Middle school was almost over. High school became a constant topic for the students and teachers. My voice cracked sometimes when I spoke. Bruce grew so much, his dad never did have to raise his bike peddles. I grew some, but not like Bruce. Some of the girls in school looked different. Mom called it puberty. She said I needed new clothes for high school but wanted to wait. I think her exact quote was, “Hurry up and stop growing so that I don’t have to buy clothes twice.”
We received awards the last week of school. Andy Bedard won more than his share. I won for the best grade in history. President Jefferson later told me he was proud of me. Wendy got a certificate for perfect attendance. Bruce got one for good citizenship. I missed getting one of those because the day after I told Greg he wasn’t going to the Yankees game, he tried to smash a piece of pie in my face during lunch. We were sent to the principal’s office because I fought back. What a rip off. I was upset because I promised Chief Justice Taft I would win a good citizenship certificate. My parents said they were proud of me because I made the honor roll every marking period. I think they would have been proud of me even if I hadn’t made the honor roll every time.
The school had a graduation ceremony in the gymnasium on the last day of school. Wendy made sure she showed me the purple ribbon in her hair as we lined up to receive our diplomas. The principal pulled Greg out of the line for shoving the boy in front of him. I heard Greg’s mom scold him before he returned to his place in line.
We walked across a small stage one by one, securing a fake leather folder about half the size of a letter. Inside the folder was a diploma with our name, the date and some fancy writing that Mom later told me was Latin. Since we proceeded in alphabetical order, I was near the end of the line. I watched as my friends shook hands and snatched their folders from Mr. Schneider, the school principal.
After receiving her folder, Suzy Baker gave Mr. Schneider a peck on his cheek. Hussy. Janet reached for hers and did a curtsy. Erin blew kisses to the crowd. Showoff. Greg grabbed his and did a bad impression of a Michael Jackson moonwalk across the stage. Wendy tugged on her ponytail and pointed at her purple ribbon. Whatever. Bruce took his, looked out at his parents and shrugged. I did like most other kids, shook hands and darted off the stage. Graduating middle school felt good, but I knew there were many more challenges in my future.
Summer began with Bruce and Wendy’s family going on vacation. I did my summer reading and spent hours each day riding my bike. I wanted to be in good shape to try out for the freshman soccer team. After Bruce returned, our summer baseball season began. Our team lost more games than we won. The last game of the season, I got a hit in the last inning to win the game. Grandpa and Dad slapped me on the back after I left the field. Cool stuff I would remember forever.
The night after my big hit, we went to see the Yankees play the Texas Rangers. Entering the stadium and seeing that beautiful diamond is unforgettable. I bet that shade of green grass only exists at Yankee Stadium. Then it hits you. The smell of popcorn, the barking voices from the men selling beer. The other vendors carting around big metal boxes stuffed with hot dogs. I took a big whiff of air desperately hoping to smell the freshly cut grass. I thought about what Star had told me. How she felt one with nature. Oddly, I felt one with the stadium. It ended too fast.
“Where’s Don Mattingly?” Wendy screeched. “I don’t see him down there. That’s not even the Yankees. I thought we were going to a Yankees game, Dad?”
Her dad asked her to lower her voice and took her hand. “Wendy dear, the Yanks already took batting practice. It’s the other teams turn now. We’ll see the Yankees right before the game begins.”
“How’s Don Mattingly supposed to sign my baseball if he’s not even around?” she asked.
“Baby girl, I’ve already explained this to you. Maybe, just maybe, when the Yanks come out for the final warm up before the game begins, we can try to get an autograph. Please, don’t count on it. Don’t allow that to ruin our evening.”
I looked at Bruce. We both shook our heads. Girls.
Dad and Grandpa led us to our private suite. They opened the windows so we could catch all the noises and smells we heard entering the stadium. I sat in a high back chair in the front row of the suite, which was located in the second deck between home plate and the Yankees dugout. A perfect view. Bruce put on the cap his dad bought him on our way to the seats. Bruce sat next to me. Wendy and her dad attempted to get down to field level for an autograph.
Mom and Grandma came back with a pile of hot dogs, sodas and popcorn. Dad and Bruce’s dad came back with beer. Bruce and I gobbled down a dog covered with sauerkraut and mustard. I put my soda in the cup holder in front of my seat and was ready for the game to begin. The adults were laughing behind us, not paying attention to the groundskeepers precisely laying down the straight white lines along the baselines.
