By Jay Jamison
“I’ve known him since we were in kindergarten.” I was told this by the guy sitting next to me about the man going out the door. If some people have known each other since kindergarten, then it may be the case that they first came to know each other in August many years ago. August is the month when a new crop of five-year-olds make their first journey into the expanding world outside of home. August is the month when new school terms begin, and many little kids take that first step on the education ladder. From that moment on, more and more things will be expected of those little ones as they grow older. We are completely helpless when we come into this world, and one of the first steps away from that complete attachment to parents begins in August of every year.
I came to Jacksonville as a 14-year-old in 1970. In August of that year, I began my high school career as a freshman at Jacksonville High School. I hardly knew anyone in town. Not only was I an angst-ridden teenager, but I also had a pronounced New Jersey accent. Just think of Joe Pesci as Vinny Gambini and Marisa Tomei as Mona Lisa Vito in the hilarious movie, “My Cousin Vinny,” as greatly exaggerated renditions of my accent. Starting as a freshman in a foreign high school can cause some anxiety. Just imagine trying desperately to blend in and then blowing your cover by asking for a “cuppa cawfee” (cup of coffee) or saying open “de droah” (the drawer). It wasn’t my idea to come out here to the prairie anymore than it was the ideas of little kids to be shunted off to kindergarten. Like it or not, uncomfortable changes are forced on us all, and with education, many of those uncomfortable changes occur in August. Part of my education at Jacksonville High School had nothing to do with my classes. I had to learn to adjust to my new surroundings. I was somewhat successful; no hint of my “Joysey” accent remains.
After four years of mastering a midwestern accent, I went to Illinois College. I was told by my parents that I would be living in a dorm on campus. I moved into the un-air-conditioned (at the time) Turner Hall in August. My roommate snored like a chainsaw. I had other anxieties. My father was the academic dean of the college. For a few of those long-ago August days I was looked upon with suspicion. Fortunately, worries that I might be a plant, spying for the administration, vanished in time. My four years at IC were some of the happiest times of my life. But that first August was trying.
Then it was off to graduate school, at the University of Oklahoma. I traveled to Oklahoma in August. If Jacksonville is an oven in August, Oklahoma is a kiln; punishing unrelenting heat. Also, in that August of 1978, I was moving from a familiar small college campus of about 900 students, to a major university with tens of thousands of students. It was a bit overwhelming.
In May of each year, parents and grandparents suffer through the discomfort of sitting on hard wooden bleachers at The JHS Bowl, anticipating a momentary glimpse of a young man or woman walking across the platform to receive their diplomas. The culmination of the graduate’s achievement comes in May, but the journey begins in August.
