Our mother was a school teacher, as was her mother and one of her sisters, so education was important in our family. Things were going fairly well until I got to 11th grade, then the wheels started to fall off my wagon. Classes were starting to show failing grades, skipping school was a regular event, fishing was more important, as well as drinking, smoking and fighting. One day upon returning home, I found our big oval dining room table filled with school catalogs. Mother said "You're going to military school. Pick one and Carson Long isn't there, it's too close to home." You talk about getting hit between the eyes. WOW! Military schools were plentiful in the southern states during the 50's and 60's but weren't as popular in the north. What to expect? I had no idea except it didn't sound good.
To begin with, Rebels outnumbered us Yankees about 20 to 1. That made life a little harder, because the Civil War wasn't over as far as they were concerned. Walking down a corrider saying "Throw away your Dixie cups, the South will never rise again" was not a good choice. I soon found 25 Rebs that were willing to get me to change my tune.
Adjusting to life away from home was a rough road, as much of a wise guy that I was. My parents made me stick it out and I'm glad they did. I was not exactly a model cadet but I got good grades. If you got an excessive amount of demerits or did a bad thing, you had to spend your town leave time marching around the outside of the gymnasium with a rifle. There was an officer there to make certain we stayed in line and kept marching properly. My senior year, most of my town leave was spent with a rifle, marching round and round.
Despite my poor behavior, it was the best thing my parents could have done for me. I hated it there but realized the value when I got a little older.
There were 300 cadets attending school while I was there. We formed a tighter bond than most high school kids do, as we lived in the same building and were all together every day and night. There were boys there from all over the United States and from South America and Europe.
Homecoming at the old school is a bigger event than at most public schools. We return to the campus for a weekend in October and tell old stories till we know most by heart. One year, an old classmate asked why we remembered so much from our time there and in such detail? I said because we were at the peak of our learning ability while we were at school. We studied very hard, including a forced two hour study hall five nights a week and one of those nights was Saturday. We retained what we learned there, as well as things about our daily life. When rehashing old tales, some of them seem like they happened yesterday.
My mother saved my old uniforms but I don't know why. They didn't fit me for more than a year before they shrank too much. Itchy old wool uniforms, anyhow.
No matter how we felt at times, our parents always seemed to know best.
To begin with, Rebels outnumbered us Yankees about 20 to 1. That made life a little harder, because the Civil War wasn't over as far as they were concerned. Walking down a corrider saying "Throw away your Dixie cups, the South will never rise again" was not a good choice. I soon found 25 Rebs that were willing to get me to change my tune.
Adjusting to life away from home was a rough road, as much of a wise guy that I was. My parents made me stick it out and I'm glad they did. I was not exactly a model cadet but I got good grades. If you got an excessive amount of demerits or did a bad thing, you had to spend your town leave time marching around the outside of the gymnasium with a rifle. There was an officer there to make certain we stayed in line and kept marching properly. My senior year, most of my town leave was spent with a rifle, marching round and round.
Despite my poor behavior, it was the best thing my parents could have done for me. I hated it there but realized the value when I got a little older.
There were 300 cadets attending school while I was there. We formed a tighter bond than most high school kids do, as we lived in the same building and were all together every day and night. There were boys there from all over the United States and from South America and Europe.
Homecoming at the old school is a bigger event than at most public schools. We return to the campus for a weekend in October and tell old stories till we know most by heart. One year, an old classmate asked why we remembered so much from our time there and in such detail? I said because we were at the peak of our learning ability while we were at school. We studied very hard, including a forced two hour study hall five nights a week and one of those nights was Saturday. We retained what we learned there, as well as things about our daily life. When rehashing old tales, some of them seem like they happened yesterday.
My mother saved my old uniforms but I don't know why. They didn't fit me for more than a year before they shrank too much. Itchy old wool uniforms, anyhow.
No matter how we felt at times, our parents always seemed to know best.
No comments:
Post a Comment