Yesterday was the traditional last day of Summer despite the weather in Central Texas (it will remain blistering hot for another month easily). I guess we must have a national day we can all mentally agree on despite what everybody sees out their windows.
Around this point in 1983 I started attending public school for the first time since Kindergarten. I was really apprehensive after nine years in private-parochial schools because the Catholic Church loves to make up horror stories about their educational rivals: bathroom muggings, flagrant disregard for the teacher and other questionable, violent claims. Never mind the institutionalized bullying I experienced at Strake from the rich kids or the children of the parish bigshots at St. Agnes and St. Matthew’s. Brian had completed a year in Sugarland’s middle school relatively unscathed except for his pride at sports and a fist fight he had against an Asian kid. If my younger brother survived without being knifed, I figured my odds were good at Clear Creek.
My past monthly tales covering the move, Springfield and Alicia ended up being distractions from seriously preparing myself over this cultural shock. One good thing was my new school’s size, 3000 students. Our frequent complaint of having to be the new kid again was quickly dismissed because nobody would notice and with such a population…nobody cared! No, the upcoming change didn’t sink in until I was staying up too late in my room reading and KLOL was playing Robert Plant’s “In the Mood.” The song still evokes strong memories of that evening; thanks to Austin lacking a Classic Schlock station, it isn’t often.
Mom probably sensed my concerns so she put a nicer spin on the upcoming change. Before the hurricane-evacuation, she took me to Clear Creek for a quick tour. I met the principal for the Sophomores and I remember him coming off as nice. He was no Father Orlando but at least he wasn’t a jerk like vice principal Father Crabbe (no joke on that name!). Getting to wear jeans every day and seeing classmates openly smoking were odd concepts in the beginning. Mom sweetened the deal when she bought me a new pair of lace-up Vans. Every time I go to the Vans store at the Round Rock Outlet Mall, they never have anything resembling them, only the pull-ons I had in 1985.
The first day was interesting from start to finish. Last week, I impressed my co-worker Bryant by rattling off my exact class schedule and the name of every teacher but one; I will now go out on a limb with Mr. Nolan for Drafting. I never thought it was a difficult feat, I think Bryant just has selective amnesia, especially when it comes to nuclear power’s numerous accidents.
Back to Clear Creek.
Mentally armed by the epiphany in Springfield and the more laid-back attitude of the campus, I quickly found myself really enjoying high school unlike last year. My grades reflected it too because I was on the verge of getting straight A’s for the first time. CC’s lower grading scale helped too. There were negatives: the 45-minute bus ride (it did create reading time for English); having to get up at 5:30 am; I got into a fight with a kid on the bus (this blew over). Still, all the good things which happened overtook these unpleasantries. Mom and Dad noticed fortunately. Their moratorium on me attending any concerts due to mediocre grades was lifted yet not in time for The Police’s farewell tour. I did get a break on Genesis and Duran Duran.
Overall, my brief stint at Clear Creek was one of the happiest times I had during my teen years. An amazing thing since it’s a miserable one for many with an IQ over 100. There were so many intangible reasons this period gives me a pleasant feeling. It was as if everything in my life was firing on all cylinders. School work finally clicked, I never struggled with it again because I “got it.” I had a decent relationship with most kids and all teachers. There were even a couple of girls I wanted to ask out (this was impossible at the all-male Strake). Arguments at home declined until the D&D incident. We were all happier as a family most of the time, so much it was rather an alien sensation. One thing that helped was my parents being bitten by the videogame bug; we all spent many evenings at the arcade in Dobie to feed their Ms. Pac Man, Qix and Q-Bert habits. It really appeared that this do-over on Houston was going to work out. Our new life was going to make us forget Springfield and/or have us wonder why we didn’t leave sooner.
Not to worry, Dad rectified this bright spot in time by the following Spring with our move to India-no-place, thus guaranteeing a return to the crappy high school experience we all had. Then he amplified it to the next level of misery through North Dakota in another year.
So in honor of this great memory in an angst-ridden past (standard for all teens), Picayune is dolled up in Clear Creek’s official colors, according to their website. I did it last year for Strake, why not Creek! Before you ask, yes, I have researched the colors for my remaining two high schools ahead of time.
The other legacy of CCHS is my friend Sheila. We met in Mrs. Lacy’s Latin III class back then. We didn’t know each other well, only casually as classmates. Our “reuniting‚” at Marquette was quite a mathematical oddity. I must’ve been quite a big mouth or something if she remembered me enough to ask questions about my past during the WMUR orientation. I do envy her though. Sheila is technically an alumnus of Clear Creek while I am in spirit.
I will be spending the rest of the year trying to hunt down a pair of maroon high-top Chucks in honor of the anniversary. I think I’ll shoot for a tour of the campus when I’m in the Houston area as well.
