Retrospect: Steven

Self-tutoring about people and events from the past: the tutor mentions a kid from elementary school.

I knew Steven, as I recall, in grades 2,3, and 4. He showed up on the base in winter, I think – it might have been Feb ’78. There were already one or two Stevens in our grade: it was a popular name back then.

Steven was a big, tall kid. He seemed quiet. However, the first time we had gym class (I think they call it PE today) he attracted attention. We all witnessed what he clearly already knew – that he was an athletic marvel.

Our class hadn’t had an athletic leader until his arrival. There were two grade two classes and I think, at the beginning of the year, the other one had gotten the gifted athletes. In the gym and on the playground, however, Steven changed the weather: he was the best at sports, tag, you name it, among our age group.

Steven found school difficult, but I don’t think because he had learning problems – he seemed just as smart as anyone. However, he performed at grade level or a little below. Back then, everyone in a class knew how everyone else was doing – my teachers made it obvious.

Sometimes I would meet Steven outside of school to go skateboarding or whatever. His voice I can still remember. We didn’t have much in common, but we tried to be friends. I was never invited to his house, nor do I believe he came to mine. We did play baseball outside with other kids, though.

In the summer Steven would go away. He was one of those kids who had local family, which I never had: outside the base, my family had no connections in that province. Anyway, Steven would disappear in the summer, then reappear in fall for school. He was in my class again in grade 3, and again in grade 4.

As time went on, Steven’s prowess in sports increased. One time in gym the teacher was showing us a new gymnastic move, but Steven did it before the teacher finished demonstrating. His athletic instinct might be as good as I’ve seen. I recall one time we were playing baseball in the gym, with a plastic bat and ball like little kids play with in their yards. The gym was set up like any back then, with a raised stage at one end where school plays, etc, were performed for the public. Our home plate was at the gym’s other end, where the entrance was. The teacher said, about hitting: “If the ball hits the stage curtains, it’s a home run.” I didn’t imagine we’d see such an event. I wasn’t bad at hitting, yet couldn’t imagine I – or anyone in the class – ever would hit the ball that far. That same period, Steven did. One of the kids got the hit disqualified for technical reasons which were bogus. The hit still stands, in my mind, as a home run. Moreover, Steven wasn’t on my team – that home run counted against mine, or it should have. When it came to sports – skating, baseball, whatever – Steven could do anything.

Like some other talented athletes I’ve known, Steven was an anarchist. I didn’t know that word at the time, yet I understood that about him. Other people realized it, too, so the teachers – including the gym teacher – didn’t like him. Some of the kids didn’t like him for the same reason – he was unpredictable.

Even in reading, writing, and such, Steven had his good times. As a class we would go to the library maybe once per week (or once every two weeks, perhaps). Anyway, one time in grade 3, I recall we were lining up to return from there, each with one or two new books we’d checked out. Steven was excited about his. One kid asked him what it was. “It’s called Album of Dinosaurs,” he answered happily. I looked at the cover: he was right. I’d checked out that book in grade two.

Steven’s athletic talents enabled him to climb the social ladder, such as it was, very quickly. After a while he didn’t talk to me because he’d joined the sphere of the sports kids. (I was never a friend people wanted to have if they could hang out with them.) Among those kids were ones who played on organized sports teams, which he didn’t. Yet, Steven gained their friendship by what they saw in gym and on the playground. For a while, Steven was one of those cool kids – it’s true.

Yet, as time progressed, Steven’s moods became erratic – you could tell he was increasingly unbalanced. So was I, only the opposite way – my school work was getting easier and easier, relative to how everyone else found it. Maybe, with imbalance, it takes one to know one. I think we were both having troubles at home, so were each focusing where we could excel in order to reclaim some feeling of control. However, our separate imbalances drove us apart.

Steven was absent more and more often. Within a few months he went from being there all the time (like most kids) to less than half the time. Back then, you could fail a grade. If you didn’t turn in work, you got a zero; if you didn’t complete the year, you didn’t pass. All the kids knew that, missing as much school as he had, he couldn’t come back from it – no one could. His voice – so strong and distinct – we heard less and less often. When Steven wasn’t there, the class was noticeably smaller. However, we had to get used to it.

Sometimes our teacher conducted class with the doors closed. One such day there was a knock at the door – it was Steven. Through the open door I saw a woman in the hall, but she didn’t come in.

Our desks, in that class, were arranged in columns. Steven came to his desk, which was in the middle of a middle column, and started taking stuff out and looking at it. The process was awkward, because Steven had a messy desk (as did I). You could hear loose paper crinkling as he refamiliarized himself with the contents of his desk – by then, it might have been weeks since he’d interacted with it. The teacher tried to continue teaching as if nothing was happening – what else could she do? Even if she realized how poignant the situation was, she couldn’t acknowledge it. Just as likely, though, she didn’t care.

Steven stood up and walked to the front of the room to get the garbage can. He brought it back to his desk and put the papers, etc, in it that he didn’t want to keep. The textbooks, of course, weren’t his, so he left them on the desk. He asked the teacher if he should keep the soft-cover books that you wrote answers in – she said “Yes.” A couple of them, a few notebooks, a pencil case, and a ruler, he packed in a bag he’d brought. (Back then, in grade 4, students didn’t have calculators.) Then he stood up and walked out. He didn’t look back – we no longer were part of his world, nor he, ours. Kids understand things like that.

That was the late 70s, when divorce was becoming common. I’d guess Steven was a local kid whose mother might have left his father for a military guy on the base. Therefore, for awhile, Steven joined us.

Maybe it didn’t work out between his mother and the new guy, or maybe the new guy didn’t like Steven – who knows (except them)? However it happened, Steven ended up changing schools mid-year, once again. I overheard that he returned to live with his father.

Looking back, Steven might well have been smarter than I was – he was certainly wiser. We both had problems at home, but at least mine was stable – my parents didn’t divorce until I was an adult. At age 9 or 10, Steven had to navigate living in a new household with a step parent. I know that happens all the time today, but it was much rarer then, especially on a military base.

After that day, I never saw Steven, of course. However, I heard news he was back in school “in town,” where he’d originally been. Who knows – maybe things settled down for him – I hope so.

Jack of Oracle Tutoring by Jack and Diane, Campbell River, BC.