Another Bully for Me, Part I: Complications

IN WHICH I learn the subtle side of conflict.




IN WHICH I subtly learn the obvious art of conflict

Paul Dabuse was the toughest kid in seventh grade. I knew this because I once saw him fight. That was enough to brand him as someone not to be messed with.

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“. . . the Twist, the Stomp, the Mash Potato too . . .”

Chris Montez1 had it right. “Any old dance that you wanna do.” When I was 13 at Holton-Richmond Junior High2, attending class in wooden desks with dried-up ink wells, I used to go to the school dances that happened third Friday each month. They were called “mixers,” because that’s what the girls and boys were supposed to do. Mix with adults gaping on. Of course not many of us did. The concept of a sock hop, with minimal supervision and an outta sight disk jockey, was yet to be in Danvers, Massachusetts.

Teen Dancer (photographer unknown)

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