My Life, 5 Year Snapshots (1975 thru 1979)

1975 began with little fanfare and gave no hint about what a momentous year it would turn out to be. As with every January, five days in, I celebrated (or didn’t) another birthday. That year, I turned 16 years old, which for most, is one of those milepost birthdays because you are now old enough to obtain a driver’s license. Living in small town Iowa, that added opportunity for increased mobility was huge!

Sometime in January 1975, I began the final semester of my sophomore year in high school. Little did I know that it would be my final semester in the Madrid, Iowa school system.

I was playing on the JV basketball team and looking forward to the high school baseball season coming up that summer. I was a pitcher and a shortstop, and I wasn’t half bad. Baseball was always my favorite sport, and I was confident that I could significantly contribute to the 1975 version of the Madrid Tiger varsity baseball team.

But then it happened. The series of events that pushed me over the edge and put me in a head space void of confidence, security, and self-worth.

I guess I was like most teens in that I craved the acceptance of my peers and the nurturing relational bonds from those whom I considered my friends. There is an emotional currency in those social elements. It's what supplies energy to your public existence. School is a social petri dish. School is an arena that facilitates that regular interaction which helps build up or tear down your public persona. School is usually where you are pigeonholed into social groupings with labels such as jock, nerd, prep, imo, goth or whatever other description seeps into the vernacular of the day. Sometimes it’s a binary breakdown of being one of the “cool kids” or not.

Where was I in that maze of labels? To be perfectly honest... I really do not know. There were times when I felt I was 'popular' enough to be comfortable… generally ‘accepted’ amongst my peers. My social existence was relatively mainstream. I wasn’t an oddball. Nothing crazy or bizarre about my looks. I showered regularly and kept my hair clean. I was an average student with the untapped ability and discipline to be an excellent one.

One thing for sure is that one’s social status in school is fluid and can change rapidly… almost overnight. I really began to sense my status tilting in a slightly downward trajectory in my freshman and sophomore years. I had a core group of long-time friends that, over time, seemed to fade away at best or actually become hostile, at worst. I observed it. I felt it. At times it absolutely consumed me. But I couldn’t quite explain it. Not then.

I’m nearly 50 years removed from that season of my life, but I still find myself grappling with the memories and trying to make sense of them. Did I simply grow into an unlikeable human being at that stage of my life or was I the victim of fickle and immature adolescents preying on the vulnerable? I would like to lay full blame on that latter but am self-aware enough to know that some disliked me for legitimate reasons. I was a highly flawed teen battling a set of complex circumstances of which I was ill equipped to conquer. I think this created some baggage that some in my inner circle of friends simply did not want to deal with and who can blame them?

Even though I have developed and maintained a good number of close and dear friends through adulthood, I still can’t help but view myself as one who can be somewhat reclusive and generally unlikeable. I think it’s rather easy not to like me. I think I give off that ‘don’t get too close to me’ vibe… transmitted intentionally or unintentionally. The biggest difference between 16-year-old me and now… is that I just don’t care as much now. I say, “I just don’t care,” but here I am… dredging it all up again… so, maybe I actually care more than I wish to admit.

Complicating matters was my toxic home life. Things may have been different if I had healthy, wise, concerned, involved parents to guide me through the murky waters of adolescence. But I didn’t. My mom and stepdad were alcoholics who were too preoccupied with their addiction to have much of a clue about what I was going through… let alone have the capacity to actually help me. I never once had the notion to seek comfort and direction from my mom. She loved me but a discussion like this seemed significantly above her pay grade. 

The elements of my life were a perfect cocktail of dread and despair. The closest I got to a sense of solace was at night, in my darkened bedroom, chain smoking a pack of cigarettes while watching the traffic drive by from my bedroom window.

As my sophomore year was winding down, I should have been preparing for the baseball season but that was shoved out of the way by my thoughts of survival… or whether I even wanted to survive at all. Yes… my mind went there… many times.

I needed a way to escape, and this suddenly became my obsession.  There were no easy answers and so I threw a ‘Hail Mary’ and asked my parents if I could go to California for the summer… where my three brothers lived. To my surprise, they gave their permission and paid for my flight.

