Lovers by the Lake Part three

Chapter Three

The noonday sun blazed overhead, raising the temperature well above the comfortable range. Paul pulled in his line for the last time before rowing back to the shore. Amy dangled her feet in the water while Paul packed his gear and started rowing.

“Wow, you really did have some fisherman’s luck today; looks like we can have a fine meal with all these fish,” Amy observed.

“OK, now you have heard about my childhood, now it is your turn. I really want to learn more about you, Paul. You know, stuff about your childhood and some of the things you remember most while growing up. It’s not like we lived on the same street or even the same city. Hell, we’re not even from the same state. So I just want to get a better idea of the events in your life that made you who you are,” Amy said as she admired the string of fish Paul caught.

“Well, you can thank the fish for being so willing to be caught by an amateur. As to my life story, you know men are not really good at remembering a lot of details, but I’ll do my best. My childhood was really not all that exciting. I was born and raised in a small Texas town between Austin and Houston. Not much goes on around that part of the country. My first few years were not much to talk about. Maybe I should start at the same point you did, back when I started high school; it was 1961,” Paul replied before he took a deep breath and started to recount his early years:

The biggest event I remember from my first year in high school is when I made the JV football team. I could hardly wait to get home to spread the news, I was so excited! The temperature was nearly one hundred degrees with humidity at ninety percent. The late afternoon sun burned across the Texas landscape, making the run home a hard one. My crew-cut hair glistened with melted butch wax as I ran. My dad made me run everywhere, and I was in excellent shape. The air was full of the smells of a typical Texas farming community, with a faint smell of the ever-present crude oil smeared over the odor of livestock.

Life in a small Texas town revolved around the high-school football team. Football is a way of life in Texas. Yes, in Texas, FOOTBALL is always spelled in capital letters. After all, it was a very big part of the American dream; and in the early 1960s, the American dream was big in Texas.

In my small Texas town, most of the residents still worked in the fields. Yep, they were either in the farm fields or the oil fields. I was just a young boy, but I could tell from what I saw that working in an oil field did not mean you were rich. All the oil profits were hoarded in the power towers of Dallas. That was the reality of the American dream.

My father was one of the few residents who actually worked in town. He was a car salesman at the largest dealership in town. He even achieved a certain amount of notoriety by appearing in local advertising on TV. But he always seemed bitter. Being a small-town car salesman was not really the life he wanted.

Dad told me, “When I was a young man in high school, I wanted to be a football star. That is about the only way to get out of this small town.”

He explained how he always dreamed of playing football professionally. Unplanned parenthood put an end to his aspirations, and he fell short of achieving his dream; he never reached the goal line.

He resented the way his life turned out. His failure to achieve his dream made him feel trapped and angry at the way his American dream turned into just one more small-town nightmare. His failure to achieve made him more determined to ensure I would have a better life.

The job at the car dealership did have some perks. Dad was able to get an old convertible cleaned up and tuned up by the mechanics. He handed me the keys as a reward for getting my driver’s license. It was a luxury few students could afford, and I knew it would make me a very popular young man at school. Dad made it clear the car was not to be used to get back and forth to school. The car was only to be used for special occasions or to hang out with the guys.

“You’re better off running everywhere. Got to have strong legs if you want to be a running back,” Dad always told me.

It was all part of his rigorous training program. Dad insisted I run everywhere. The number-one rule was being good in sports. Dad told me being a winner was very important, because outstanding athletes are successful, and success is the American dream.

“Oh, dear, your father sounds like a stern man,” Amy interjected.

“Yeah, Dad was stern, but fair,” continued Paul.

School was not due to start for weeks, but football team tryouts and preseason training required every aspiring young man to endure the heat and forgo the last days of summer vacation.

There was never any question about me playing football. The only question was what position. I tried out for quarterback, but the coach had someone else in mind for that coveted position. It was with trembling hands I ran my finger down the list of names fortunate enough to make the cut. A lot of my friends tried out for the team, but only a few of them were on the final list. I remember whooping like a cowboy when I found my name on the list. I’d been selected for halfback. It was the same position Dad played. It seemed like all the hard work and constant training paid off.

