Years of My Life, 1957

A Journey from 1944 to … Now

1957

Fifty-seven—my grade now was finally eight.

And I now was a teen—is there something more great?

I was playing some basketball, skipping my work

And was turning, it seems, into such a pure jerk.

So my parents were losing the hopes they had had—

But I can’t really blame them—not Mom and not Dad.

All my grades were just average—I was below

As I staggered along and caused all kinds of woe.

But I now had a girlfriend—so puzzling a thing.

And my voice was now cracking—I’d no longer sing.

And Bad Consequence lived just so far, far away

I was sure he’d not find me—at least not today.

Well, I somehow survived it—that unpleasant year.

And ninth grade was ahead of me? Please, not so drear!

I had stopped reading books; I had stopped being me.

And I bathed for the nonce in Testosterone Sea.