Perpetual Stranger
by Michael C. Keith
Genre: Memoir
Swearwords: None.
Description: A new friendship can be a Trojan horse.
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I went to so many schools I was a perpetual stranger – Stephen Stills
One year I went to seven different schools. Think it was when I was in the third grade... maybe fourth. This happened because my Dad and me spent more time moving from place to place that year than we usually did. He just couldn’t find a job no matter where we landed, so we’d stick out our thumbs and grab a ride to the next town. While he looked for work, he’d put me in school to keep me off the street. He didn’t want me spotted by a truant officer and have to explain our situation, which was this: My Mom divorced my Dad because he was drinking so much. I went with my Dad after he promised my Mom that he’d take care of me and not drink so much. She agreed to let me stay with him because she had my two sisters to take care of and didn’t have enough money for all three of us. I was okay with that arrangement, because my Dad and me had talked about going to California.
After he lost his job at the hotel in Albany, he decided it was time to set out for what he called the Golden State, and that’s what we did. I didn’t know it was going to take us almost a year to get there. That’s because we didn’t have money for bus tickets and had to stop a lot in a whole bunch of different places. Well, we didn’t have to stop so much, but my Dad wasn’t as okay with hitchhiking as much as I was. I guess if we had caught some really long distant rides, he would have felt differently, but we never got a ride that took us more than one or two hundred miles.
When we got to a new city, my Dad always had the idea that he’d catch a job bell hopping to pick up a few quick dollars. But it wasn’t that easy, because there were no openings in that area of what he called the hotel racket.
“Guys hold onto those jobs because of the tips. In one night you can make as much as people in housekeeping make in one week.”
In the end, he’d be forced to take a job doing something he resented and thought beneath him. He wouldn’t stay with it very long, and during that time, I’d be put in a school in the district where we had found a place to lay our heads––usually a rooming house in a rundown part of town.
When the school would ask for my transcript, my Dad would tell them that he had sent for it. They rarely asked for it again. Most of the time, I wasn’t there long enough for them to ask again anyway.
At first I found it hard to be the new kid in the class, because I felt like what I was––an outsider––and was usually treated like one. But after a while I got used to it and pretty much kept my distance from the other kids. I knew it wasn’t worth making friends since we planned to take off again soon.
Once a student sitting next to me asked if I wanted to play with him after school, and I said yes. I was surprised because it was the first time anyone had ever wanted to be a friend with me just after I arrived at a new school.
When the bell rang signaling the end of the school day, we filed out of the classroom and met up outside.
“My name it Cary,” said the boy, who stood about my height but was much stockier than me. “You want to go to my house and get something to eat?”
This was an offer I found really appealing, since we never had much to eat in our room. And those meals were pretty much nothing, too. At best, we had some eggs or beans, which we cooked on a hotplate. These were often accompanied by pieces of doughy white bread that turned stale real fast.
“My Mom’s not home, so we can raid the icebox. I think we got some leftover chocolate cake.”
After walking two blocks, we made a sudden turn into a vacant lot.
“Almost there,” said Cary, waving me on.
Suddenly, I noticed two boys approaching from across the lot. An alarm went off in my head, and I immediately expected I had been lured there to be beaten up.
“Who are they?” I asked, apprehensively.
“Oh, they’re just some kids from school. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
Overcome by a sense of imminent danger, I turned and ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction.
“Where you going?” shouted Cary after me. “What’s wrong?”
Before I knew it, I had reached our rooming house. I hadn’t dared to look behind me all the while, and when I finally did, I was relieved that I hadn’t been followed.
In our room, I wondered if I had escaped a beating or had missed out on making new friends. What I really felt bad about was not getting something to eat at Cary’s house.
That night when my father came home, he announced that we’d be hitting the road the next morning. That was okay with me.
Swearwords: None.
Description: A new friendship can be a Trojan horse.
