We moved to the Western Hills subdivision just a little north of Denver when I was six years old. Our new house was on Bronco Road. And I thought it was fitting because our life there was kind of like the Broncos in the rodeos I had watched. It would be years before I knew the street was actually named after the Denver Broncos.

Even at just six I had already been a lot of places. Including staying with my Grandpa Jack and Grandma Alice for a while where we went nearly clear across Canada when my Grandpa Jack was an office manager for Parkhill Pipeline Company.

But the one thing I had never been to was a school. And even when I did go to a school for the first time it was only one half day of kindergarten. And even then everyone involved should have known I was headed for trouble in school. And the Kindergarten teacher probably told my mother that since I wouldn't follow directions, kept leaving the group to play with the toys, and got in a fight. So that half day that spring turned out to be enough for both of us.

The thing I remember most about it was up until then I had been what my Grandma Allice would call a "free trapper." I was pretty much a free ranging kid and free spirit that pretty much did what I wanted and was not willing to give that up without a fight. And nobody, not my mom and dad, not the teachers, not the administrators were willing to fight me over the deal. And I mean they would have had to knock the crap out of me to win.

I started First Grade as a six year old about to turn seven with about five million other Baby Boomers that started school that year. There were between 30 and 50 kids per classroom back then because they literally could not build schools fast enough. And for me at least there was trouble from day one.

Part of it was me. Like I said I wasn't going to do what I was told and follow a bunch of rules someone else made up unless they made me. And I was willing to fight all comers.

But a lot of it was also learning disabilities I am not sure they even diagnosed back then. And were mostly the result of my mother drinking a few too many toasts to "the health of the baby" which they did a lot of back then. I didn't even know what all they were until I got diagnosed when I was an adult but they were ADHD, dyslexia, with a visual special impairment thrown in for good measure.

Which meant when I started school none of it made any sense to me. I could memorize things like the alphabet and counting just my hearing them. But they didn't matter to me. I had no context to put them in and letters and numbers made no sense to me other than just reciting them.

They could put those words or numbers on the black boards or on paper. But when I tried to put them in my head they would just break apart in my brain. Then if they wanted the words and numbers back I would have to go rummaging around in my brain, find all the pieces, try to put them back together and spit them out. Which was just way too much work for me.

However, I did try to pick up some things for appearance sake like I was making some kind of progress. I memorized the word "look" and how to spell it for example. And thought that would be the only word I would need for the rest of my life. And in a way I was kind of right about that. I have spent the rest of my life looking.

Naturally though it didn't take long after I started school for the school to call my mom and tell her I was having some problems. For one they wondered if I had kidney problems because I asked to go to the bathroom all the time. Well, yeah, the classroom seemed boring and confined to me. I would rather roan the halls and see what happening and as long as they were going to let me I would ask to go to the bathroom about 39 times a day.

The school also told mom I seemed to get in a lot of fights on the playground. And there were two parts to that. One was when I was with my grandparents in Canada my Grandpa Jack was the "office manger" but we moved with the pipeline from trailer park to trailer park. There was a mix of Canadian kids and US kids mostly from Oklahoma. Fighting was sort of a pass time and I got pretty good at it.

With the other part being I would almost always be the smallest boy in a classroom which made other kids think they could push me around. So I would try to prove them wrong. And to me at least getting beat up didn't hurt as bad as being pushed around or running away.

They also informed my mom there were other problems though. My teacher thought I didn't really understand any of the material and had serious comprehension problems. They didn't seem to have any solutions for that back then like they do now. But it was duly noted.

I am sure it was probably more than just one phone call but eventually my mom decided she would go up there and observe me in the classroom herself because no one was going to accuse her of being a bad mother. And even though while she was observing I didn't pay any attention to the lessons, got up and did odd jobs around the classroom during the lessons, didn't do any of the work, or turn any of the work in my mother could see the problem right off. The problem was my teacher was Black.

That's right folks. It couldn't have been her. It couldn't have had anything to do with the amount alcohol she consumed while the was pregnant with me. Nothing to do with her never reading to me or paying any attention to me for that matter. Nothing to do with never going to pre school or Kindergarten. The only problem was my teacher was Black and my mother demanded they put me in another class.

