The Earlier Years of Andy Skrzynski's Life
Having just wrapped up my new novel, The New World: A Step Backward, I felt it was about time to reflect on my life as it has unfolded in my childhood and young adult days. I guess it all started when I was born on a cold February day in 1954 at Foote Hospital in Jackson, Michigan. Of course, I had no clue what lay ahead for me in the Lord's grand plan, but I was just happy to be alive, as always.
I don't recall much before one memorable day when I was five years old, staring at a clock in the kitchen of our Quonset hut called "home." I anxiously watched the big hand tick off each minute while I waited for the bus to take me to my first day of school. Thank God the old tick-tock didn't have a second hand or I would have been a mess.
After that initiation day at Warner in Spring Arbor, I could officially call myself a "kindergartner" in front of all my friends, which were few and far between back then. I didn't care; I was thrilled!
The first storm clouds of my life rolled in later that school year as I was about to wrap up my wonderful life as a kindergartner — my parents were getting divorced. Shortly afterwards, my brother and I were placed in the St. Joseph Orphanage for Boys in Jackson, Michigan. That's where I spent most of my next 5 years, playing and occasionally scuffling with many of the 50 ever-changing group of boys under the tutelage of several Polish nuns who operated the place.
Now, don't feel sorry for me because I had a great time there — honestly! You see, I enjoy life no matter where I rest my head. In fact, being raised there was a blessing! We had no TV or radio, but we had instant football, softball, basketball, and "you-name-it" teams to play everyday after school. Who could complain about that? Volunteer students from the nearby Jackson High School often pitched in to coach and monitor us boys running around screaming like the raving munchkins we were. Most importantly, without the daily, two-hour study periods each evening, my mind wouldn't be what it is today. I know, some of you are thinking, "and that's a good thing?"
As this phase of my life morphed into a second, I found myself back in the Western School District, once again, at the start of 6th grade. How could I ever forget my first day? I was utterly shocked when I walked into my morning class. Everybody was laughing and talking while the teacher wasn't perturbed at all. I spotted a vacant seat, then turned around and looked back out the door. I wasn't sure I wanted to stay, but there was no alternative. If I had talked like that in any of my previous classes, 1st grade through 5th grade at St. John's or St. Stan's, I would have been kept after school and given a heavy dose of homework, even a rap on the knuckles with a ruler. But, I fell in place and while in Rome, I decided to do what the Romans did. No, not really, I was too scared to talk to anybody at that point — I didn't know a soul.
Then came roll-call. Typically, that's a rather mundane event. Not today, though. As the teacher read down the list, everybody had rather simple, easy-to-say names. I dreaded the moment she got to the "S's." After two or three S-names rolled off her tongue with ease, she froze, then choked. Sweat started dripping down the side of my face. I knew exactly whose name she had stumbled upon. I bit my lip, fully prepared to take whatever my new classmates had to offer — so I thought.
The teacher looked around the room. "Andy? Is there an 'Andy Junior' in the class?" What was about to happen, I had no control of. After 5 years in a Catholic school system, there was only one reaction to a teacher addressing me. I shot straight up to a standing position and blurted, "Yes, ma'am!" The class roared. I was stunned — no — I was devastated! The entire class was laughing at me. My face started warming and the sweat no longer dripped; it was a roaring river cascading over my forehead.
Still standing after what seemed to be an hour of laughter, I heard. "Andy, would you please pronounce your name for us?" I stared at the teacher in disbelief. She really wanted me to say my name out loud in front of this class? Pronouncing my name was the LAST thing I wanted to do, but I was taught to answer my teachers respectfully. I could barely get it out. "Skrzynski." The class roared louder, and this time everybody was chatting to everybody around them and pointing their fingers at me. I wanted to slink away and never come back, but I couldn't; I was frozen in place. When the teacher finally asked me to sit down, I slowly took my seat.
After the pounding in my heart slowed a bit, the teacher looked at me once again. "Andy, in a public school you don't have to stand when you talk to the teacher." With all the instincts of a trained dog, I shot up again. "Yes, ma'am."
Well, if I thought the earlier laughter was the loudest I ever heard in my life, I was sure that every class in the school building could hear the thunderous laughter emanating from my class now. While I entered Western's front door earlier that morning, hoping for a great start to a new life, that day certainly ended up in the top five most embarrassing of my life.
While my re-initiation day to Western School District was horrible, my remaining time through High School was one of the most enjoyable experiences of my life. Throughout my stay until graduation day of my senior year of 1972, and even to this day, decades later, many of my classmates are truly some of my most beloved friends.
You see, my daytime at school was a wonderful reprieve from my home life at that time, but I'm not going into that. No matter what stood before me, good or bad, I was going to do my darndest to make the best of my life and hang onto as many friends as I could.