The fact that I chose to flee the state in place of playing baseball is a testament to where I was mentally and emotionally. As much as I loved and lived for baseball… this decision was a no-brainer for me.

School ended, I packed up and headed west. I didn’t tell my friends. Thought they wouldn’t care anyway.

I landed at LAX and was greeted with bright sunshine, a view of the Pacific Ocean and palm trees as far as the eye could see. The feeling of freedom was palpable, but I knew it would be temporary. My escape had a shelf life… one month, and then I had to travel back to the abyss of misery.

One month grew into two but in late August, I boarded a plane and headed back to Iowa. To my surprise, a couple friends stopped by to see me once they heard that I was back in town… but I brushed them off and told them I had plans, even though I really didn’t. I realize that was a counterintuitive response from a kid craving genuine friendship but it represented the depths to which my social desires had retreated.

The start of the school year was quickly approaching and my feelings of desperation were mounting. I wanted out. I wanted to be gone. I needed help. So I recruited my brother Bill to twist my mom’s arm into letting me move to California. It took some effort but he eventually succeeded.

I made it to California just before school started and enrolled at Gahr High School in Cerritos. To say I experienced a bit of culture shock was putting it mildly. From a lily white school in Iowa with about 200 students to a multicultural, multiracial school in Los Angeles county with about 2,000 students. But I adapted and made it through.

Church became the hub of my social life. We lived in an apartment right across the street from the church where my brother was on staff. It was a Baptist church in the 1970’s, so you were expected to be there whenever there was a church function. There was a “function” more days than not.

I was there early Sunday mornings to ride a bus that picked up children for church, followed by Sunday School which preceded the morning church service. I then rode the bus to drop the kids off at their homes. Sunday afternoon we had youth choir practice, followed by youth group, followed by the Sunday evening service. Wednesday night was prayer and Bible study. Thursday nights we gathered in the church parking lot to play volleyball or we took part in "visitation" where we visited people who attended a church service for the first time. Many Fridays were reserved for youth activities. Saturday mornings, we were expected to visit children for our church bus routes.

We also had several “revivals” during the year where an evangelist would come yell at us for a whole week until we agreed to bring visitors and get our hearts right with God. (A little bit of a joke there, as I actually enjoyed most of those revivals I attended.)

I started dating a girl in the church about a week after I got there and was with her for 3-1/2 years. Great girl with a great family. Everyone thought we would eventually get married… and so did we. But it wasn’t meant to be and we broke up in January of 1979.

I whole heartedly embraced my newfound faith and poured myself into following God’s will for my life. After graduating from high school I enrolled at Pacific Coast Baptist Bible College in the fall of 1977 to study for youth ministry.

Bible college was a great experience for me. Despite not being a great student, I learned a lot. I also made some great friendships in college that endure even today, some 45+ years later.

I met California girlfriend #2 in college. February 1979. Within three months of dating, we were engaged. That summer we rented an apartment that my fiancé would occupy until we recited our vows… which was scheduled for October 5^th.

Groomsmen were chosen. Bridesmaids ordered their dresses. The cake knife with our names and wedding date engraved on it arrived in the mail. We both secured jobs at the same Christian school where we would begin teaching in early September.

In August, I called it off. Short engagement. Long story. The right move.

As long as we are talking about girls and my love life… let’s move onto my next victim.

While I was dating California girlfriend #1 (1975 – 1979), I couldn’t help but

notice another girl in our youth group. Super cute, long blond hair, spunky, personality plus… but only 13 or 14 years old... almost 3 years my junior.  Besides… I had a good girlfriend who loved me and treated me great. But still… I could never quite shake her from my mind.

When I broke off my engagement in August of 1979, I thought of that spunky little blonde… let’s call her California girlfriend #3… because that’s what she became shortly after my latest break-up.

One thing became crystal clear very quickly… this was the girl of my dreams and my mission was to convince her that I was the man of her dreams. Tough task but I was up to it.

And that’s how 1979 came to an end.