Part V: Snakes – (Chapter 82)

My wanderlust roars to life in English class.

Instead of discussing The Scarlet Letter, Mr. Kirk decides to show us home movies of last summer’s Love-In at Riverside Park.

The same Love-In Nana and Pappa said “no” to, so this is the next best thing, and the irony doesn’t escape me, and I’m thinking, what-would-the-old-fogies-think-if-they-found-out-Mr.-Kirk-was-devoting-precious-class-time-to-the-the-THE-Summer-of-Love?

The Sioux City event isn’t exactly a hotbed of free love and easy drugs like in San Francisco and L.A., but it’s better than nothing.

Mr. Kirk’s film clips of pseudo hippies ‒ with their long shiny hair, beads, sandals, bells, their sleek bodies running and leaping like deer, enjoying the clear, sunny day at Riverside Park ‒ awaken a hunger, a jealousy in me ‒ I wanted so much to be there. I BELONGED there, for God’s sake.

The Summer of Love spoke my language, and I had to stay in my room because Nana and Pappa feared I’d go sneaking off to Riverside Park if they let me out of their sight –

(They were right).

AND I’M SO MAD I COULD SPIT, AND I VOW, “SOMEDAY....”

I recognize some of my classmates in the film, waving and whooping it up for Mr. Kirk’s camera, acting wild and uninhibited.

But I know better.

These are the rich kids who, after their Summer Day of Love, sped home in their Corvettes to their manicured backyards and swimming pools to drink beer under the noses of their parents who nodded with tacit approval because…

Thank-God-my-kid-isn’t-doing-LSD-or-marijuana.

These are the kids who, after graduating from college, will stay in Sioux City, marry their prom dates, take over the family businesses, have three-plus kids, go to Mass every Sunday, join AA, and chair and co-chair the class reunion committee.

Mr. Kirk would not be quite as fortunate.

Eleven years later, he would be fired on suspicion of homosexuality.

Would any of these cool kids mugging for Mr. Kirk’s camera stand up for him, support him when he needed them most?

For now, he’s our cool English teacher, the most popular teacher in school, and anyone lucky enough to be warming a seat in Room 101 is envied and revered, and fourth period, before lunch, is best of all because Mr. Kirk thinks we’re cool, too, and allows us get away with all kinds of crap ‒ like bringing Seventeen Magazine to class.

I especially love Mr. Kirk because, unlike most of my other teachers, he doesn’t think I’m incredibly stupid just because I read Cliff Notes instead of the real books.

Funny thing, though: by the end of the year, I will be reading real books, and I’m not sure why my sudden interest in literature, but I find myself enjoying Salinger, Steinbeck, Hemingway, even Frost.

I love Mr. Kirk because he doesn’t give two diddly squats about my not being much of anything ‒ not a cheerleader, thespian, or class officer.

I don’t get the feeling he’s making fun of my looks or talking about my fat in the faculty lounge. I don’t care that Mr. Kirk, with his black horned-rimmed glasses on heart-shaped face, plastic pen holder in shirt pocket, buzz haircut, pink shirts exposing bony elbows, and skinny frame, looks like the class nerd.

I just care that he has tapped into something important to me.

The plan that will change the course of my life forever comes to me as the Love-In pictures flash on the movie screen.

As the litany of promises scroll by, I vow:

I’ll be good until graduation.

I’ll drink beer only at Aunt Sal’s.

I won’t pay Richie, Sal’s delinquent neighbor, to buy me six-packs, and I’ll spend less time at Chrissy’s house (her mom hates me and keeps me in constant hot water at home).

I’ll make my bed, do the dishes every night without complaining, go to the driving range with Pappa, go to the dog track but only to make mind-bets, and play Bingo just once a week.

I won’t needle Nana about the facts of life.

I won’t go to Riverside with Aunt Sal and her friend Babe to play the illegal slots.

I won’t drag Margo, my demure nine-year-old cousin, down to the W. 7th Street lounges just so I can sell more school candy bars than any of my friends.

I’ll give up candy and beer for Lent, I’ll go to Mass every Sunday and Holy Day, take Holy Communion at every Mass, Confession once a week (whether I need it or not).

I’ll study harder, I won’t smoke in the girl’s bathroom, if I chew gum in class, I’ll do it quietly, I won’t crack my knuckles in class, if I hook out of school, I’ll do it with Nana’s signature on my excuse card.

I won’t do anything that’ll land me in detention.

Nana and Pappa will be SO surprised at their changed child, but…

Once the ink’s dry on my high school diploma,

ALL BETS ARE OFF!