I thought by enrolling in Saint John’s, my biological father would accept me. In actuality, it didn’t change anything or help me develop any type of relationship with him. The way I see it, if somebody is going to be that big of a douchebag by having a child and never attempting to make any connection with him, that is one less asshole I have to deal with in my life.
I still touch base with some of my classmates from Saint John’s. The salutatorian, who was extremely bright and one of most arrogant students in the school, ended up graduating from Cornell University Law School. The valedictorian, who as a senior led the military brigade, ended up graduating from West Point and became a paratrooper in the army. When he returned from duty, he completely covered himself in tattoos. In January 2010, after the earthquake in Haiti killed two hundred thousand people, he wrote on his Facebook page, “Haiti finally got what they deserve; only now if a hurricane could strike Florida and kill all of the Cubans.” Some of my other classmates have become Albany police officers and have had the privilege of arresting Saint John’s class members. One became a professional blogger, and a few have remained unemployed or are “writers” or “musicians.” Many of my classmates are now married, have great jobs and have beautiful children.
There were also very nice students and teachers at Saint John’s. Overall, though, I felt that the prevailing attitude of Saint John’s was arrogant and unrealistic and that many Saint John’s community members lacked compassion for anybody different from them. I wanted to include these stories in my book so that these individuals could examine their lives. Hopefully Saint John’s can one day become a school operated by Christian brothers, not just lay faculty members. It is very sad that the De La Salle Christian Brothers are close to becoming extinct. There have been many men who have lived full lives that have impacted hundreds of individuals by living as a Christian brother. I hope it can become a place where compassion and the teachings of Jesus Christ and Saint John Baptist de La Salle are not just taught, but are put into practice.
CHAPTER 3
HIGH SCHOOL, THOSE WEREN’T THE DAYS
If you a hater, I got a full-time job for you.
—Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino
As an adult, I dread waiting in a check-out line with a group of teenagers or sitting on a train or an airplane with them. Many seem very happy and laugh at nonsensical things. I’m glad that they’re happy, but most of them time I can never understand how they can think their teenage drama is as important as the situation in Afghanistan or how to fix Social Security.
Even some of my adult friends who work in grocery stores or at Starbucks tell me they remember being as obsessed as those kids are with their social lives. I tell them that I remember high school, too, although I wish I didn’t. First, I was a very awkward teen. I was a late bloomer, and I didn’t start showing any signs of puberty until I was fifteen. I was scared of girls, and I was often very shy with groups of people until I felt comfortable. The worst part of my adolescence experience was that my testicles didn’t descend and my left testicle hung lower than my right one, which was so embarrassing that I was afraid to tell my mother to make a doctor’s appointment.
During the summer of 1999, before I transferred back to public high school, I mainly worked my part-time job, forty hours a week or more, at McDonald’s. I really didn’t have any expectations of school; I was more concerned about taking AP U.S. History and AP English than meeting girls or finding a relationship or a clique of friends.
When I was at McDonald’s, I enjoyed working with Sam, who just started working there a few months after I did. I had known Sam since third grade. Sam was smart, athletic, and had a good sense of humor. He played golf and baseball and had great grades, too. He actually made the time working with all that grease bearable. We used to talk about the girls who would come in or just make fun of our co-workers or the customers. He was easy to talk to.
Just before school began that summer, I was walking home from McDonald’s and heard a car horn and someone yell, “Hey, Donovan!” It was one of the kids from Saint John’s who I remembered—and didn’t like—from the bus freshman year, so I politely yelled back, “Shut the fuck up, asshole.” A few minutes later, he stopped his car, got out, and asked me to repeat what I was yelling. I told him that he had a nice car, and then he started laughing and got back in his car. His name was Mike, and I absolutely hated him. Once he got back in his car, I asked if he was still going to Saint John’s or if he’d been kicked out and had to go Colonie High School, since he only lived a few streets away from me. Mike said, “No, I’m still at Saint John’s, lucky for you.” He didn’t know that I had transferred, and I felt a smile come over my face. I then told him, “You don’t know how happy I am to hear that.”
I was very nervous my first day as a junior in a new school. The way that South Colonie worked was there were two middle schools and one high school.
