the freshman
This morning I had my earbuds in and an old Santana song played, Oye Como Va. I’ve always loved Carlos’ guitar work and the album containing this song, Abraxas, was my first rock album.
Nothing’s changed in that regard. But this morning I was transported back to my freshman year in high school. I went to Proviso East, in Maywood, my first year, and was placed in the concert band as my skills were more advanced. I was one of two freshmen in the band. The other, Irene, played oboe and as her last name also began with a K, our lockers were close to each other and we became fast friends.
But being in the band meant having to learn how to navigate the stranger more grown up world of juniors and seniors. The girls were rather clique-ish and the boys were mostly okay, if a bit strange.
But I caught the eye of one. Apparently. When Lane asked me for my phone number I had no idea why he was asking. A sophomore girl had to explain it. I kid you not. I must admit he was very cute. He dressed well in cords and sweaters, had a moustache, and played baritone. We went to a school basketball game as part of a group (the only way I could date at fourteen) and cheered on the Pirates and afterwards got a burger. He drove me home and kissed me on the cheek.
The following Friday night his band was playing in Broadview at a community center for a teen dance. I got permission to attend and there I really fell head over heels as he played his cowbells to Oye Como Va. Yes. Cowbells. His rhythm was perfect. And it was a very good time.
Needless to say this infatuation did not last even one semester. I think he got tired of my naivety. And I really was a big dummy, despite my horrendous situation on the homefront. I honestly think I didn’t associate what was happening at home to what might happen with a boyfriend. I compartmentalised things; it’s how I survived.
Being in the “good” band with the upperclassmen was good for me, musically. I learned a lot and even dabbled in jazz as some of these classmates were in the stage band (jazz band). And I learned to hold my own with the big boys and girls. Mostly.
While the concert band wasn’t that good, the stage band was very good. I loved hanging out in the music department after school and playing and talking. I actually loved Proviso East. The campus covered the blocks between Madison and Washington and between First Avenue and the Des Plaines River. There was a Field House, with a pool for the boys, and a building which housed the girls’ physical education, also with a pool, and the music departments. I used to have to race from my sixth period first floor southwest corner clothing (sewing) class to my seventh period third floor northeast corner physical science lab. But I made it. Every single day.
When we moved to Bensenville because my parents had bought a house, I was devastated to see my new high school, Fenton, all on one floor with not even one field house or pool. This was not a high school! Pfffft!
However, the music department was exceptional and ruled over by a demanding perfectionist named Fred who was also a flautist. Of course. But that is a story for another time. In the meanwhile, a black magic woman is calling my name.
Nothing’s changed in that regard. But this morning I was transported back to my freshman year in high school. I went to Proviso East, in Maywood, my first year, and was placed in the concert band as my skills were more advanced. I was one of two freshmen in the band. The other, Irene, played oboe and as her last name also began with a K, our lockers were close to each other and we became fast friends.
But being in the band meant having to learn how to navigate the stranger more grown up world of juniors and seniors. The girls were rather clique-ish and the boys were mostly okay, if a bit strange.
But I caught the eye of one. Apparently. When Lane asked me for my phone number I had no idea why he was asking. A sophomore girl had to explain it. I kid you not. I must admit he was very cute. He dressed well in cords and sweaters, had a moustache, and played baritone. We went to a school basketball game as part of a group (the only way I could date at fourteen) and cheered on the Pirates and afterwards got a burger. He drove me home and kissed me on the cheek.
The following Friday night his band was playing in Broadview at a community center for a teen dance. I got permission to attend and there I really fell head over heels as he played his cowbells to Oye Como Va. Yes. Cowbells. His rhythm was perfect. And it was a very good time.
Needless to say this infatuation did not last even one semester. I think he got tired of my naivety. And I really was a big dummy, despite my horrendous situation on the homefront. I honestly think I didn’t associate what was happening at home to what might happen with a boyfriend. I compartmentalised things; it’s how I survived.
Being in the “good” band with the upperclassmen was good for me, musically. I learned a lot and even dabbled in jazz as some of these classmates were in the stage band (jazz band). And I learned to hold my own with the big boys and girls. Mostly.
While the concert band wasn’t that good, the stage band was very good. I loved hanging out in the music department after school and playing and talking. I actually loved Proviso East. The campus covered the blocks between Madison and Washington and between First Avenue and the Des Plaines River. There was a Field House, with a pool for the boys, and a building which housed the girls’ physical education, also with a pool, and the music departments. I used to have to race from my sixth period first floor southwest corner clothing (sewing) class to my seventh period third floor northeast corner physical science lab. But I made it. Every single day.
When we moved to Bensenville because my parents had bought a house, I was devastated to see my new high school, Fenton, all on one floor with not even one field house or pool. This was not a high school! Pfffft!
However, the music department was exceptional and ruled over by a demanding perfectionist named Fred who was also a flautist. Of course. But that is a story for another time. In the meanwhile, a black magic woman is calling my name.
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| 1973 Taken the night of our homecoming dance. I made my green polka-dotted satin dress specifically for this dance. It's what all the nerds did. |
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