Words can’t express my emotions at that moment. I was really excited about making the team. It was excitement, more than Dad’s training demands, motivating me to run home to spread the news. Even though it was a hot day, I ran all the way home from school. In the small town, it amounted to about a mile.

As I approached the house, I could smell the delightful aroma of fried chicken drifting on the hot summer air. It was a clear indication Mom was busy in the kitchen cooking the evening meal. I jumped over the white picket fence in my haste to tell everyone.

“How’d the tryouts go, son?” Dad called out.

“I made the team! I’m going to be first-string halfback,” I shouted, even though the results must have been clearly written all over my smiling face.

Hearing the good news, Dad ruffled my hair and wrapped his arms around me.

“Now, that calls for a celebration! If I ever heard a good reason for a steak dinner, this has got to be it. I’ll bet Ma and Peg will be happy for a day off cooking,” Dad exclaimed as he playfully punched me on the shoulder.

Inside the house, my sister, Peg, was setting the table. Mom carried out platters of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and giblet gravy. The dinner turned out to be a grand family event. Mom hugged me and praised me for making the team.

Sis only glared in my direction. I was so excited I hardly noticed her reaction. She did manage to smile when she heard about going out for a steak dinner. At least she wouldn’t have to fix dinner and wash dishes for a change. I was too wrapped up in the moment to care what Peg thought, and I basked in the warm glow of my parents’ pride.

“It sure sounds like your parents were happy, but why was your sister acting so strange?” queried Amy.

“At the time I was not sure. I never really found out what her problem was, but I did get some insight later,” Paul replied.

The next day after practice, as I was heading for the shower room, I saw my family at the practice field, waiting.

“You go hurry up and get cleaned up so we can all go out for that steak dinner,” Dad shouted. Peg was leaning against the car. She had just finished cheer team practice and still had her uniform on. Her face was distorted in an expression of bored disdain. She did not seem to be very happy. At the time I really could not understand why she could be upset.

She should be glad she did not have to cook and do dishes for a change. After all, the dinner out was because I made the football team. I never considered the fact that Peg never got a special dinner when she became the head cheerleader. No one rewarded her when she got straight A’s on her report card. Peg was going to graduate soon, yet all she saw in her future was living a life like her mother. I guess Peg was not excited about that prospect, and it definitely wasn’t her American dream.

I was really only interested in me. Like most boys, my age, the universe revolved around me. Everything I did was more important than anything Sis did. This attitude was reflected by the rest of my family. Dad wanted me to achieve everything he failed to achieve, and Mom seemed delighted I was able to fulfill Dad’s expectations. They were more interested in what I did than anything Peg was doing.

Being young, I had no idea why things were the way they were. I was just happy to be the one getting all the attention. It really was not my fault Peg was just a girl. It was just the way things were in my home. I clearly remember how Peg sat at the table wishing she were somewhere else. With bored detachment she listened once again to all the old stories.

“Well, now I can see why your sister was acting like she did. Paul, you and your entire family were just so chauvinistic! I guess it was the norm back then. I remember my parents were very conservative, and Mom was a stay-at-home mother. I am sure glad they did not treat me like your sister was treated,” Amy said.

“Yeah, you know, at the time I never noticed. It was just the way things were. So I never gave it much thought. When you said your mother was a stay-at-home mom, and it made you feel safe, I thought about how I always felt secure in my home. Mom and Dad were always there for me. I must have just taken Mom being at home for granted,” Paul acknowledged. He then continued.

During the dinner, all the old stories were retold.

“Hell, Paul, I got you a football on your first birthday. I even arranged with the school to hold you back from attending kindergarten for a year,” Dad recounted.

Dad did everything to help me become a football player. The late start in school, combined with my poor performance in sixth grade, resulted in me having to make a second attempt to advance to junior high, made me the oldest freshman in high school.

