving to Kansas.
“We just felt like it was the right thing to do for us and you guys,” my father said. “I think it worked out pretty well.”
It did, of course. I found Washburn. I met my best friend and wife. I learned about Brenda Michelle Keller and was fortunate to tell her story.
As I’ve written here before, leaving Lebanon was difficult. There were times through the years that I really missed it. One of those came just a few years ago when the school district demolished the junior high to build a new one.
We drove by the block it rested not long after, and memories rushed back as we pulled into the circle drive in front of it. Paper football tournaments before school in the library. Mr. Sewell conning so many of us to take a bet we couldn’t possibly win. Mr. Maskey’s top 20 test score rankings on the wall. That art teacher docking me 10 points on the first day of class for grumbling over an assignment (a valuable lesson learned). My friends to this day (Patrick, Matt, the late, great Woody, and many others). Wiffle ball during P.E. class. And, of course, the Nintendo Christmas. Unlike the building, those memories will last a lifetime.
TWELVE DAYS 2025, PART VI: Christmas with mono
TWELVE DAYS 2025, PART V: ShowBiz, Dragon’s Lair and other difficult games
TWELVE DAYS 2025, PART IV: “Dutch,” a guilty pleasure
TWELVE DAYS 2025, PART III: Christmas in Independence
TWELVE DAYS 2025, PART II: Craving an NES Classic
TWELVE DAYS 2025, PART I: An update on the search for James Danny Hollingshead
ABOUT MY SECOND BOOK: THE OLD MAN
ORDER “GOODBYE, BUTTERFLY: MURDER, FAITH AND FORGIVENESS IN A SMALL KANSAS TOWN”
Ernie, we missed you and Danny, as well as your Mom and Dad. Missed those game nights out at your place, playing pitchers. It’s hard on the families that leave, as well as the ones that are left behind. You always feel like something was left incomplete. Maybe the subject for a new book?