The Song That Still Haunts Me

Something different today: This is the first chapter of my new book.

Let me know what you think?

The principal goal of education in the schools should be creating men and women who are capable of doing new things, not simply repeating what other generations have done. — Jean Piaget

I’ll be sixty-three years old this year, but it still gives me chills every time that song comes on the radio. Sometimes I even get goosebumps. Invariably I get a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, a lump in my throat, and I must fight off that horrible gag reflex you experience when your stomach wants to throw up but you don’t.

My nose also twitches like a rabbit’s. I can do nothing to stop it as it has become a nervous habit. I smell that strong odor as if it’s right under my nostrils even though it isn’t really there at all. The nauseous smell of the stale cigarettes on his clothes, his whisky-tainted breath, and the tidal wave of Brut cologne he tried to hide it all behind. All three aromas mixed with a liberal dose of that strange iron and rust scent of fresh blood. Fountains of fresh blood that quickly turned into rivers across the polished wood of the headmaster’s study floor.

Yet, despite these ill feelings, almost five decades later, I still love the song with a passion. It spoke to me as no song…