When I talk about getting back to the swing of life, it was more like my scouting friend, I got high for the first time and declared it wasn't working. He then swung from one vine to the other, only to have it give way and fall about thirty feet and get entangled like a pick-up stick in amongst the jumbled vine sections.

I was happy that things were better for me in January and that February was better yet. I could at least take occasional breaks from the grief and pain, and enjoy life here and there. Also in late February, the impotence broke and I found myself like a boy left alone in a candy shop, stuffing his pockets for the time he will be yanked out of there.

I quickly learned the impotence hadn't lifted, just changed gears. I could enjoy sex as long as it was a fantasy, but try to apply it in a realistic situation and the impotence would come back as if, someone turned off a switch. Of course this was realized the hard, frustrating way.

I took two, half-credit courses for social studies. The first was a much needed distraction, as I took Philosophy. The teacher was near retirement and really let the class slack. He didn't believe in grading for homework and always presented his topic, but let things go after that.

My friend John was in there as well, and usually the philosophy class would become a debate forum between him and the teacher. For my second course, it was psychology and having already procured a text book, I worked ahead.

The psychology teacher, was happily declared, a bit of a nut, and made for a fast paced and enjoyable course, yet with a lot of hard work to do. He said that he was taught Catholic, and considered it the best teaching method and a lot closer on how college operates. Basically, he would write his lesson plan on the chalk board and have us copy it. When he sensed that everyone was done, he would start a class discussion.

He also did many unusual things, such as sit on the back of his chair and call your name while he pointed to someone else. His description of a dehumanization demonstration had us glad that he didn't teach it to us. He also talked about parapsychology and flashed an imaginary card, which I was shocked to actually see, it was a five of hearts. When he said that it was the five of diamonds, I slammed my hand on the desk and said, "Damn it!"

"Mike?"

"I'm sorry, I actually saw it, but you flashed it so fast, I thought it was the five of diamonds."

I was pretty much a frequent contributor, as the class had me lending a lot of experiences. It also set him about setting a trap for me, as he pointed to the other side of the room, "Mike, how many people have been institutionalized in mental institutions?"

"I believe that it is 33,000 people."

"Not only wrong Mike, but the wrong edition. That was the third edition and I am teaching from the fourth. People like Mike are the reason that I don't permit the textbooks to be taken home." My favorite was him teaching us how to hypnotize chickens. Something that comes in handy if you're hungry.


There was a girl from sixth grade sitting across from me, known as Big Pollok, and was happy that she was in my class.  I admired her for both her looks and soft demeanor. She was fairly tall and I loved the slight visual softness about her, and started to think about asking her out.

She made it easy to fantasize about her as well. This worked fine until I was there in front of her person. I wondered with her demeanor, if there would be the possibility that she would be the understanding and loving student that I needed. She picked up on the fact that I was thinking about her, and at least, while she noticed, there didn't appear to be any objections.

It wasn't long before I was thinking of how a date would go, until I had horrible realizations. The thought of kissing someone else, really upset me and produced a flood of emotions, including anger and guilt, not to mention that I still seemingly couldn't take it to the next step.

I didn't think it would be right for me to try dating, when I didn't know how I would react to a date. If I started breaking down, I didn't think that would be very fair for the person, who actually dated me. Regrettably, I decided not to ask her out on a date and let things drop. After making the decision, I really couldn't look at her as it gave me second thoughts and I was ashamed at my situation.

There was another girl sitting beside her, who also was a member of the yearbook staff. I admired and enjoyed her quirky sense of humor. With her, I decided to admire her from afar, as it seemed that even with my thought of getting closer to her, that sense of humor I enjoyed would be used against me in class.

But it seemed that there was some unseen force, trying to get me to be a little more open. This year for Gym, I chose to take their new, weight training course, as I loved weight training after school in 10th grade. I was very disappointed, as it was lax and taught by a seemingly disinterested teacher that I really didn't care for.

I did a workout, but it wasn't my best. I found the whole weight room to be too loud and distracting. It wasn't the usual clank and clang of the weights with the usual screams of forced reps; it was the amount of chatter from the rest of the class who didn't seem to take things seriously either.

I drove the teacher nuts with my hanging around, because this was a literal proposition in the hall way. I would climb up to the top of the ceiling with my fingers against one wall and the toes of my shoes, against the other.

He was always yelling at me for this, but one time he was happy about it, "Hey! You're really going to be in trouble now!"

Mr. Heiser, an administrator and Mr. Pfeiffer rounded the corner and with the Gym teacher pointing up to me, dropped their jaws. They went right under me and looked up saying, "Now, Mike! That's what we want to see with school spirit. Just hang in there and you'll get through everything fine." Boy was the Gym teacher miffed!

