The Years of My Life, 1963

A Journey from 1944 to … Now

1963.

I turned nineteen in ’63—

It was a puzzling year for me.

I tried to figure what I’d be

Later on.

November ’63—amazed:

Some Dallas, Texas, gunfire blazed—

Our President is dead? All dazed.

America.

I changed my major—once, then twice.

An academic roll of dice!

I wasn’t sure what would suffice

For my career.

I even tried philosophy—

But didn’t take too long to see

That I had made (my profs agree)

A Big Mistake.

So English then it soon became—

And things have ever been the same

Since I at last conceived this game

Was meant for me.

The Years of My Life, 1962

A Journey from 1944 to … Now

1962.

The summer. 1962.

My parents gave a task to do:

See—I’d take English 101

And have a bit of summer "fun."

“A sort of head start,” so they said.

“It’s time, you know, to use your head.”

And so I took that freshman class

With Prof. McKinley—hoped I’d pass.

And in that college class—a B,

And I was kind of proud of me:

I’d written essays, read some stuff—

And none of it was merely fluff!

The year rolled on—I did okay.

But basketball just … went away.

I learned much later than I should

That I was really not that good.

I found some friends—some still remain.

(At times I was a bit insane.)

And then my heart got bruised and bumped:

When Spring Break came—well, I got dumped.

That high-school romance ended—boom!

Inhaled my first foul breath of Doom.

On the horizon—sophomore year.

More mess-ups lay, oh, very near.

The Years of My Life, 1961

A Journey from 1944 to … Now

1961

When 1961 began,

It was my senior year.

The end of public school—at last!

Oh, yes, the end was near.

My grades were better—all because

I had dropped chemistry.

I took advanced mathematics then—

A better fit for me.

Or so I thought until the class

Was soon beyond my scope.

And I was realizing then:

In math am I a dope!*

But—I did two plays—played basketball

(Earned all-star status too)—

And baseball was a thrill that spring—

There was so much to do.

But soon—all over. School was out.

Bye, Husky white and red.

I looked along a different trail,

Where college lay ahead.

*Yes.

The Years of My Life, 1960

A Journey from 1944 to … Now

1960

Well, 1960—quite a year—

The year that JFK emerged

To win the White House (cost him dear),

The year some loves of mine converged.

My junior year of high school! Wow!

(This life is going way too fast.)

I was still getting by, somehow—

But my weak ways just couldn’t last.

Mr. Brunelle—a teacher—great—

Was having an effect on me,

But I was still a little late

At recognizing destiny.

For in my realm, see, sports were king—

Each basketball and baseball game

To me meant, well, just everything.

I still believed in certain fame.

My “love life” had become a mess—

It was, of course, all due to me—

But I will leave you here to guess

About what caused this “tragedy.”

And college lay not far ahead—

But seemed to be forever then.

And I still didn’t use my head

To be what I well could have been.

Years of My Life, 1959

A Journey from 1944 to … Now

1959

This was the year I turned fifteen—

A most amazing age:
Yes, I was certain, at fifteen,

That I was, well, a sage.

I had the wisdom of the years—

Experience to burn.

I couldn’t think of very much

That I had yet to learn.

For I had basketball and plays

And band and choir and such,

And homework didn’t bother me:
Just didn’t do that much.

To college went my older bro—

Where he would once more shine,

But shining in the classroom? It

Was not a goal of mine.

Instead, for me, the NBA!

The Major Leagues, as well!

And Halls of Fame? Well, certainly.

(Already, I could tell.)

But in the bushes, lurking there,

Were Fear and brother Doubt:

At times I was too well aware

My future wasn’t … stout.

Years of My Life, 1958

A Journey from 1944 to … Now

1958

In the fall of the year it was high school—at last!

I took Latin and algebra—then I was cast

In a musical play we were doing that year.

The Mikado—a memory I now hold so dear.

My voice now had settled—a bit (so it seemed)—

Sure, I squeaked now and then, but my parents just beamed

When I strode on that stage, and I sang for the crowd.

(I’m so glad there’s no tape—it should not be allowed!)

I played basketball, baseball—to dances I went.

And my puny allowance I so quickly spent.

But now I was fourteen—and so wise in the ways

Of adulthood (but really was lost in a maze).

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.