Becoming a Counselor. Samuel T. Gladding
as “libary” until my first year in college. To rectify this problem, I later married a librarian. Then there was pronunciation. I usually mispronounced words I had never seen before, even one-syllable words. I also eschewed words that began with certain letters, like “w,” because I could not get the sound right. (That is why I do not live in Washington—the state or DC!)
To combat my deficiencies, I developed a routine for studying and completing my homework. It involved rote memorization. After supper, I went to the room in the back of the house, which had a desk, a lamp, and space for my schoolbooks. There I tackled my homework assignments starting with the hardest one first. I was focused and occasionally would finish before my bedtime at 11 p.m.
I cannot say I enjoyed this weekday routine of memorizing, although I liked learning and my ritualistic behavior helped me get better grades than I would have otherwise. I was at peace knowing I was doing the best I could, but my biggest wish was for a more functional brain.
Chapter 17 Hard Work
My dad grew up on a farm and worked hard every day of the week but Sunday. He was an even-tempered man who had a good sense of humor and liked to hunt and fish with friends. He had a dog as a boy whose name was Jack. My father’s family was Methodist and attended church each Sunday in the little town of Hallwood, Virginia.
When I was growing up in the suburbs of Atlanta, my dad “farmed” the backyard. He was so efficient that he literally grew most of the vegetables that we ate during the winter. That was good because he did not make a lot of money and my mother did not work until I was in high school. At one time, my father grew 26 different kinds of vegetables and took care of a pear, an apple, and two peach trees. He and my mother canned fruits and vegetables at the end of each growing season and stored them in our basement. Although my brother and I did not hunt and only occasionally fished, we had a dog named Chum who was a mixed breed. Sometimes in the winter we would shoot our 22-caliber rifles at cans in the backyard, but mostly we played pickup games of seasonal sports when we were not doing chores or homework. We attended the Baptist church every Sunday and Wednesday night because my mother had grown up Baptist and my dad did not see a lot of difference between being a Baptist and being a Methodist.
My brother, sister, and I were urged to work hard. To do less than one’s best was considered sinful. It was OK, although disappointing, not to succeed. It was not OK to give less than 100% at everything. I am sure that the work ethic my parents instilled in me and the success I saw my father finally have because he worked hard have influenced the way I have approached life.
Chapter 18 I Married the Football Team
I was never picked on in high school. Maybe one reason why is that I took precautions. I married the football team (and later one of their players in what was described as a “womanless wedding”). I became a football manager from my sophomore year on. For a guy who was 5 feet 2 and 115 pounds, the move was sheer finesse. After all, in the 1960s, football was wildly popular in Georgia. To be their best, football players relied on managers for everything from getting good equipment to getting a proper pregame ankle taping. Therefore, managers were treated favorably. Instead of depending on a guardian angel to protect me from those who might have thought of picking on me, I relied on about 50 guys who were considered the biggest, strongest, and toughest in the school environment.
The arrangement worked well. I went out of my way to supply members of the team with whatever they needed. Many of them in turn hung out with me before, during, and after school. As an extra insurance policy, although I did not need it, I became the athletic editor of the yearbook my senior year. Did I have friends? Yes, and no overt enemies. Plus, I had a lot of fun both on and off the field, whether it was packing and carrying equipment or picking and placing photographs with just the right captions for the annual.
I look back on those years and activities with pleasure and intrigue. No one told me or even encouraged me to get close to the biggest and strongest guys in the high school. It was just something I did because I knew on an instinctive level that it would offer me safety. It also gave me a chance to participate vicariously in a dramatic game that I would never play except virtually and on an informal basis. Plus, I developed many lifelong friendships.
Over the years I have watched other people do similar things in their environments. It is as if most of us have a feel for what will work in our lives. The difference between those who succeed and those who do not, I think, is a willingness to trust themselves and take a risk that they might be right. When that does not happen, individuals often become alienated from themselves and from others.
Chapter 19 Looking for Athletic Support
When I was growing up, user-friendly big box athletic equipment stores were rare. If you needed balls, bats, clubs, gloves, or other sporting paraphernalia, you got them at a department store, such as Sears. My first tennis racket, a Poncho Gonzales special, was bought at Rich’s, the largest department store in Atlanta. Yet although there were many outlets for basic athletic equipment, buying the supportive gear to go with these items was not easy.
At age 14, I realized I needed an athletic supporter, informally known as a “jockstrap.” The only place to buy one in Decatur was at a drugstore. However, much to my dismay, you could not just go and pick the support you needed off a shelf because this specialty item was kept in a glass case behind the counter in the pharmacy section. You had to interact with a live person and ask for what you wanted, including the make and size. Sometimes there were women salespersons at the counter. Asking them for a jockstrap was something I felt uncomfortable doing even though I had completed “Sex at Church” and there was nothing immoral, lewd, or embarrassing about my request.
Given the situation, I suffered. I did not think my need was one I could bring up in casual conversation with classmates, like “Hey, Bob, I need a jockstrap. Got any good ideas of what fits best?” I must have gone to the drugstore pharmacy three times before I blurted out what I wanted. In the meantime, I had purchased a bottle of calamine lotion, some acne cream, and cough syrup. When I finally said the words “athletic supporter,” the older, balding man who was waiting on me smiled and said, to my relief, as he pulled a box off the shelf: “This is what I would recommend.” He then explained why it would work best, handed me the box, took my money, and put my purchase in a nondescript brown paper bag—the kind that would not arouse suspicion, like “This kid just purchased a jockstrap.”
I had mixed feelings walking home. I was pleased I had the support I had been seeking, but I was perturbed it had taken me so long to get it. The important point is that my need had been met. However, had I been more assertive, life would have been better. Regardless, I slept well that night.
Chapter 20 Saying “No” to the Skimpy Blue Speedo
Because I was not big enough to play football or basketball and was a klutz at baseball, I decided to try sports where I had a chance of success. One of my first choices was swimming. My parents had provided my siblings and me with Red Cross swimming lessons when we were growing up, so I felt confident in a pool, especially doing the breaststroke. There were no tryouts for the swim team because not many guys signed up for it. Decatur High did not have a pool, and I had no access to a pool, except in summer. Thus, I practiced my strokes on smooth surfaces, like the floor, and in the air. Neither did much good. Another factor complicating my career as a swimmer was that I did not like the sound of the starter pistol. Nevertheless, I stayed on the team my freshman and sophomore years, and I was mediocre at best. My sophomore year I lettered, though, because of a fluke. Here is how it happened.
The Georgia High School Boys Championship Swim Meet was being held at Emory University that year. Although I was not one of the boys on our medley relay team, one of the guys on the team got sick the morning of the meet. Soon thereafter I received a call from the team captain asking if I was available. I had not practiced with the team and had little idea of what to do, but I agreed. My mother took