My mother insisted they put me in the same class as my friend that happened to be a girl Michelle's. My mom and dad were friends with Michelle's mom and dad and Michelle did really well in school. That would solve everything.

Well actually all that did was create another real problem. I met Michelle when we first moved to Bronco Road and learned to ride a bike borrowing her old bike with no breaks. And Michelle seemed like the first genius I had ever met and seemed to know everything. Schools actually divided classrooms according to "intelligence" back then so that was a very good indication Michelle's class would be the most advanced. But since mom was very insistent they agreed to move me to Michelle's class anyway.

So they moved me to Miss Sample's room. I'll never forget her. Miss Samples was both scary, because she really believed in strict discipline, but also beautiful in ways I didn't really understand. Like Snow White beautiful with long black hair and blue eyes.

Miss Samples was the straightest person I ever saw. And what I mean by that was her posture was always in perfect straight lines and she seemed to carry herself more like gliding than walking.

The proof that Miss Samples had the most advanced class was evident to me right after I walked in the door though. All the kids in her class could already read. And in all the other subjects they were studying things I had never even heard of.

I was as lost as lost could be. But at least Miss Samples did not let me just wonder around or ask to go to the bathroom all the time. I mostly just sat there in my own little world daydreaming which to me was better than TV anyway.

I couldn't figure out what it was about Miss Samples but I loved to watch her walk, move, and sit if it wasn't behind her desk. I do know now though. Miss Samples had great legs. Long, straight, and shapely.

I was mesmerized by Miss Samples but the only time I would be close to her was during reading. We did reading in small groups sitting in a circle. And Miss Samples always made me sit right next to her because I fidgeted all the time, and spoke out which distracted the other kids. So she wanted me to be within easy reach to correct me and make me shut up.

That was actually fine with me because then I could smell her, watch her face and eyes, and watch her lips when she spoke. But mostly I just stared at her legs which she always kept crossed at the knees.

And for some reason especially with nylon stockings on her legs there was just something so inviting somehow. Irresistible I guess. Because one day I just reached out and put my hand on one of them just above the knee.

And when I did Miss Samples looked down at me with just the strangest expression on her face. It included a crooked half smile kind of like she couldn't believe it. Then the crooked smile turned into a full smile and without saying anything and just as gently as she could took my hand, picked it up and sat it back down on my own leg, still smiling. Well let me tell you that was just thrilling to me and I would do anything for one of those smiles from then on.

So I started scheming. The one thing I noticed was Miss Samples loved reading more than anything else. And she loved teaching kids how to read. She would smile at kids and heap praises on them when they read well or just improved. And I really wanted to impress Miss Samples and get some of those smiles and praise. And I decided I would read to Miss Samples too.

Now don't get me wrong. You notice I didn't say I would learn to read for her. Even for Miss Samples' smile that just wasn't something I could do. Those words were just a jumble on the page to me and trying to make sense of them seemed hopeless. Instead I just started looking at the pictures that were on every page. They were all the same characters every time, mostly just Dick, Jane, and their dog Spot. If a new character was introduced there would be a picture of them and all had to do was remember their names. If there was a ball or a jump rope of just about anything else there would be a picture of it and I could figure it out. The words had a certain cadence to them, not a rhyme but a rhythm like a drum beat I could follow.

So I started just reading up a storm. I even volunteered the first time because I think Miss Samples had already given up on me. She was so surprised I could suddenly read she gave me a great big smile. And I would even follow each word on the page with my finger like the other kids did. Miss Samples would have to correct me a lot but she was still pleased and I got lots of smiles.

I'd keep "reading" like that clear into the Fourth Grade the first time around when my hatred for math escalated to new levels because there were no pictures with written math problems. And my Fourth Grade teacher Mr. Acres got suspicious about why I never did written problems or could never get the right answer if I did. So one day he made me try to read some of the problems to him. I was busted then and Mr. Acres and if fact the whole Colorado school system was a little shocked I'd managed to make it to the Fourth Grade without being able to read. They flunked me for that and I had to take the fourth grade again. Is it any wonder I still hate math to this very day? But I digress.