_____________________________________________________________________
I went to so many schools I was a perpetual stranger – Stephen Stills
One year I went to seven different schools. Think it was when I was in the third grade... maybe fourth. This happened because my Dad and me spent more time moving from place to place that year than we usually did. He just couldn’t find a job no matter where we landed, so we’d stick out our thumbs and grab a ride to the next town. While he looked for work, he’d put me in school to keep me off the street. He didn’t want me spotted by a truant officer and have to explain our situation, which was this: My Mom divorced my Dad because he was drinking so much. I went with my Dad after he promised my Mom that he’d take care of me and not drink so much. She agreed to let me stay with him because she had my two sisters to take care of and didn’t have enough money for all three of us. I was okay with that arrangement, because my Dad and me had talked about going to California.
After he lost his job at the hotel in Albany, he decided it was time to set out for what he called the Golden State, and that’s what we did. I didn’t know it was going to take us almost a year to get there. That’s because we didn’t have money for bus tickets and had to stop a lot in a whole bunch of different places. Well, we didn’t have to stop so much, but my Dad wasn’t as okay with hitchhiking as much as I was. I guess if we had caught some really long distant rides, he would have felt differently, but we never got a ride that took us more than one or two hundred miles.
When we got to a new city, my Dad always had the idea that he’d catch a job bell hopping to pick up a few quick dollars. But it wasn’t that easy, because there were no openings in that area of what he called the hotel racket.
“Guys hold onto those jobs because of the tips. In one night you can make as much as people in housekeeping make in one week.”
In the end, he’d be forced to take a job doing something he resented and thought beneath him. He wouldn’t stay with it very long, and during that time, I’d be put in a school in the district where we had found a place to lay our heads––usually a rooming house in a rundown part of town.
When the school would ask for my transcript, my Dad would tell them that he had sent for it. They rarely asked for it again. Most of the time, I wasn’t there long enough for them to ask again anyway.
At first I found it hard to be the new kid in the class, because I felt like what I was––an outsider––and was usually treated like one. But after a while I got used to it and pretty much kept my distance from the other kids. I knew it wasn’t worth making friends since we planned to take off again soon.
Once a student sitting next to me asked if I wanted to play with him after school, and I said yes. I was surprised because it was the first time anyone had ever wanted to be a friend with me just after I arrived at a new school.
When the bell rang signaling the end of the school day, we filed out of the classroom and met up outside.
“My name it Cary,” said the boy, who stood about my height but was much stockier than me. “You want to go to my house and get something to eat?”
This was an offer I found really appealing, since we never had much to eat in our room. And those meals were pretty much nothing, too. At best, we had some eggs or beans, which we cooked on a hotplate. These were often accompanied by pieces of doughy white bread that turned stale real fast.
“My Mom’s not home, so we can raid the icebox. I think we got some leftover chocolate cake.”
After walking two blocks, we made a sudden turn into a vacant lot.
“Almost there,” said Cary, waving me on.
Suddenly, I noticed two boys approaching from across the lot. An alarm went off in my head, and I immediately expected I had been lured there to be beaten up.
“Who are they?” I asked, apprehensively.
“Oh, they’re just some kids from school. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
Overcome by a sense of imminent danger, I turned and ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction.
“Where you going?” shouted Cary after me. “What’s wrong?”
Before I knew it, I had reached our rooming house. I hadn’t dared to look behind me all the while, and when I finally did, I was relieved that I hadn’t been followed.
In our room, I wondered if I had escaped a beating or had missed out on making new friends. What I really felt bad about was not getting something to eat at Cary’s house.
That night when my father came home, he announced that we’d be hitting the road the next morning. That was okay with me.
About the Author
Originally from Albany, New York, Michael C. Keith has paternal family roots stretching back to Clan Keith of Caithness and Aberdeenshire. A leading scholar in electronic media in the United States, he is the author of over 20 books on electronic media, as well as a memoir and three books of fiction. Much more about Michael and his publications can be found on his website: http://www.michaelckeith.com