Dad’s strategy paid off. I was stronger and taller than the other kids in class. I was over six feet tall, strong as a bear, and loved to run. The fact that I was two years older than my classmates, combined with all the hours spent working out with the set of weights Dad bought for me when I was ten years old, were major contributing factors.

On weekends, Dad spent hours with me in the backyard, tossing the football. Yes, for Dad, football was the only path to success. I was really happy he helped me get into shape to make the team. After all, everyone knew you had to have a car and be a football star to score with the girls.

“I know what you’re saying. I remember the guys on the football team. They all thought they were something special, like they were God’s gift to women. I never went out with them. For that matter, I never had any contact with anyone on the team,” Amy commented.

“Yeah, I bet you were one of those ‘bookworm’ types, always lugging a stack of books. I saw a few girls at school who were too busy learning to have a good time, but they never showed any interest in football, so I was not attracted to them,” Paul replied.

In small towns, where everyone knows everyone, it was only natural to be good friends with all the members of the football team. When I was in grade school, I liked to hang out at the practice field, watching the older guys work out. I was eager to learn whatever I could to become a better player. Sometimes they would let me play when they needed an extra body. With this background it was really easy to fit in with the other team members. By the time I was a full member of the team, it did not feel much different. All my friends were happy I made the team and did not haze me like they did the other newbie’s.

My physical size and speed caught the attention of the head coach. My performance was so good that I was moved up to the varsity team. I earned my sports letter the first year. The fact Dad used his position to get me a car was a big boost to my popularity. I was invited to all the parties with the team.

At first I was concerned about my grades. All my teammates made it clear, class -work was for nerds. “Boy, you don’t want to look like one of those bookworms. We’re on the team; we don’t need to do no homework. Only work we do is work out on the practice field, and maybe some workout with the girls,” Kent, one of my teammates, explained.

The coach saw to it we all got passing grades, regardless of how poorly we performed academically. I learned that if you were good in sports, you did not have to be a rocket scientist. It was clear education did not result in success. Football, baseball, basketball, and even tennis and golf players all earned a lot of money, and money was the true measure of success.

No, it did not take much mental capacity to figure out that spending time on the practice field was more beneficial than spending time in study hall. To me, school was just a long football game with parties.

I learned a lot more than just football moves from my teammates. They were the source of most of my sex education. From listening to the locker-room stories, I learned the names of all the girls who were eager to “please.” After all, I was a jock, one of the football team members.

The term “jock” had multiple meanings in small Texas towns. Not all were sports-related, and a lot of them were not favorable. A jock in high school was mostly a term applied to the guys who felt women were put on earth for their personal pleasure, and that really summed up my outlook on life. This outlook was one reason I fit in so well with the other team members.

As one of the jocks, I spent most of my time hanging out with my teammates. We all laughed at the bookworms, who spent all their spare time studying. The only TV I watched was sports and the adventure movies where the good guys all sort of looked like me. They always got the best-looking girls, and they would always win. The evening news programs bored me, and I only read the sports pages of the local newspaper. The front page was just full of boring news items. I never read about segregation or race riots.

In the small town I lived in, there was no problem with segregation or race riots, as there were only whites. Oh, my school did play against a few schools that were mostly black. During the games we never had any problems. They were just a team to be beaten. After the game was a different story. The coaches of both teams were careful to get their players back on the bus before anyone could start a fight. There were a few times when this tactic did not work out.

Fortunately, nothing more than busted lips and black eyes resulted. The son of the police chief was on the team, so the police were never called. Thus, the clashes were never formally reported. The coach did not make an issue of the fights, so no one on the team thought much about it. Lots of other things were more important to me, and at the top of the list was sex. I was eager to find out about all the fun my buddies talked about. I was tired of just listening to the older guys brag about their conquests and was rearing to get some action for myself.

I was not really surprised to hear the team had a list of the girls known to “put out.” Each girl on the list was given a rating, and all of the cheerleaders were on the list. What really surprised me was finding out my sister was very highly rated on the naughty-girl list.

