My Life: #10 The Lows of High School.

During junior high, I was greeted with a new level of rejection. My junior high teacher pressured me to perform in schoolwork that didn’t exist in me.

THE LOWS OF HIGH SCHOOL

After a few years, Dad became restless again – it must have been those military years.  He packed up his family, now six children, and moved to Linn Grove, Iowa – a territory that was pioneered & established by our relatives.  We all pretty much guessed this was the final stop, Dad’s home. 

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Lynn Grove Junior High School

Linn Grove is where I spent my junior high and high school years.  During junior high, I was greeted with a new level of rejection.  My junior high teacher pressured me to perform schoolwork that didn’t exist in me.  Not sure why but as I jumped from school to school, and believe me, there were plenty of them, not one school communicated with another about my inability to read or write.  The result of this lack of communication resulted in me feeling like a failure at every place I went to. 

By this time, extreme fears and phobias had developed in my soul.  As this new teacher applied pressure, I pulled deeper and deeper into my little “bubble” and began to detach from humans in general.  Her way of dealing with this was putting me in front of the class and using public embarrassment to motivate me.  The results were obvious; I withdrew all the more.  One particular time was during a classroom public spelling bee.  When it came to my turn, she announced the word I was to spell, and great laughter broke out due to my not knowing the first letter to spell the word.  She verbally gave me word after word to spell with failure upon each request.  Once the class shouted out Steve is a dummy, Steve is a dummy – she allowed me to sit down.  My response to this was drawing her pictures, which was the only thing I did well.  I figured that this might be a way to please her and gain her favor and acceptance. 

Several years ago, I was asked to submit a story to be published in an alumni book.  After much prayer, I decided to do this.  I told my story openly and honestly.  Keep in mind, this teacher was in her 90’s at the time, reads my entry and writes me a letter of reconciliation – seeking my forgiveness.  With that letter were all of the pictures that I drew for her during those traumatic times – all carefully marked and dated.  This was one of the more healing times of my life.  Six weeks later she died. 

THE HIGH SCHOOL YEARS

By the time I got to high school, I was fearful beyond words could describe.  My twin brothers and eldest sister were seniors.  Rejection continued by my classmates, but this time, I had my siblings to protect me.  In fact, I was accepted into a few senior activities on a regular basis, which was a “no-no” in this school.  There was a sophomore, who we will call “Mr. G,” who took it upon himself to make my life miserable – keep in mind that each time he did, my brothers would often come to my defense.  Little did I realize at the time that my siblings would be graduating that year, and I would have to fend for myself once they were gone.  That is exactly what happened.  The next year I was stuffed and locked in lockers, beat up more times than I can remember, and teased relentlessly.  One experience stands out above the rest – one afternoon I looked out the study hall window and watched the football team attempt to put my car on its roof.  I went and got the principal, and to that, he said boys will be boys. 

Another moment that is hard to forget is on a particular Saturday night, I went cruising with my buddies (fellow rock band members) in “Mr. G’s town.”  Sure enough, he and a couple of his cronies began following us as usual.  I told my friend to stop the car, let me get out, and take the beating so that we could enjoy the remainder of the evening.   We stopped, I got out, and yes Mr. G (drunk) began beating me.  This time I immediately sensed it was different.  He beat me so adversely that his friends told him to stop because he was killing me.  My mother taught me a principle regarding facing your enemy, taking the beating, turning the other cheek, asking them if they are done, and never walking away from a fight.  Well, on this evening, as in all the previous beatings, I did exactly that, but this time he had beat me so severely that I had become temporally blind & delusional.  With major open wounds, being covered in blood, I searched for him in my blindness; following his abusive voice, I found him and asked him if he was finished.  With that, he hit me one more time; his buddies pulled him off me, and off they went.  Today I bear a golf ball size tumor (scar tissue) in my ribcage, reminding me of this evening.

The next morning, I told my mother what happened. She was quick in her response, “This is why I call you ‘my little Joseph.’”

After Mr. G graduates, my senior year was almost rejection free.  After I graduated and found a job, I get a knock at my apartment door on a Sunday morning.  I open the door, and guess who was standing there?  That’s right, Mr. G and his best friend.  Thinking this was the day he was going to finish me off, I did the right thing and invited him in.  He proceeded by asking me where I got such strength to face his fight after fight and have the gall to ask if I was finished.  I told him he wouldn’t believe me even if I told him.  He demanded that I tell him, so I did.  I told him that I had a born-again experience when I was 16 years of age, and I learned through the Bible that born-again Christians are required to turn the other cheek and attempt to turn our enemies into friends.  His reply?  Well, it shocked me a bit – he said you are more of a man than I will ever be.  He then took me to lunch and told me I was welcome in “his town” anytime.  Since I had a hard time believing him, I did exactly that.  The next weekend I drove over to “his town,” walked into the bar that his family-owned, and ordered a drink.  The entire bar began harassing me in a manner I had become quite accustomed.  Mr. G got up on a table and announced loudly if anyone ever lays a hand on Steve in the future, they will have me to deal with.  I still, to this day, am amazed this happened.  That was the last day I have memories of being harassed by my school peers.

Not long ago, one of Mr. G’s friends told me that Mr. G gave his life to Christ shortly after that Sunday reconciliation.  Today Mr. G is known in his community as a Christian leader.  I am a bit emotional in saying this but if all those beatings were for his salvation – then every ounce of pain & suffering was worth it!  

YOUR SON IS RETARDED

During my junior year, the school counselor called for a meeting with my mother and me.  During this meeting, he announced that I should never pursue higher education.  You would have to know my mother, but that did not sit well with her – AT ALL!  She pretty much demanded the reasons for such a statement.  He told us that I was “borderline retarded,” and he had the test results to prove it.  Even though my mother and I walked away from this meeting, blowing off his recommendation, he continued to set a chain of events in motion to stop me from graduating.  On the night of graduation (almost a year later), I was standing with my classmates, in cap & gown, to get our senior picture taken when this counselor pulls me out of the group and tells me I am not graduating.  The principal standing close by watching this trauma unfold steps up, pulls him aside, and orders him to put me back in the group.  I think I was the first “retarded” person to graduate from this school. 

Several years later, in a community miles away from my hometown, I held a position as Director of a handicapped residential care home.  To my amazement, who was assigned to work for me as my cottage nurse, this counselor’s wife – a registered nurse.  She was an absolutely wonderful worker and person.  I got along with her tremendously well.  Not long after her employment with us, this counselor (her husband) seeks me out and reconciles with me.  In fact, this man was the engagement photographer for my wife and me.  This was yet another moment of healing for me. 

I am convinced that nothing happens to us that God cannot turn into a ministry moment of healing.  I cannot say that I have observed God doing this with all painful relationships, particularly family members but I have seen enough to believe. 

And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.  (Rom 8:28)  

Oddly enough, today, I am a prolific writer, and my email publications go out to thousands of readers on a weekly basis.  With that said, out of 22 high school classmates, 16 of them are subscribers to my writings.  That means the very source of my rejection during those traumatic years is reading the most powerful message known to the Christian world, that of the indwelling Life of Jesus Christ can and will use the weakest of the brethren to proclaim His strongest message - not I, but Christ.  Few things could please me more.