As hazy as my memory may be on that fact, there are a couple of things I certainly do remember about that fantastic chorus production. Like the fact that Josh Harenberg was John Henry, the man who could
- John Henry was a man
John Henry long and lean
John Henry was the man who could
Beat the machine!
Josh got to sing those lines, which were the coolest lines in the whole play because of that strong drum beat at the end of the third line. At that point, we’d all stomp our feet, and the bam would be really pronounced and very cool. And Josh was the star of that song, with his little checkered neckerchief and conductor’s hat.
So here's why I’m trying to figure that obscure, meaningless fact out: last Saturday I opened up my email to find that Pam Turner had "friended" me on Facebook.
I think that with the exception of my parents, Pam Turner is the person in the world who I have known the longest. I was trying to remember when exactly I met her, but I couldn’t pinpoint it. I got back as far as fourth grade choir with Mrs. Owens. For some reason, in fourth grade choir we sang an exorbitant amount of songs about Jewish festival customs (Spin the dreidel, light the menorah). But other than those memories, I couldn’t go back much further.
The point is I’ve known Pam for a really long time. I have yearbooks signed by her dating back to 1985. I rode the bus with her for 12 years. I got confirmed with her. Pam and I have been through a lot. It’s funny how as we reflect on our lives, there are certain moments that stand out like freeze frames. Sometimes, those moments aren’t even that important, in retrospect. But somehow, they got stuck in your mind, and become some of the most important memories of your life.
It was a warm April day in 1990. I was an 8th grader at Herman K. Ankeney Junior High School. After the final bell of the day rang, I exited my seventh period class, which was English with Mary Sue Gardetto. To this day, I still consider Mrs. Gardetto the finest teacher I’ve ever had in my entire life. But as great as she may have been, she was no match for a Friday afternoon. I bolted out of class and hurried to my locker. I hastily undid my lock, grabbed my math book and The Diary of Anne Frank (which I was already behind in), and reached for my new jacket.
And I smiled as I put on my new Nike windbreaker.
For some reason, clothes always were of exaggerated importance in junior high. I suppose it was because when you’re in junior high, you don’t really know who you are, so everyone relies even more on external appearances because things internal were changing too rapidly. I don’t know. But the bottom line was that this was the coolest thing I owned. It was a purple, hot pink and white Nike windbreaker that my dad had bought me. I didn't own many things that were really cool, but I loved that jacket. It had the Nike swoosh symbol on the right side. It was, by far, my favorite article of clothing.
I filed out of the gray tiled main exit of the school, and waited underneath the giant concrete overhang for my bus to come. Finally, bus 42 rolled up, and I waited in the long line to get on. The windows had all been snapped down by the time I got on, and the seats were mostly filled. I slowly made my way to the back of the bus. There was one speaker in the back corner of the bus. I even remember the song that was playing. It was Bell Biv Devoe's "Poison."
I remember because Jason, a hotshot ninth grader who played basketball, was singing along to the words. Jason. Went by the name of Jay. In my life, I have yet to encounter a person who thought more of himself than Jay did. And he let everyone know – in no uncertain terms – how great he was. Most of the time, he accomplished this by putting other people down. Every day, on the way home from school, he'd unleash some foul tirade against some poor soul, for whatever reason it might be. He was like a vicious Jay Leno back there, perched at the back of the bus on the seat reserved for only the coolest of the cool.
The only mode of survival was to come underneath his radar. To not call attention to yourself. This was easy for most people. But not me. If there's one thing that will get you noticed in junior high, it's being fat. And I was fat. That alone was enough to bring the insults and a tireless inundation of fat jokes.
There was another problem, though. As I got on the bus, I noticed that Jason was wearing the exact same jacket as me. Of all the jackets in the world, we'd bought the same one.
I looked for a seat, but most of the front ones were already filled. I was already near the rear wheels, when Jason saw me. I watched his face turn from his braces-laden grin to a sneer instantly as he recognized his stylish jacket on the fat kid from the 8th grade.
"No good can come of this," I thought to myself as I quickly looked around for a seat. I couldn't find one. I felt as though the entire world was looking at me.
"Hey, Jay, he's got your jacket," someone said. Suddenly, I knew my worst fears were going to be realized. I was standing in the middle of the bus, and I might as well have been wearing a bulls eye.
"Hey, fat ass, why you wearing my jacket?" Jason jeered.
The bus erupted in laughter and I felt my stomach sink. I just stood there, my book bag hanging from my limp arm. I wanted to curl up and die. Calling attention to yourself in junior high was bad enough, but getting negative attention was the absolute worst. I looked around frantically for a place to sit.
"I didn’t know beached whales needed jackets," Jason said, as the bus once again rang with laughter.
"My jacket is Nike," he continued. "Tieche’s is made by Ace Parachute company."
I looked around in almost desperation, trying to find a place to hide from the glares. Suddenly, I looked down at an empty seat in front of me. It hadn't been there before, I didn't think. But that was only because Pam hadn't scooted over.
"Sit here," Pam said to me.
I sat down as Jay's monologue continued. Epithet after epithet rained down as I ducked my head and tried to melt into the seat. Another outburst of laughter came from the back of the bus at my expense. My cheeks burned hot with shame.
I was utterly humiliated. I looked over at Pam. I knew her from church. She and I were in Mr. Duke's 8th grade science class together (my, how that man loved feldspar). We knew each other, which made this incident even that much more difficult. I looked at her as if to say, "I'm sorry you have to sit with me." I knew what it was like to be associated in any way with the object of Jason’s derisive comments.
But when I looked at Pam, I didn't see any embarrassment in her face. She looked at me, and whispered, so that only I could hear.
"Don't listen to them, David."
Pam was one of the popular kids. She ran around with the cheerleaders and the popular crowd. I didn't. I was one of the geeks who didn't really belong anywhere. I certainly wasn't on the same rung of the social ladder. And yet, she still said that to me.
"Don't listen to them, David."
She had done the unthinkable in junior-high terms. She had been nice to the fat kid who was being made fun of by Jason.
Pam probably doesn’t even remember that moment. But for me, it is forever emblazoned on my memory. I have thought about it countless times in my life, and each time, it reminds me of how I felt at that moment, and what a few simple words did to my wounded spirit. Beneath the torrents of insults, I found refuge in her kind words.
Why do I remember that? Well, I guess when you're fat, you remember who was nice to you when you were fat because you know that those people were genuinely kind. I remember those people vividly because it's a short list. Pam and Brad Grimm and Chuck Grissom. Those three were, and always will be, heroes to me.
I don't know if I have ever made mention of this to anyone. Partially because it's not a moment I want to share. For a long while, it was a moment I wanted to keep to myself. It'd be impossible to explain the significance of it to anyone, anyway.
But I cherish that memory. In fact, that seemingly insignificant moment on a yellow elementary bus on that spring day was one of the kindest things that anyone has ever done for me in my life.
I've always felt – and probably always will feel – a loyalty toward Pam because of that one moment. She showed her true character in that moment – and it was a character that is rare in this world. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that behind that super-pretty, really popular girl was a person that wasn't stuck up or swept away by the fame of fleeting high school glory like so many others. It was a person who said to a sad, fat kid.
"Don’t listen to them."
I only hope that at some point in my life, I can say words to someone that are half that kind.
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