I was shocked, but at the same time I felt relieved. At least she would not be able to tattle on me if I went out with one of the cheerleaders and was lucky enough to score. Now I knew why she was so popular and was always getting asked out to movies and parties. One day, I confronted Peg with what I learned about her extracurricular activities; she only laughed at me.

“God, you are such a little naïve child,” she replied. “You can’t tell Mom anything she doesn’t already know. Way back when I had my first period, Mom had the ‘mother-daughter conversation’ with me. She told me since I paid the price of womanhood, I might as well learn to enjoy the thrill of sex. She got me a pack of condoms and warned me to make sure to use them every time. Mom made it clear she enjoyed an active sex life when she was in school. She told me I was the result of an equipment malfunction (condom broke) on prom night. Mom even let me in on a much darker family secret. I remember Peg smirking when she said, ‘but you will have to let her tell you, because she made me swear to never talk about it.’” Peg asserted while she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

Much later I learned that Mom had, in fact, sabotaged the condom in order to get pregnant. She purposely punctured the condom in order to force her lover into an early teenage marriage. Mom set a trap to keep Dad from leaving her! It was her secret plan to prevent him from going away to college.

Peg continued in a mocking tone, “Paul, if you did more reading, you might find a book called Peyton Place. When I read it, I thought it might be about this little town. The only question I have is, when are you going to let Sally show how much she likes you? She has been begging me for months to hook her up with you.”

At the time I really did not expect this. This was something I never even considered.

“Goodness, Paul, your family sure was not like mine. Mother could hardly mention the word ‘sex,’” Amy gasped.

“I must say, there were thing I was shocked to learn about,” Paul confided.

As a young boy, I never thought about my sister having sex with my friends. Like most children, I never thought of Sis or my parents as being sexually active. This was way too much information for me to completely comprehend. Sis taunting me with the disclosure of a family secret, and then not letting me know what it was, drove me crazy. I wanted to get all the details about this family secret, but Peg never did divulge any details of the secret no matter how much I tried to get her to reveal the truth.

Over the years the appeal of comic books gave way to the temptations of the books kept in the back of the magazine store. Like most of the boys my age, I secretly viewed the centerfold of Playboy frequently. I soon found there were other magazines offering even more to see than Playboy. On hot summer evenings, my little group of buddies could be found huddled in the back of the bookstore, drinking beer and talking trash about what we did or were planning to do. The fact that the police chief’s son was on the team and in the group helped a lot.

In junior high I attended the sock hops and even kissed a few of my dates. As much as I tried, I never really got past second base, and I really was not sure what hitting a “home run” really implied. The sock hops of junior high were now just history. The stories told in the locker room made me eager to move on to bigger and better games. The sudden surge of hormones racing through my rapidly maturing body brought new sensations.

The girls in high school were all developing curves and lumps in all the right places, making them appear more like women. Some of them even resembled the women portrayed in Playboy. I found, much to my embarrassment, my sexual arousal often became all too visible, pressing against the fly of my jeans. Often, this state of arousal resulted in giggles from the girls as they walked by.

After hearing about all the wild parties the older team members were going to, I was very eager to become more involved. But this was all still new territory for me, and I was not sure how to get started. Before long I decided to take Sis up on her offer to hook me up with Sally. I knew I was ready for the big score. Sally could be just the start of something big.

Amy sighed out loud, and looked off into the distance before she said, “Gee, Paul, you don’t seem to be that kind of guy. I remember in my school, the football players were all just like the way you describe yourself.”

Paul shook his head in sadness. He feared his frankness offended Amy, and now he was sure this conversation was going to end badly, just as all of his other conversations with women he cared about. Desperate to regain Amy’s trust, Paul quickly pointed out, “I was just a young kid driven by wild hormones and peer pressure. I guess, over time, I did grow up. I hope you will listen to the rest of the story before you give up on me.”