Inside the classroom was not the only place I was having trouble. I was having more or at least different kinds of problems outside the classroom. And that was because there were a lot of rules out on the playground that I either didn't understand or wasn't going to follow.

Some of those rules were kids bigger and older than you could tell you what to do. Nope, I wasn't going along with that rule. The older and bigger kids could beat me up but they still couldn't make me do what they told me to do. Another rule a bunch of kids can tell you what to do. We no I guess not. They can gang up on you and push you down and hit and kick you but you have more chances to push them down or hit and kick them because there are more of them and more opportunities. And of course somewhere in there was a rule against fighting on the playground. But that was the last of my worries when they didn't seem to have a rule against other kids pushing me around. And until they got one I wasn't going to follow any of the other playground rules.

That was of course on all the days other than the ones when Miss Samples was on playground duty. On those days I didn't have time to break the rules or fight. For one Miss Samples watched that playground like a hawk. But also there was no competition or jealousy over just watching Miss Samples walk which was about all I did.

Miss Samples would be wearing some kind of blazer or sometimes a long wool coat with never a wrinkle even when she moved. Her head would be perfectly straight like she was walking with a book on top of it. Every hair on her head was in perfect place. And she wouldn't take steps, it was more like she would glide and just place each foot on the ground. And everywhere she went there were always kids I think might have been past students running up to her to say hello and get a smile. I could have just sat there and watched her all day.

But Miss Samples wasn't out there one day when me and some other kids were playing marbles. I'd taken up two new hobbies by then; playing marbles and stealing. And marbles was serious business.

We played a game called rings. We'd draw a ring in the dirt on the ground and all the players would put five marbles in the center of the ring. Then we'd take turns shooting at the marbles from outside of the ring and if you knocked a marble out of the ring you got to shoot again from wherever your "shooter" marble stopped. You got to keep all the marbles you knocked out of the ring. And when they were all knocked out we would start all over putting five more marbles in the ring. I really liked that game, was actually pretty good at it, and was starting to collect a bunch of marbles.

But then this one day a group of third graders came along and told us to move our marble game because they were going to play another game there. I stood up and told them no. It was a big playground and we were there first.

Then this great big fat kid stepped up. He wasn't very tall just big around and said, "We told you to move," and just pushed me down hard. And then he turned his head to look back at his friends and laughed.

Well, he could laugh alright but he shouldn't have taken his eyes off me to do it. Because I didn't bother to get back up. His fat legs were right there so I grabbed him by both ankles and just bulldozed into him digging for all I was worth. He went down over backwards and I climbed on top of him and started hitting him.

That turned out to be a mistake because he just hit me a couple times giving me a bloody nose and then rolled me over. He got on top of me, grabbed my hair and pounded my face into the ground a few times. That was a pretty good move I'd never seen before and I thought worked pretty good because it really hurt and scratched up my face. And because he was so fat I couldn't do anything about it when he was on top of me.

Then one of the other kids said let's just forget it and he got off of me and started to just walk away laughing. But he was a slow learner and took his eyes off me again. So I tackled him from behind just grabbing his feet because his legs were too fat for me to get my arms around.

I couldn't wait to try that new move on him but damn the luck I hadn't noticed he had a crew cut and his hair was too short to grab. So I used both hands to just shove his face into the ground but that only worked the first couple times when he wasn't ready for it. And the next time he got his head up he was too stout for me to shove it back down.

Now it did occur to me about then I had a pretty serious problem on my hands. I instinctively knew he was just too big and strong for me and if he managed to stand up or even just roll me over again I would probably get the beating of my life. So more out of panic than anything else I commenced to box his ears while spurring him with my heels and legs trying to ride him like a bronc or a bull in a rodeo.

Boxing someone's ears was something I learned in Canada. And I don't know if it was something they taught in schools, a national pass time, or something just in trailer parks. But it did seem that anyone in Canada could box my ears from kids my own age, to older sisters, mothers and fathers, or maybe even any self respecting Canadian just walking down the street that thought some kid was out of line.

And properly applied it worked like this. Suppose you called someone a Canuck and they took offense and said something like "call me a Canuck will you. I shall box your ears." Then they would make kind of a loose fist and hit you on the ear with it. But not with the knuckles. Instead it would be more like the flat part of the fingers more like a slap than a punch. That was usually followed by a box on the other ear. And by that time the first ear was stinging. Then the other ear would start stinging. And the more they kept it up the more your ears stung. It was kind of a gradual thing until your ears were bright red and felt loke they were on fire.

