I remember workouts on the football field - the smell of freshly-cut grass, the taste of a new mouthpiece and the sticky plastic helmet pads pressing against my head as I lay on the ground and pounded my helmet into the dirt to simulate hits, feeling the tension in the neck and shoulders while I rotated my head.
I also remember sitting in the library, seeking out the new additions such as the series on weapons of war that included the new fighting equipment in the Vietnam War.
Only a few of us had the same memories at my school.
Most of the football players read books about the Old West, motorcycles or hotrods.
Most of the library readers sought out books about science or general fiction.
I lived in between their worlds, caught up in small neighbourhood gangs of kids kicked out of school sports who often beat up my friends in the library.
And then there were the school friends who joined me in Cub Scouts and other socially-responsible civic groups like 4H.
In other words, I floated between groups, aware of my social ambiguity but not really caring, as long as I had something to think about before I went to bed at night.
I knew then what I know now. Learn to stay out of serious trouble and you can walk dark streets safely, fully able to use a pocket knife, dexterity and personality to defend yourself against those for whom violence is the quick route to temporary security.
Am I a bad guy? Everybody says no. Am I good guy? I don't know.
I am who I am, a suburbanite one generation away from farm life and World War II.
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