“Oh, Paul, I do want to hear all about you and your life experiences. I must admit, you were really not the type of guy I would have dated when I was in school,” Amy confessed.

“Well I hope you can understand how peer pressure can take control of a boy eager to fit in,” Paul said.

The older guys were always eager to brag about their latest conquests. They would go into great detail of who, what, when, and where they engaged in sex. Even Dad often made comments about playing the field and not getting tied down to just one “filly.” After all, boys will be boys until fatherhood forces them to become men. In fact, Dad handed me a pack of condoms.

“Now you better use them right, and don’t get no gal knocked up and ruin your future,” he warned. At the time I did not realize he might be speaking from personal experience.

I went glibly out on a quest (perhaps not as virtuously as Don Quixote) to get laid, armed only with the expert locker-room knowledge and a pack of condoms, my latex shields for protection.

Sis was true to her word, and she hooked me up with Sally. I never expected Sally to be so willing to please. Before the night was over, it was very clear the only virgin in the car was me. Sally blew a lot more than my mind that night. She knew all the possible positions in the backseat of a car and gregariously shared her knowledge.

I found Sally knew a lot more about the theory of, and the practical application of, sexual activity than I thought was possible. The next day I tried desperately to avoid Sis. I was sure Sally gave a vivid account of our sordid exploration of the forbidden fruit. I did notice Peg was wearing a smile to rival a chaser cat.

In the next few weeks, Sally did much to further my sex education, and I was a most eager student. It did not take very long for the newness to wear off, and both of us moved on to the next conquest.

“OK, enough about me for now. It’s your turn to let me know more about what your childhood was like, Amy. I hope what I have revealed so for is not boring you or, even worse, making you change your mind about me. Please remember I was just a young punk back then,” Paul said as he fidgeted with some firewood.

“I must say I am somewhat shocked about how sexually active you were. From what you told me; it sounds like your entire family were nowhere near as conservative about sex as mine. This is why I wanted to take time to learn about your past, to better understand what went into your development and made you the person you are today,” said Amy.

“OK, Paul, continue with your life’s story while we clean the fish and get dinner cooking,” Amy prodded while she gathered the pots and pans to fix their meal.

“Well, after my sister’s revelations about her sex life, it was clear I really needed to do some growing up,” Paul began.

Being a big man on campus with a car made it easy for me to indulge in the quest for sexual gratification. I could see high school was going to be a lot of fun. I found there were a lot of girls I had never considered approachable who were eager to go out for a ride, or even better, to park on make-out lane.

Dating girls was more fun than hanging out with my buddies to drink beer. I usually had a date with a girl interested in parking in the passion pit of the local drive-in to “view” the movie through steamed-up windows while practicing the horizontal tango on the backseat of my convertible.

During the day I was busy in the gym, working out to get in shape for the next game. My night life kept me busy. I was not very interested in listening to the news and did not have much time for studying or learning about current events. If I didn’t have a date, I would put on my big Stetson hat, slip on my snakeskin “shit kickers,” and hang out with my buddies. When we listened to the radio, it was always the local country and western station.

I would hang out with my circle of friends drinking beer, and listening to Willie Nelson, Hank Snow, and Charlie Pride. Sometimes we would get together and cruise Main Street. If not cruising Main, we could be found at the local drive-in theater on buck night, watching Godzilla and Co., with the trunk of my car filled with ice and beer—but only if I was not out with a girl.

For me there were no school years, only football seasons and parties. Life went on in the usual small-town fashion. Old people died. New people moved in. There was not much happening in that small town to make me stop or take notice.

One morning the town was shaken from its quiet slumber. I was walking out of the school cafeteria when I saw a group of police cars pulled up in front of the school admin office. I ran along with the other curious onlookers to see what was going on. Two big policemen stood blocking the doorway, warning everyone to stay back.

Everyone was talking, and making wild guesses and suggestions about what could be so important to require the police. My sister pushed her way to stand next to me. “Paul, do you know what is going on?” Peg asked in a whisper.