I was doing that to the fat kid nd much to my surprise it seemed to be working. He couldn't stand up with his hands covering his ears and anytime he moved his hands I would box his ears some more which must have been getting pretty sore and he would cover them again. And he was rocking from side to side but I was in the middle of him and could get a foot down on either side to keep him from rolling over.

It working so well I felt the fear come in him and the fat kid started crying and screaming for someone to get me off him. And something in me just snapped. Bullies are cowards at heart and when I felt the coward I went from rage to blind rage which seemed to give me more strength to hit and kick harder and faster and I guess I wanted to kill him. I would fight bullies for the rest of my life and that was aways a bad trait in me. When the bullies lost their nerve there needed to be someone there to pull me off because I probably wasn't going to stop on my own.

And speaking of pulling me off the next thing I knew someone was pulling on me and shouting STOP IT!! STOP IT!! STOP IT RIGHT NOW!!! I didn't want to stop but there was something familiar about that voice. I had just never heard it that loud.

It was familiar enough to make me stop hitting and kicking long enough to look behind me and I saw Miss Samples' legs. I looked even further and Mss Samples had a hold of me pulling me off the fat kid. And it made me feel really bad because she was anything but perfectly straight. Her legs were spread wide apart and bent on each side of me. She was bent over and a strand of her hair had fallen across her face. And she had a really strained almost scared look. I never wanted or meant to do that to Miss Samples. Not EVER. And it made me bust out crying really hard when I hadn't been crying up until then.

Once Miss Samples had me off him the fat kid rolled over and started screaming something at me still crying. But if he was going to do that he should have stood up first and put a little distance between us. Because I found out I could cry really hard and kick really hard at the same time. And I did kicking him on the legs making him howl.

Miss Samples actually had to pick me up then and told the fat kid to leave. I felt her body and arms around me and instantly stopped kicking because I didn't want to kick her or even have more of her hair fall out of place.

About then the teacher who was supposed to be watching the playground showed up and she might as well have been D.O.A. Miss Samples just shot daggers at her out of her blue eyes like one to the heart and the other between her eyes. And told her to take care of the fat kid she was taking me inside.

And with that Miss Samples put me back down on the ground grabbed my hand and we took off waking back to the classroom. But not in the way she usually walked and the way I loved. This was a really fast paced you're in a heap of trouble buddy walk with Miss Samples squeezing my hand so tight it felt like she could break it off if I tried to pull away. But at least I was feeling the warmth of her hand on mine.

I could tell Miss Samples was really mad or maybe it was upset. But I was surprised once we got in the classroom she didn't seem to be mad at me making me think she may have seen who started the fight from the classroom. Because instead of yelling at me or anything we made a swing past her desk where she grabbed some tissues because my nose was still bleeding a little bit.

We didn't really stop and ended up going to the sink in the back of the classroom where she picked me up again and set me on the counter. Miss Samples turned on the water soaked a paper towel and started dabbing at the scratches on my face and chin and washed off the dirt and blood.

Now of course Miss Samples was talking to me very sternly saying I knew the rule about no fighting, I should have stopped when she told me to, and I shouldn't have kicked the fat kid on the legs when he was on the ground. She was also telling me to try and stop crying which I was trying really hard to do because I didn't want to cry in front of Miss Samples but couldn't help it. Then Miss Samples helped a little telling me it was alright and patting me on the back a little bit because I was having trouble catching my breath.

That did help and I started to at least stop crying while Miss Samples was still dabbing at my face with the wet towel. And I remember looking at her face and her eyes and she got that crooked half smile again and while she was looking at me just said; "You can get so angry."

And she wasn't just telling me that or asking a question. It was another one of those moments when for some reason it seemed like she just couldn't believe it. Then the crooked half smile turned into full smile. And I didn't know it then but I would never forget that smile for the rest of my life and can still see it.

Let me tell you that was one rough start to a morning. And I am pretty sure for both Miss Samples and I. And it wouldn't be the last of our rough days ahead.