I truly loved my teachers and fellow students and still do today. Blaine and Marilyn Goodrich, who took me into their home my senior year, Jackie Gill, who led me to my salvation, and so many other friends from that time will hold a forever-spot in my heart. My experience at Western High School was cool and one of the best things that ever happened to me.
Truly blessed — Andy Skrzynski
I don't recall much before one memorable day when I was five years old, staring at a clock in the kitchen of our Quonset hut called "home." I anxiously watched the big hand tick off each minute while I waited for the bus to take me to my first day of school. Thank God the old tick-tock didn't have a second hand or I would have been a mess.
After that initiation day at Warner in Spring Arbor, I could officially call myself a "kindergartner" in front of all my friends, which were few and far between back then. I didn't care; I was thrilled!
The first storm clouds of my life rolled in later that school year as I was about to wrap up my wonderful life as a kindergartner — my parents were getting divorced. Shortly afterwards, my brother and I were placed in the St. Joseph Orphanage for Boys in Jackson, Michigan. That's where I spent most of my next 5 years, playing and occasionally scuffling with many of the 50 ever-changing group of boys under the tutelage of several Polish nuns who operated the place.
Now, don't feel sorry for me because I had a great time there — honestly! You see, I enjoy life no matter where I rest my head. In fact, being raised there was a blessing! We had no TV or radio, but we had instant football, softball, basketball, and "you-name-it" teams to play everyday after school. Who could complain about that? Volunteer students from the nearby Jackson High School often pitched in to coach and monitor us boys running around screaming like the raving munchkins we were. Most importantly, without the daily, two-hour study periods each evening, my mind wouldn't be what it is today. I know, some of you are thinking, "and that's a good thing?"
As this phase of my life morphed into a second, I found myself back in the Western School District, once again, at the start of 6th grade. How could I ever forget my first day? I was utterly shocked when I walked into my morning class. Everybody was laughing and talking while the teacher wasn't perturbed at all. I spotted a vacant seat, then turned around and looked back out the door. I wasn't sure I wanted to stay, but there was no alternative. If I had talked like that in any of my previous classes, 1st grade through 5th grade at St. John's or St. Stan's, I would have been kept after school and given a heavy dose of homework, even a rap on the knuckles with a ruler. But, I fell in place and while in Rome, I decided to do what the Romans did. No, not really, I was too scared to talk to anybody at that point — I didn't know a soul.
Then came roll-call. Typically, that's a rather mundane event. Not today, though. As the teacher read down the list, everybody had rather simple, easy-to-say names. I dreaded the moment she got to the "S's." After two or three S-names rolled off her tongue with ease, she froze, then choked. Sweat started dripping down the side of my face. I knew exactly whose name she had stumbled upon. I bit my lip, fully prepared to take whatever my new classmates had to offer — so I thought.
The teacher looked around the room. "Andy? Is there an 'Andy Junior' in the class?" What was about to happen, I had no control of. After 5 years in a Catholic school system, there was only one reaction to a teacher addressing me. I shot straight up to a standing position and blurted, "Yes, ma'am!" The class roared. I was stunned — no — I was devastated! The entire class was laughing at me. My face started warming and the sweat no longer dripped; it was a roaring river cascading over my forehead.
Still standing after what seemed to be an hour of laughter, I heard. "Andy, would you please pronounce your name for us?" I stared at the teacher in disbelief. She really wanted me to say my name out loud in front of this class? Pronouncing my name was the LAST thing I wanted to do, but I was taught to answer my teachers respectfully. I could barely get it out. "Skrzynski." The class roared louder, and this time everybody was chatting to everybody around them and pointing their fingers at me. I wanted to slink away and never come back, but I couldn't; I was frozen in place. When the teacher finally asked me to sit down, I slowly took my seat.
After the pounding in my heart slowed a bit, the teacher looked at me once again. "Andy, in a public school you don't have to stand when you talk to the teacher." With all the instincts of a trained dog, I shot up again. "Yes, ma'am."
Well, if I thought the earlier laughter was the loudest I ever heard in my life, I was sure that every class in the school building could hear the thunderous laughter emanating from my class now. While I entered Western's front door earlier that morning, hoping for a great start to a new life, that day certainly ended up in the top five most embarrassing of my life.
While my re-initiation day to Western School District was horrible, my remaining time through High School was one of the most enjoyable experiences of my life. Throughout my stay until graduation day of my senior year of 1972, and even to this day, decades later, many of my classmates are truly some of my most beloved friends.
You see, my daytime at school was a wonderful reprieve from my home life at that time, but I'm not going into that. No matter what stood before me, good or bad, I was going to do my darndest to make the best of my life and hang onto as many friends as I could.
I truly loved my teachers and fellow students and still do today. Blaine and Marilyn Goodrich, who took me into their home my senior year, Jackie Gill, who led me to my salvation, and so many other friends from that time will hold a forever-spot in my heart. My experience at Western High School was cool and one of the best things that ever happened to me.
Truly blessed — Andy Skrzynski