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1MySchoolDaysLookingovermyownschooldays,therearesomanythingsthatIwouldrathernottell,thatitwilltakeverylittletimeandspaceformetousein

tellingwhatIamwillingthatthecarpingpublicshouldknowaboutmyearlyhistory.Ibeganmyeducationalcareerinalogschoolhouse.Findingthatothergreatmenhaddonet

hatway,IbeganearlytolookaroundmeforalogschoolhousewhereIcouldbegininasmallwaytosoakmysystemfullofhardwordsandinformation.ForatimeIlearnedver

yrapidly.Learningcametomewithverylittleeffortatfirst.Iwouldreadmylessonoveronceortwiceandthentakemyplaceintheclass.Itneverbotheredmetorecite

mylessonandsoIstoodattheheadoftheclass.Icouldstickmybigtoethroughaknot-holeinthefloorandworkoutthemostdiffi

cultproblem.Thisbecameatlastahabitwithme.Withmyknot-holeIwassafe,withoutitIwouldhesitate.Alargered-headedboy,withfeetlikeasummersquashandeyeslik

ethoseofadeadcodfish,wasmyrival.HesoondiscoveredthatIwasverydependentonthatknot-hole,andsoonenighthes

toleintotheschoolhouseandpluggeduptheknot-hole,sothatIcouldnotworkmytoeintoitandthusrefreshmymemory.Thenthelarge

red-headedboy,whohadnotformedtheknot-holehabit,wenttotheheadoftheclassandremainedthere.AfterIgrewlarger,m

yparentssentmetoamilitaryschool.ThatiswhereIgotthefinemilitarylearningandstatelycarriagethatIstillwear.Myroomwason

thesecondfloor,anditwasverydifficultformetoleaveitatnight,becausetheturnkeylockedusupat9o’clockeveryevening.Still,Iusedtogetoutonc

einawhileandwanderaroundinthestarlight.IdidnotknowyetwhyIdidit,butIpresumeitwasakindofsomnambulism.IwouldgotobedthinkingsointentlyofmylessonsthatIwo

uldgetupandwanderaway,sometimesformiles,inthesolemnnight.OnenightIawokeandfoundmyselfinawatermelonpatch.Iwasneversoashamedinmylife.Itisaveryserious

thingtobeawakenedsorudelyoutofasound2sleep,byabulldog,tofindyourselfinthewatermelonvineyardofamanwithwhomyouarenotacquainted.Iwa

snotontermsofsocialintimacywiththismanorhisdog.Theydidnotbelongtoourset.Wehadneverbeenthrowntogetherbefore.AfterthatIwascalledthegreatsomnambuli

standmenwhohadwatermelonconservatoriesshunnedme.Butitcuredmeofmysomnambulism.Ihavenevertriedtosomnambuleanymoresincethattime.Thereareotherlittleinc

identsofmyschooldaysthatcometroopingupinmymemoryatthismoment,buttheywerenotstartlingintheirnature.Mineisbutthehistoryo

fonewhostruggledonyearafteryear,tryingtodobetter,butmostalwaysfailingtoconnect.TheboysofBostonwoulddowelltostudycar

efullymyrecordandthen–dodifferently.