Cleaning out some old trunks on Mom's back porch tonight and I came across a treasure trove of stuff from high school, including the following essay which, sans typos, I will post verbatim. I think this is circa 1974, Dottie Davey's Creative Writing Class at Madison High School.
Hmmm... Obviously once a nut, always a nut. You will not be surprised to learn that my undergrad. major in college was anthropology.
You know, objectively speaking, the life we lead as American teenagers must be quite a strange one, if we look at it from the angle of one who hasn't been brought up in the middle of it. Let's look at it from the viewpoint of someone who's never heard the least thing about it...say, a rather educated pygmy from the African interior. Here's what he might relate to his companions when he returns to the safe quiet world of the jungle, where all one has to worry about are things like fighting off spastic baboons, whether the Lion Sleeps Tonight or if he suffers from indigestion and is particularly grumpy, and when the next crop of tse-tse flies is due in.
The life of the American Young person is a strange one indeed. Rather than sensibly going from childhood straight into adulthood as we do, they waste their time in a long and unprofitable period known as their teens. Much of this time is spent in a building which is a place of education. While I never saw any effort made to teach them the practical things which they ought to be taught, such as how to make a knife or fight off a spastic baboon, they have learned to sue a weapon which, though not often deadly, does tend to stun the victim: the spitwad. Another method of self defense --or perhaps of agitation--is concealed in the spiral notebooks the students carry --the metal spirals have ends which are capable of snagging one's sweater --or one's skin. Students are also taught chants, particularly how to inform another student of what one's mother was. These chants are often recited before lockers that refuse to open, or overly active water fountains which tend to give one a bath rather than a drink. The personage who runs this place of education must be none other than a god, because each morning his voice floats into the rooms over thin air, informing the students and teachers of what is expected of them during the day. At this time, several students are often called to this god's place of rest, known as "the Office." It must be a terrible place, because commands to report there are usually met with wide-eyed stares, and mutters of "what did I do now?"
There is one period in which the students' endurance is tested, for they are forced to consume some rather dubious looking substances in a chamber called the Cafeteria. Teachers stand guard by the door, and woe to he who gags.
Schools are also the location of a strange ritual that took place every seven days or so while I was there. These took place in the evening, in a large chamber known as the Gym, lined to the rafters with students thirsting for the sight of blood. In the center of the Gym, the warriors from two competing schools did battle in scanty uniforms. In the game called basketball, the object seemed to be how many eyes one could gouge out while attempting to distract opponents with what looked like the gallstone of an elephant. Priestesses as scantily clad as the players led the fans in chants to urge the teams on. Food and drink was sold by itinerant peddlers at stands outside the gym, and a group of people with strange instruments sat off to one side playing music with which to bring out the hunting instincts in the players. One that for some unknown reason stands out in my mind was entitled "Beat-A-Cheetah."
The courtship ritual is a long drawn out process lasting months and often years. It begins with the youth asking a girl to "the Game" (basketball, remember?). Sometimes this question differs slightly - the most unusual one was "Wanna go to my place and listen to my Yamaha?" which must be some strange exotic species of caged bird -- but the most important thing about the question is the insinuation behind it--whether the girl desires her suitor's company or not. If not, she advises him to seek someone else's attention by gently telling him "stick it in your ear." While not following her instructions to the letter, he usually takes the hint. If he does prove acceptable to her, they go off and exchange vital information about one another, such as what color socks he wears and what that funny red mark is on her neck (she usually explains that she ran into a high and vicious doorknob). They also journey to such diverse places as the Drive In, a place specially designed for what they call "necking" and "making out" with larger-than-life figures demonstrating just what to do. While I never had the opportunity to visit one of these drive ins, it is obvious that they are most awesome training places to prepare for what will be expected of them later in life. I never learned just what "making out" meant but "necking" obviously involves our brother the giraffe.
I would like to set down more, but I think I hear a spastic baboon in the distance.
So....if your daughter or granddaughter sounds like this now, in 35 years she could be me. Flee while you can.....
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