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So it wasn't all that bad
Where I grew up, the inevitable always happened the day after Labor Day, making that the most dreaded "holiday" on the calendar.
Of course, we were mostly bored out of our minds by the time September rolled around, but sitting around trying to figure out something to do seemed to beat the heck out of sitting in class.
And of course, many of us would go back to school in a second, if we could. Sitting in class just might sound preferable to sitting at work.
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I always looked forward to showing off my new clothes. Don't take that the wrong way. I've never had a lick of fashion sense.
Rather, I'd wear the various rock 'n roll-themed T-shirts I'd picked up during the summer. That was long before mainstream department stores carried full lines of Hendrix and Zeppelin shirts. You'd have to scour for independent retailers to find the really cool ones.
Starting a new year of school also meant you were one year closer to finishing, especially when you got to high school. I remember the distinct feeling on the first day of my sophomore year of seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, and somehow that made the whole classroom experience much more easier to endure.
I liked renewing certain friendships with people I hadn't seen all summer, especially after hanging out with the same bunch for two-and-a-half months straight. Nothing against those guys: I'm sure they felt the same about me.
Speaking of friendships, a certain group of classmates held a growing appeal each year.
I distinctly recall when a girl named Gretchen moved to our neighborhood midway through sixth grade. Every one of us boys took a look at her and started to think, 'Hey, those girls aren't so bad!'
Well, you know how that stuff works. Each year, we'd look forward to seeing what the young ladies looked like compared with the previous spring. And we'd hope to work up the courage to at least talk to them.
I finally worked up the courage to ask the aforementioned Gretchen on a date. We went to see "The Omen," a horror film that featured a decapitation scene that was about as graphic as it got in 1976.
That's not quite the foundation upon which romances are built.
But even though that didn't work out, I still had the opportunity to converse with her and plenty of other young ladies in school.
And sometimes that was enough incentive to want to go back.
Online editor Harry Funk can be reached at hfunk@observer-reporter.com.
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