The Yankees emerged from the dugout. They tossed a few balls back and forth and stretched their legs before disappearing into the dugout. Then I heard those famous words from Bob Sheppard, the longtime Yanks announcer, “Good evening, welcome to Yankee Stadium.” I felt a chill.
It made no difference to me the Yankees were twelve games out of first place when they took the field. Bruce and I stood up and cheered for the home team. We removed our caps at Mr. Sheppard’s request for the singing of our national anthem. A few more tosses around the field and Jimmy Key threw his first pitch to Gary Redus, the Rangers’ right fielder. My eyes never left the field the entire top of the first inning. The adults were missing the game. They were too busy talking. Wendy and her dad returned to the suite.
“You told me I couldn’t do it,” Wendy said, staring at me. “I told you Don Mattingly would sign my baseball. Look, right here, Dooonnn Maattinnggllyy. Boys are so stupid sometimes. I even asked him to hit me a home run. He said he loved my purple cap and would do his best.”
Bruce shrugged. I asked Wendy to sit down and stop talking. She sat next to Bruce as her dad sat next to her. Grandpa sat in the seat behind me and asked how I was enjoying the game. We talked for a few minutes between innings. He went to the back of the suite again and began talking with the adults.
Wendy remained quiet until Don Mattingly came up to bat in the bottom of the inning. All anyone could hear was, “That’s who signed my baseball. You watch. He’s going to hit a home run for me.”
I tried to ignore her and watch the game. The Rangers’ pitcher, Kevin Brown, looked at Pudge Rodriquez, his catcher. Brown nodded and threw the pitch. Mattingly took a mighty swing and delivered the ball over the wall to deep right center field. A three run homerun. I couldn’t believe it. Bruce and Wendy jumped from their seats, cheering. As happy as I was seeing “Donny Baseball” hit a homer, I knew I would hear about it from Wendy for the rest of my life.
After the fifth inning, Bruce and I rushed to the bathroom in the hallway. As we headed back, two men in blue suits followed us. Dad and Grandpa stopped them as they entered the suite.
“Can we help you gentlemen?” Dad said. “This is a private party.”
“Excuse us,” one of the strangers said. “We were informed this was the owner’s box. We’re looking to say howdy to Mr. Steinbrenner.”
“Sorry, I believe his suite is the one next door,” Dad replied.
As the two men turned to leave, Grandpa spoke. “Hold on. I know you. You’re President Bush’s son, George.”
The man twisted his tie before extending his hand. “Yes sir, I am. We didn’t mean to interrupt ya’ll. I promised Mr. Steinbrenner I’d stop in for a moment. He’s always looking for an angle with some far-fetched trade idea.”
“Why would he be trading with you, Mr. Bush?” I asked.
He smiled. “Well, I’m the general managing partner of the Texas Rangers. We have a fine list of players. However, I don’t talk trades. We have fellas who work in the front office, and handle the baseball side of operations. Are you a big baseball fan, son?”
All the other people who were in the suite were
now surrounding Mr. Bush and his friend. “I love baseball,” I said. “I’ll bet you have the best job in the whole world getting to be the boss of a baseball team.”
Mr. Bush laughed. “Well, I own part of the team too. Sure makes it much easier when you wanna boss people around.”
“No kidding, Mr. Bush? Do you really own the Rangers? I’ve met some famous people before, but never someone who owns a whole baseball team.”
“Well, owning a team has advantages but my daddy thinks I’ll make a fine governor of Texas one day. My brother Jeb is considering running for office in Florida.”
“Are you nuts?” I said. “You get to own a baseball team and you would rather be a governor?” I thought about it for a moment. “Well, I guess you want to be the boss of everyone in Texas and not only the Rangers.”
George Bush frowned. He reached in his side coat pocket and removed a baseball. He asked his friend to hand him a pen. Mr. Bush signed the ball and handed it to me. “You take care, young man. Something tells me we might meet again.”
“Sorry to have interrupted the game on you nice people,” Mr. Bush said. “We’ll head next door to check on my old pal George.”
I walked back to my seat. “How do you like that, Wendy? I was walking around the hallway and I get a ball signed by the owner of the Texas Rangers and maybe one day the Governor of Texas. I know important people who really are the boss.”
“Boys are so stupid sometimes. Do you think a ball signed by the owner of the team is better than a ball signed by Don Mattingly? Besides, Don Mattingly hit a home run just for me. What did your team owner do for you, other than hand you a ball?”
