Thomas Eaton Junior High School 1965 - 1966
Hampton, Virginia
Simply put, I remember nothing at all about the school, classes, teachers, or students. My report card shows that my grades were all over the place - even my favorite subjects reflected the wild swings in my ability to focus and concentrate.
Now in the 8th grade I had yet to figure out what was wrong with me. Looking in the mirror I could see myself as others were seeing me but it didn't explain why or how I identified as a girl. I had heard terms like homo, lezzie, etc., in a teasing manner on the playground and buses but was to embarrassed to ask someone what they meant so I was unaware if they would have applied to me.
Apparently, we lived both off and on base while Dad was stationed at Langley. According to mom, there was a dress code of khaki trousers with white shirt and a tie required for the boys at Thomas Eaton. I have no clue what the girls were required to wear and I believe our transportation to school and back was by city bus paid by tokens.
Our house in Hampton was a nice two-story at the end of a cul-de-sac. It had a small front and back yard with the backyard running into some very thick woods. Of course, we were told to stay out of them but curiosity was just to strong. Following an overgrown path that started at the back yard, I worked my way into them. They were creepy, very creepy and the trail was littered in trash. It only got worse and by the time I reached a small creek with clothes scattered around a very small clearing the hair on the back of my neck felt like it was trying to stand on end. It was a sensation I would only experience a few more times in my life and I was quite happy that the sensation faded after turning around and returning to our yard.
I didn't know any of the kids in our neighborhood though my sister had made a few friends. I remember how upset I got when she was invited to a slumber party next door and I wasn't. I didn't say anything but proceeded to pull myself further into my own little world.
My sister had started to sit for some of the neighbors. I had no desire to but was pressured into it. Fortunately, they were younger kids - no babies! The worst were a couple whose parents were both psychologists. They didn't believe in discipline in any form - no restrictions, timeouts, and obviously no spanking. Once was all I sat for them and then I moved on to "Georgie" who lived two doors over from our house. His dad was a photographer for Richard Petty which I thought was cool because it was the closest I'd ever been to a celebrity. Georgie was around 12 or 13 I think. He did not have the use of his arms or legs and didn't talk but was one of the happiest kids I'd ever met. He understood what people were saying and would throw his arms about when he laughed. Georgie was a joy to be around.
I'd not seen a lot of my dad as I grew and especially now as Vietnam was ramping up. He told me once that all the officer's (AF) records had to go across his desk before the officers could be sent to Southeast Asia and he was having to spend a lot of nights at work. There was one time, however, I remembered us all gathered together as a family and he had each of us call in a phone request to a local radio station and then a second followed by a third. The song? Ballad of the Green Berets by S/Sgt Barry Sadler. I was completely unfamiliar with making requests and by the third round I was sure the radio police had recognized my voice and were on the way to arrest me..
Another thing I remember about being stationed at Langley was my dad was always bringing home 8x10 glossies of Air Force planes. We had them tacked up all over our bedroom walls.
Hampton was where I heard my parents fight for the first time. My mom yelling and dishes breaking. I found myself standing out in the front yard under the cul-de-sac's street light totally lost. I was fighting tears back as I watched a kid peddling slowly down the street towards me. It was pitch black out except for the weak light from the street lamp. When he got to me he stopped and then apologized saying he had thought I was a girl. If he would have looked back as he rode away, he would have seen a smile 10 years in the making on my face.
Later, after I assume we had moved on base, I was walking with my dad to his office after hours and a young black male stopped to talk to him. He was the first black person that I could remember ever meeting. After he left, I asked my dad who he was and was told it was one of the airmen who worked for him. He continued by stating that he would like nothing more than to have a half dozen more men just like him.
Going to the movies was a real treat for me when younger. Dad would drive the three of us to the movies when we lived in Kent. It was a wonderful opportunity to visualize myself wearing the beautiful clothes worn by the actresses. Now I found myself at the movie with my Dad. He'd taken me to see The Russians are Coming, The Russians are Coming at the base theater. I remember that everyone started to stand towards the beginning of movie and then the National Anthem was played. Just before it started he excused himself and went back to the restroom. My first impression was that he was trying to avoid standing there during the anthem - he was - but not because he was unpatriotic. I would later realize he was just extremely self-conscious in public settings and avoided them like the plague. Public transportation was a last resort for him.
I mentioned him taking us to the movies occasionally in Kent. Those were the days Mom would make us each a bag of popcorn to take in - then when the movie was out - we'd call home from the phone in the theater lobby. If we were quick enough, we could just say "done" when a parent answered - hang up - and get our change back. I used to laugh and thank Ma Bell when it happened.
There was one incident that really bothered me while we were stationed there. The Civil Rights Movement was happening of which I new nothing about at the time. We were going home in the car
and I was slouched down in the back seat in my own little world. I rolled the window part way down and spit a piece of gum out the window. As I started to roll the window up, I saw that there were three or four black youths standing there on the sidewalk talking. I could feel the blood drain from my face in embarrassment. It wasn't because they were black - I simply shouldn't have been spitting or throwing anything out the car window. I wanted so bad to get out and apologize to them but there was no way I was going to admit to my dad that I was spitting gum from the car.
I have to drift away from the timeline at this point simply because I can't nail down a couple of events that came about while living in Virginia and later Seattle. For some reason, my mom decided that being a foster parent was something she wanted to do. Whether it was because of the strained relationship with my dad, his absence for long hours because of work, or she preferred spending time with babies, or it brought in a few extra dollars I never knew. All were infants and two of them we decided to adopt.
As it happened, they turned out to be the best siblings I could have hoped for. Tina would become a graduate of the Air Force Academy before taking her life. She was nine months pregnant at the time. Steve would get a degree in cooking and later become a wonderful Dad for his three kids.