“Hell, no! I just got here myself. I thought it might be about some fight, but I can’t tell. Something is going on in the building, but I can’t see,” I snapped back at her as I stretched and strained to see what was going on.

Long minutes passed, and the crowd grew bigger. Suddenly a Texas Ranger opened the main door and held it wide open as two other officers escorted a handcuffed woman out. It was Mrs. Gant, one of the English teachers. Jeers and catcalls could be heard as she was paraded past the gathered throng.

“Wow! What the hell did she do to have the Texas Rangers come get her out of school?” I exclaimed.

My sister just smirked and let out a self-satisfied laugh.

“So it must be true,” Peg said. “I heard some of the girls talking about Mrs. Gant. There are some rumors about her taking one of her male students on special field trips to Austin to attend seminars, but I never thought they were true,” she added.

Later, during the evening news, details of the event were released. The speculation spread by the students turned out to be nowhere near as bad as the actual charges brought against Mrs. Gant.

“Today Texas Rangers arrested Mrs. Vivian Gant, a thirty-seven-year-old local schoolteacher. Mrs. Gant is married and has two children, ages seven and five. She was removed from the school in handcuffs and charged with having a sexual relationship with a boy in her class. More charges are sure to follow as details are learned,” the local news anchor proclaimed as video of the arrest was shown.

Peg was surprised sex was involved. She knew Mrs. Gant personally and never thought she could be involved sexually with one of her students. Mrs. Gant was rather quiet and reserved. She never dressed flashy and certainly did not look very sexy. Soon everyone was talking about the scandal. The name of the boy involved was not given out by the police, but soon everyone knew who he was. Peg knew the guy who was the object of the investigation, but not very well.

The fact Mrs. Gant was accused of sexually molesting this particular boy made it all the more surprising. He was not one of the best-looking boys in school. He was not one of the “super studs” on the football team. He was thin, shy, and very quiet. No one ever thought about what secrets Mrs. Gant might be keeping, what her home life was like, or why she was attracted to this boy.

All the public knew was Mrs. Gant was sentenced to five years in jail. The boy and his family were forced to move to another town. The Gant saga faded away into small-town history, buried under a mountain of silence and an ocean of averted eyes. No one wanted to know the real story, because it might be too much like their own lives.

I was not sure what to think about all the excitement. The thought of having sex with an older woman sort of appealed to me, but I was not sure if a schoolteacher would turn me on. I had English class with Mrs. Gant, but I never got aroused watching her write on the chalkboard.

I did not think Mrs. Gant was a very hot-looking woman. She was in her thirties. If she had a great body, she was careful to dress in a fashion to conceal it, and revealed as little of her physique as possible.

Maybe this kid was not having much luck with the girls his age. Maybe he was not so shy after all. Maybe there were things about the situation no one really knew or understood.

I thought maybe my sister was right about this town being like that book Peyton Place. This was just one more puzzling situation. All I knew was that none of my buddies would even think of giving Mrs. Gant a ride.

Even a small town can’t keep a scandal alive for long. The story of the Gant scandal died in time, mostly because no one really knew or cared about the people involved. Football season was in full swing, and football overshadowed everything. I was too busy playing football and riding the glory of being a part of a winning team to worry about the sordid saga of Mrs. Gant and her lover. Before every game, Dad would remind me to do my best because the college scouts would be watching every game to see whom they wanted to draft for their teams.

The first two years burned past in a whirlwind of hard-fought football games and parties. Dad pointed out that I was in the last year of school now, and I needed to make a good impression on the scouts to get drafted by a good university. So every game I did my best, because I wanted to make Dad proud.

I played every game hard, but each game took its toll. Seems like I hurt all over, but I was afraid to say anything. I did not want to have Dad think I was a wimp. Dad insisted it was all part of the sport and was quick to point out, “No pain, no gain. If you keep in top shape, you can avoid injury,” That was his favorite quote.

