At the height of Leftist-enforced busing, I was sent to an “integrated” junior high school. Twelve years old in the 8th grade, with black male classmates of 15, 16, even 17. Adult-sized, many with moustaches or goatees. Gym class was an adventure, particularly when we played flag football. Like it was yesterday.
I remember my first job out of college was a substitute school teacher in El Paso, Texas. Some of the kids had such a thick Spanish accent that it was pretty hard to understand them. And others look like they were older than me. One of the guys came out to me and said, “Hey teach, what are we doing today?” He had a pretty full beard, a chain on his jeans and what looked like a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the sleeve of his T-shirt. That really blew me away.