I was 12 years old when we entered our first year at Wilson Junior High School. The Van Buren and Hayes Elementary Schools came together to become the new seventh grade. There were cute girls that attended Van Buren; however, by the time sixth grade rolled around, they had become more like troublesome sisters. From kindergarten, the boys had to deal with them, always telling the playground monitor on every infraction of the rules. They couldn’t wait to tattle tail and tell anyone who would listen. The girls had some sort of stupid mothering complex, which was embarrassing at times. How could anyone see them in any other light except a bothersome nuisance? After six years of this, along came the Hayes girls. They were like a breath of fresh air, as far as us guys were concerned. To add to this, everyone’s hormones were beginning to stir at once. Playing Army over at Linwood was dropping off drastically, even our own Van Buren girls began looking and acting differently. The psychology of adolescence took over like stampeding elephants trampling everything. We were following behind the girls in the halls, stopping and running into each other at their quick glances back, while they were giggling at us. Not knowing what to do next, they were like magnets. Yes, seventh grade was a year of bewilderment.
After things settled down for a while in the eighth grade, we found ourselves doing things together with the girls, especially during the winter months of the school year. Hay rack rides at Upmeyers Stables, ice skating at Manhattan-Robbins, Prairie Creek, the pond at Jones Park, and the best place ever for social winter interaction was the flooded and frozen Hayes Field. Hayes Field had a “warming house” with a heater. I have no idea if it was electric, propane, oil, or what, but I do know it cranked out some heat and it was hot. I loved that warming house—sitting across from each other, all scrunched in together, legs pressed together from knees to hips. I can still smell the wet wool mittens that accidentally came in contact with the heater. The confines of the small, warm room fostered a myriad of shy smiles and sensations if you were lucky enough to be sitting next to a girl. All this was usually met with either disdain or profound innocence. Who would know the difference? It was usually a former Hayes girl who won at Pom-Pom Pull Away—tagging the boys effortlessly as they tried to avoid her.