I looked at Bruce. He turned and looked at the game. “Be nice now, baby girl,” Wendy’s father said. “If Alex wants to believe a ball signed by Mr. Bush is better than one from an all-star first baseman for the New York Yankees than it’s his prerogative to do so.”
I now understood why Dad told me once, “The acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree,” when he was talking about Wendy and her father. The last few innings I moved to the second row of seats and sat between Dad and Grandpa. Mom and Grandma sat in the front row with the others. I loved watching the game with my family. The Yankees won the game 11-4. Everyone in our group left the stadium happy, some more than others.
Our last vacation to the Jersey shore almost didn’t happen. Dad along with someone Grandpa knew started a new plumbing business. At first, Dad said we would have to skip vacation because he needed the money for a van. Instead, Grandpa talked with Dad about Grandpa becoming a “silent partner” in the business. Dad got his van and we ended up going to Bryant Beach. Dad didn’t stay at the beach every day during vacation. It was strange not having him there, but I was old enough to walk to the ocean by myself. Dad did bring Grandpa and Grandma to the beach house the last weekend of our trip. We all played miniature golf. We let Grandma win.
After summer vacation, we had orientation day at the high school. It was bigger than my old one. The hallways were longer and some of the classrooms were bigger. I met all my new teachers. Mom bought me new gym clothes with “Ewing High School” written in blue letters across the front of the white shirt.
Three days remained before my high school life began. I spent those days bike riding with Bruce and writing a letter to my brother and Star telling them about the Yankees game and vacation. I knew my brother would have enjoyed coming with us to Yankee Stadium. Dad and I went to the sporting goods store and bought a plastic holder for my ball signed by Mr. Bush. I thought it was cool owning a signed ball from a real owner. One day if he really does become Governor of Texas, it might even be worth something.
Monday was the last day of freedom before school began. Labor Day. Our family went over to Bruce’s house for a BBQ. Grandpa and Grandma stayed home. Grandma said that Grandpa was tired.
I filled my plate with chips, a burger and a pickle before sitting on a wooden bench with Wendy and Bruce. We began talking about the new school. Wendy pretended as if she had all the answers. I knew she didn’t know any more than me or Bruce.
“I’m going to run for freshman class president,” Wendy said. “I want to change the school colors to purple and white with maybe a splash of pink for good luck.”
“That’s not what class presidents do, Wendy,” I said. “President Eisenhower was president of an entire school, Columbia University. Tommy Wilson was president of Princeton. They told me all class presidents do is sit around in boring meetings and pretend they’re important.”
“Why do you keep insisting you talk with dead presidents?” Wendy asked. “Boys are so stupid sometimes.”
“I’m just saying if you want to be freshman class president, big whoop. You can waste your time after school doing boring things. Bruce and I are gonna play on the soccer team. Right, Bruce?”
Bruce shrugged while munching on a hot dog.
“Well good for you and Bruce. You’d be a dumb president anyway, Alex. No one would ever vote for you,” Wendy said.
Those were the magic words. I stared directly at Wendy. “Don’t you dare tell me I wouldn’t be a good president, Wendy Newman. President Lincoln taught me all about what it takes to be a great leader.”
Wendy and I have barely spoken for weeks. High school was scary for about a week, then it became like all my other schools. The only difference is I went from being one of the bigger kids, back to being one of the smaller ones. Who knows exactly why, but I do seem to notice the girls now. I even snuck a squirt of Dad’s aftershave a few days ago. It burned for a moment. Maybe I should ask Dad if it burned because the bottle read, “Old Spice” and he needs New Spice.
The election for freshman class president is today. There are four candidates. We each gave a speech in front of the entire freshman class two days ago. Andy Bedard told our classmates the school should give more homework. “We lag way behind other countries in math and science.” Mom told me Andy was right, but she doesn’t think that was the right approach.
Paul Taylor is running because he doesn’t want the school to give out any homework and thinks all the drinks in the soda machines should be free. When I told Grandpa about Paul, he sighed and shook his head. Wendy is running because she thinks, “Purple should be everywhere and girls will always be first in line in the cafeteria.” Grandma told me that Wendy was fishing for the women’s vote.
I asked some friends for advice. Harry Truman told me to find a rich man to pay for a political machine. Andrew Jackson told me to watch out for the Electoral College. George Washington told me to tell the truth. Mr. Lincoln told me, “Whatever you are, be a good one.” Mr. Kennedy told me to put in my speech, “We set sail on this new sea because there is knowledge to be gained.” Mr. Kennedy has a real thing for boats.