“Paul, your father sure pushed you hard. Seems like he was using you to gain the fame he never got,” Amy said thoughtfully.

Paul stopped to consider Amy’s point before he replied, “I think you hit the nail on the head. I was one of the stars on the team, and that sure made Dad proud.”

I progressed through the school system like greased lightning, because jocks never took tests. I was one of the lucky ones. I managed to avoid getting hurt. Two of my best friends were not so fortunate and were dropped from the team because of injuries. Bret broke his knee, and Kent suffered a broken hip. Shamelessly, I taunted Bret and Kent, calling then names like “Hop along” or “Gimpy,” along with the rest of the team. It really was sad to watch them limp and hobble through the hallways.

“There, but for the grace of God, go I,” said the player replacing Bret as he watched his former teammate struggle down the hall.

I was just one of the jocks; I never showed any outward signs of remorse for taunting my friends. That was just the way things were in high school. I only shook my head in sadness when I thought about my friends and their sudden misfortune. The sight of them hobbling through school was an image that haunts me to this day. It was just one vivid example of how a dream can turn into a nightmare. At the time I swore it would never happen to me.

As the years passed, the small town showed signs of change. New buildings in the area filled the school with new students from out of town. The oil fields prospered and served as a major attraction to people seeking to improve their lives. With this sudden influx of new families, it was only natural that the number of attractive girls in high school would increase.

Sue, one of the new girls in class, caught my eye. Her parents had just moved into one of the new homes on the outskirts of town. She was tall and slender with extremely long, shapely legs. Her shoulder-length, blond hair curled under, and it swayed ever so gently as she walked through the halls. I thought she looked like a blond Jackie Kennedy and did not waste any time introducing myself.

I was eager to be the first member of the team to check her out and was quick to ask her to the upcoming dance that would be held after the homecoming game. I was excited about being the first one on the team to make a score on her. I no longer cared if she might be a virgin. In all my sexual conquests, I only encountered one of those, and the experience was one I was not eager to repeat. In preparation for the main event, I spent a lot of time with her. There was only one more week until the homecoming game. I worked as hard preparing for Sue as I did for the game.

I always sat next to Sue in the cafeteria to let everyone know she was mine. I remember one warm, sunny afternoon; it was Friday, November twenty-second, 1963, just another lazy day in late November. Lunch break was over. The stamped of students heading for their next class was about to begin. The noise of all the students moving chairs and talking to each other as they headed to their next classes almost drowned out the voice of the principal on the PA system: “President John F. Kennedy was shot while riding in a presidential motorcade in Dallas, Texas, at twelve thirty p.m.”

Everyone stopped walking. Some dropped back into their chairs, and others just stood in frozen disbelief. The voice on the PA system droned on, giving the few details known at the time. The once-noisy room was deathly quiet. All ears were trained on the PA. Then suddenly, the silence was broken by a voice choked up with overwhelming emotion: “We have just received confirmation—President John F. Kennedy is dead…” The voice trailed off in a sobbing gasp.

I fell into a chair. Sue slumped next to me. She was crying, and her entire body quaked as her tears poured down her cheeks. I could do nothing except put my arm around her. I was glad she could not see the tears running from my eyes. That is how we spent the next few minutes until the PA system cracked and sputtered with a voice choked with grief and sorrow. “The rest of the school day is suspended. Please return to your homes. We hope to resume classes on Monday, but all extracurricular activities are suspended until further notice. The homecoming game will be postponed, and a new date will be announced later,” was the last statement made.

I never paid much attention to politics. I was not even sure what political party Dad supported. When I got home, I was confronted with a sight I never thought possible. I never saw Dad cry until that day. This surprised me, because I knew Dad was not a big fan of Kennedy’s. It was just another sign of how disturbing the news was and what a terrible shock it was to everyone. The fact the dastardly deed was committed in Dallas, deep in the heart of Texas, made the tragedy all the more disgusting.

“OK, now it’s your turn. Do you remember what you were doing on that fateful day?” Paul inquired.