Usually, the activity room next to the weight room was open and vacant. I was in the hall when a group of boys in the class wanted me to come over. "We want you to jump rope with her."

"Why?" They were pointing over to one of the most attractive and bustiest girls that the school had to offer.

"We want to get our rocks off with her."

"Well then, why don't you ask to jump rope with her?" They needn't have to explain as they appeared both too shy and scared.

"Well, I don't have a chance, but I will ask her to jump rope. Not for you fools, but for myself." My intention was to show them that getting rejected wasn't really that bad. I figured that she would have a humorous put down and send me on my way.

When I asked, I wasn't expecting, "Sure, go grab a jump rope and we'll jump rope together." But there we were, jumping roping together with my head sort of not within sync with the rest of my body, it bobbed up and down about twice as fast."

What really touched me with this girl was the chit chatting that occurred afterwards. I was really touched by the friendship and did consider asking her out. I enquired if she was dating to her friend.

"Well, I don't think you'll like my answer, but at this time she is dating three boys. (She named them.) Now, it's not like you think, she just enjoys being with them socially. I do know that she likes you and think you should ask her out, maybe you'll be the one that she decides to go steady with."

I thanked her friend for helping me out, and encouraging me. But I decided to once again drop the ball. After a couple of weeks, her friend walked up to me and said, "You didn't ask her out?"

"No, I would like to, but I have a problem. I am not ready to try dating yet."

"But, I think that you should ask her, because she likes you."

"I appreciate that, but I really wanted to be with Jean and because of that, I didn't handle Jean's death very well. I still have a lot of problems to get through and I want to enjoy her as a friend."

I figured all was over with my jump roping partner, but this was not only a misplaced fear, I detected an ever greater sense of affection, though I didn't know if her friend talked about me. In fact, I not only found my jump roping situation funny, especially with my functioning problems, I had a little humor to add to the mix as well.

I walked up to her and asked, "What is your bra size?"

She got the funniest look on her face and said, "Now, Mike. Why do you need to know something like that yourself?"

I pulled out my loaded gun. Actually it was a camping gear catalog with a selection of newly created, Jog Bras. "Because of these."

"Now, Mike. Please be honest, why would you spend $30.00 and buy me a bra?"

"Because, $30.00 isn't anything, compared to the cost of plastic surgery to fix my face it the thin bra straps beak on the bras that you use. Plus, I am going blind and have neck problems." She walked away shaking her head.

It was amazing how one person can really help out, even without knowing. It gave me enough confidence with myself to try working with the models again and get a photographic project off of the ground. There was a model I had an unsuccessful shoot with, and while she was one of the most attractive women in the school, she had proved herself to be the most unphotogenic for me.

Art in Business and Industry class was working with clothespins and I wanted to incorporate this with in my portfolio. I arranged to have her come to the darkroom.   Omce there, I hadn't realized that I had misstakenly thought I was playing Doors music, when it fact it was Ray Manzarek's album, "The Whole Thing Started With Rock and Roll, Now It's Out of Control."

It was labeled as, "Night Music," as it had objectionable lyrics to it. While I was busily explaining the project she was busily listening to the objectionable lyrics, and stopped me from switching the music, as the even more objectionable orgasm produced itself.

Even adding more objections to the meeting was the fact that I had still continued with my dipping Copenhagen snuff. My darkroom spittoon was banned, and exchanged for a spit cup, due the disgusting nature of that habit. I was surprised to see her decided to model for me again.

While the shoot went well, it was a get back into your shoes again, and as before the photographs didn't work out too well. At least she handled things in stride, and what I realized was that somehow, my timing of triggering the shutter was off and I had seemed to lost the ability and talent to know when to trigger it. It just added more frustration to the whole situation.

She picked up that I was having problems handling something and enquired, but I covered up Jean's death with a, simpler explanation that I invited one of her friends to the Art Department's Christmas party and wasn't treated well. I surprised that she felt the girl wasn't thinking right and felt that things are for the better off for me.

What really got me involved back into school life was my friend John who informed me that he was doing a rock concert for an underclass. I thought I had wished him well, but in short order, I found myself as the concert's producer as it was too much for him.

Not having anything to do with a production before, it was a ground up learning experience for me. I didn't think that I would pull this one off, but with the element of planning, common sense that was needed and the leadership skills I learned about in scouts, I somehow spent the next three weeks arranging things and somehow pulling off this, theatrical rock concert.

But it always seemed I was at odds with various people in my class. Many in my class made fun of John and I doing a concert, as they put it, "We can't wait to see you fail!" I had my problems with everything, especially the teacher's in charge; but with the support of the school's administration, somehow pulled things off.