Maybe what pushed me over the edge to run for class president were the words Mr. Eisenhower advised. “A man who wants to be president is either an egomaniac or crazy.”
I looked up egomaniac in the dictionary. I don’t think I’m like that. Mom suspects I’m crazy. But then again, she cries while watching soap operas on television. At least my friends are real people with actual problems. Jeesh. I’ll prove Mr. Eisenhower and Mom wrong.
If reading offers me an escape that fills my imagination and advances my education, then call me crazy. When I read stories like Tom Sawyer or The Hobbit, I leave my life for places unknown. When I read my special book, I relive American history. You might ask why I would want to leave for places unknown now and again. Let me explain.
I’m a kid like you. My parents don’t always believe me, even when I’m telling the truth. Like you, I do my best to deal with bullies like Greg. My friends tick me off sometimes and other times I miss them when they’re gone. I work hard in school but don’t always succeed. I want to be the kid who gets the winning hit or scores the winning goal. I practice hard. One time I did get the winning hit. That one moment made it worth all the times I took extra batting practice in the back yard with Dad. I think Dad and Gra
ndpa were more proud of me than I was of myself when I got that hit.
I’ve learned to no longer judge people at first glance. Star is the perfect example. When I first met her, I never thought she would turn out to be someone I could trust with my most private thoughts, but she is. I had to walk away when some kids called me names for not wanting to try drugs. Star reassured me it was the right thing to do. It was. I remember the time I coulda cheated on a test. It feels great every time I score high on a test without cheating.
In middle school, I assumed everyone else had it easy being a kid. That it was only hard for me. Thinking about it now makes me realize Wendy is right when she tells me, “Boys are so stupid sometimes.” Every kid goes through some type of a struggle. It’s called growing up. We all do it. Grandpa told me that people grow up at different ages. One day I’ll ask him to tell me what he means. Someday, Grandpa won’t be around for dinner anymore. I trust Star is right. Grandpa will always be in my heart.
I decided reading books and leaving my problems behind now and again is perfectly normal. I’m not crazy. I’m a kid, soon to be an adult. If I talk with presidents now and again, so what. My grades are good, I stay away from drugs, I make my bed, I say my prayers at night and I listen to my elders. Why shouldn’t I be freshman class president? Sam Wilson insists I’m the perfect choice. I sure wish he would stop asking me to call him Uncle Sam. He might be someone’s uncle but he’s not mine.
When it was my turn to give a speech in front of the entire class, my palms got all sweaty and my voice choked up a few times. I thought about what President Lincoln told me about Gettysburg and how he choked up with emotion. He was strong. I would be too.
I offered my classmates my thoughts about what it means to be a kid in a confusing world. I asked for their votes, not because I could get the school to stop giving out homework, or give away free soda. Those goals were unrealistic. I told them I was like them. I’m a shy kid trying to get by each day and doing the best I can. I told them if they voted for me, I would take that idea to the boring meetings and remind our teachers we are all kids looking for answers.
President Andrew Jackson once told me, “There is no pleasure in having nothing to do.” My goal as president will be to allow all our students to understand it does take effort to improve who you are as a person.
One of my favorite quotes comes from President Reagan. He stated, “Each of you is an individual worthy of respect, unique and important to the success of America.” Middle school had its challenges. No doubt, high school will too. I am confident with hard work and desire; I will succeed. I refuse to let my opportunities go to waste.
Our class is sitting in the auditorium waiting for the election results. Mr. Smith, the school principal, is on his way to the podium.
“Nice speech, I voted for you.”
“Thanks, Bruce. Now hush, I wanna hear if I’m gonna be president.”
~~~*~~~
Thoughts
When this journey began, I never imagined it would lead to six novels and the creation of characters who had never before entered my train of thought. Writing has connected me with people around the world, who I will likely never meet in person, yet I am honored to have met through my words. I am amazed at how the power of today’s technology allows you to connect.
This current story was born because one day while watching the news, there was a report concerning a building in Illinois, which has a cornerstone with the words “Abraham Lincoln, Democrat.” I learned long ago, you can either be part of the problem or the solution. I trust this novel in some small way can be part of the solution.
Special thanks go out to Virginia Aronson, Anne Cantwell, Sharon A. Smith and Mary Welton for being my beta readers as well as The Inkwell for their critiques.
Thank you to my readers. God willing, Alex, Star, Bruce, Wendy and the presidents will return in the future.
Presidential Shadows Page 26