Despite our mixing board catching fire a minute before the concert, and the sponsored class rioting as they wanted Bob Seger; we delivered an excellent concert. I was surprised to discover we had attracted both the interest, and an accolade, from teachers whose interest we captured.

After the concert, our class was mad that we didn't do it for them, even though John offered and was laughed away with insults from the very same students. Such was my class, a person from the science department knew of my Subliminal Message term paper, and invited me to an Honor Society affair so that I could meet, "Lopez." He was the news personality for 98ROCK.

I did ask about the dress, but was told by the teacher in charge of the honor society, "Just bring yourself." In between when school ended and the meeting, I worked on a photographic print and spilled chemicals on me, so I looked bad and smelled worse.

I was shocked to find all of the honor society students in suits and dresses, with their parents. I figured that I would talk with Lopez back stage, but ended up chatting with him in front of everyone. I did notice a lack of approval by its members, and even got yelled at the next day at school. Also a couple of death threats, but my meeting with Lopez was worth it!

With photography, my first term ended with a, "B" from a grudging Mr. Schwarz who wasn't very happy that I wasn't making every opportunity with a third year in photography. I was just about a photographic non-functional with my depression in the second term and expressed his profound disappointment with a, "C."

After the New Year, I was doing better with photography, though I knew I wasn't up to par like I was in the previous years. I was sitting in a lot on his Art In Business and Industry class, despite I told him that I was looking for ideas to apply with photography, he expressed his desire that I do more with photography.

Later in the year, I was, but I wasn't satisfied with the results that I was getting, and wanted to find something that I could totally be creative with. Needless, he was completely floored when I mentioned that I would like to do a Segal sculpture, which involved wrapping people up with plaster bandages.

Not finding any volunteers, it was to become a self-sculpture. In the spirit of a self-portrait, I ended up wrapping myself with plaster bandages around myself, cutting them apart and putting them back together.

This was great fun for the school, and really got the best of the teachers. During my study, I applied the bandages to my arm, and had it set up in English class. Miss Rankin said she was sorry I had been injured, and got a student to take my notes for me.

The next day, it was the same thing, and my note taker immediately noticed that the plaster bandages were on the other arm. I asked them to go along with it. All throughout the rest of the class, Miss Rankin was giving me very suspicious looks and it was obvious she was trying to figure things out.

The day after that, I walked into English class with my shoulders, neck, chin, and back of the head wrapped up. Miss Rankin yelled, "Mike, that's the one that I like the best, because I could break your neck for messing with me. Would you care to tell the class and me, what in the hell you are up to?"

To me, I enjoyed that one, but quickly ran into a problem; I was unable to do my crotch with the shorts, so I needed a volunteer to help. People caught wind of this and told me, not to ask them, especially the guys. Luckily Mr. Schwarz found a friend of the photo crew girl who was interested.

That interest declined with the first bandage, when she was informed that she had to tuck it up and under my shorts. She reluctantly did this and her hand flew out as she started to cry and apologized as she thought that she touched something.

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did, I felt it."

"No, if you did touch something, I would feel it. Show me what you touched." It turned out to be the seam of the cut-off shorts. I spent the next five minutes, trying to talk the school's shiest student into helping me complete the project. Getting her past the embarrassment, suffering from her comments and flirty remarks, finally she was getting into the affair and I was relieved that were nearly done.

I felt a sensation and a tugging motion. "Gina, what are you doing?"

"Fixing your pocket."

"Don't do that honey."

"No, no, I screwed it up and I am going to fix it."

"Don't do that, that's not my pocket. Leave it alone."

"Oh stop it! I had enough of you; you've been messing with me since I started this. Let me fix it."

"Gina, I'm serious, that's not my pocket." I thought to myself, Come on God, I'm trying to be nice here... Oh the hell with it!  I was also glad to have the malady that I suffered from and thought it came in quite handy in this case.

I boldly stated, "Gina, the school isn't going to appreciate a woody in my statue; get your hand off of my penis!" She stopped but still didn't let go.

Then it dawned on her. She removed her hand, stood up and walked away. With her hands in the air, she looked back and yelled, "Nope! I'm done!"

"Gina!"

"Nope!" She grabbed her books and started to walk out.

"Please, Gina!" She stopped in mid stride. "Gina, let's just talk for a minute." Her head was now cocked toward me, "Please, Gina." She was looking at me and she at least had a smile on her face.  "We're almost done, there's just a few more bandages to go. Let's just get done this and get it over with." She came back and started working and in a few minutes we were done.

Nothing was more beautiful than the smile on her face, "We're done... I can leave, right?"

"We're done, but I need one more small favor. I need you to go to the closet and get a razor blade."

"Why?" I told her I had to go to the bathroom and now she had a new smile on her face, an evil one. She headed for the closet and found them right away, but she acted as if she didn't see them. "I can't find them." After rummaging around some more, "You said they were here? Maybe there in one of the cabinets, I'll start looking! [There were over thirty of them all over the room.]

"Gina. If I have an accident, we are going to do this again tomorrow and all of my other shorts are tighter."

"Oh here they are!" Right where she saw them the first time and where I said they would be. Her last official act was to hand me the blade and say with her ever more mischievous expression, "Good luck!" She walked out of the room, busting up with laughter. Glad she was having fun at my expense.


Then the long 75 foot trek started to the bathroom; in a sitting position, traveling one inch at a time. Fifteen minutes later, I had arrived. To hell with humility, I was going to cut and drop but the plaster was only soft set. With no desire to do this part of the project again, I worked the physics out, spent five minutes doing the operation if cutting my zipper open and fishing the plumbing. Buy the time it was done, I was across three urinals doing a circus style balancing act.

A chemistry teacher walked in and exclaimed, "What the hell!" I told him I had to do it this way and he walked up and saw my face, "Oh Mike, it's you! You know you're one of the neatest students in this school. You are very popular with the teachers and we all keep track of you. [Like this?] We think you're great, but are glad that you're not in our classroom..." [I was known as the, Academic Smart-ass.]. He had a ton of questions and I guess I was in the position to answer them.

It was now nearing the end of the school year and I had a problem- I couldn't think of graduating from the stage, without totally breaking down at the fact that Jean won't be there. No matter what I tried to do, or how I would try to reprogram things, breaking completely down was the result. I decided not to graduate on stage, but elected instead to have the diploma sent to my house.

I talked this over with my mom, who said that she understood and with my father. Last, I mentioned this to my grandmother, who simply said, "Mike, it's alright as your mom already talked to me, but it would have been wonderful to see you up on stage picking up your diploma."

The school wasn't fine with my decision, and told me, they will require a signed note from my parents. I told my dad this and be exploded, "God damn it Mike! You are being totally selfish with this, but I will write you a note to give to them."

"Dad, you know what? You never give me credit, consideration or understanding! Believe it or not, I am doing it this way so that you aren't embarrassed."

Throughout my ordeal, I always gave consideration to the class and this was just another case. If they didn't feel too great about me now, just think how they would feel to see me go up on stage sobbing as I got my diploma, only to see me completely break down after seeing me receive it. I knew that being a senior at high school was supposed to be the happiest year of one's life. It just wasn't in the cards for me.

I handed the administration the note, and they expressed their disappointment in me, and mentioned that they should made me get one from my grandmother as well. They did retaliate though. I was due to get an award for my participation in photography that was to be given in School at the Senior Awards Ceremony. For whatever reason, I had no problems with this.

I was called in to the office and told by both Mr. Heiser and Mr. Pfeiffer, "Mike, you don't realize the problem you created for us by not graduating up on stage. You're due an award for photography, and we are not letting you get it with the rest of the seniors. We are justifying this, because you don't have a cap and gown."

Before the Awards Ceremony, I picked a spot between where the gowned senior's would sit and their parents. Many of the seniors noted my presence during the procession and I got many questioning looks. Being a minor award, the award was announced nearly last.

"This is an award for Photographic Excellence and it is awarded to Michael W. Kohlman from the Art Department. Unfortunately he is not here to receive it so we will present it to him at a later time." I then stood up to the faces of horror at the administrators up on stage and looked at the parents. I then walked out, leaving the parents to themselves with their questioning comments.

That was the last day for the seniors, but I would remain with the underclassmen, as I had a problem. I was still in pieces, and had to bust ass to put the statue of me together, even arranging to come in on the weekend.

I got that baby done the second to last day, and gave the school a show for their last day. My sculpture was seated at one end of the office lobby, sitting in a lawn chair and posed with a beer and a soda in each hand. I was seated directly across from the sculpture, still posing. Most students didn't believe that it was me, because they felt that any senior that remained was crazy. Something I really wasn't in a position to dispute.

It was interesting, being there, but not. It reminded me of losing Jean, and the fact that I had to struggle with so much, I really wasn't there. While it is horrible that the best year in my life, had turned out to become my worst, I still made the best of things and struggled through it.

In a sense, while I wasn't doing great with photography like the years before, and the darkroom had a prison cell feel to it; it provided me with both a refuge and sterile environment that allowed me to get myself thought the school year. I left it in somewhat decent shape, though I was scathed and scarred, by both Jean's death and the acts of some of my class members.

Yet I was grateful for what worked out. I was also grateful to graduate and leave the school. Scouts were also there for me, and the camping trips allowed for me, getting much better rest. While still Senior Patrol Leader, I was able to slip off and be alone, whether to reflect on things, or express my anger. I could be with friends and get decent rest, that too, all of which, kept me going.