and again I remember an innocent moment, over thirty years ago, when I was
sitting in the college cafeteria at lunchtime. As was the custom at the time at
our small college, the instructors sat with classified staff and students, all
of us like a family. On this day, one of the students came out of the kitchen,
stopped, and dropped his tray of food. Utensils crashed, glass broke, food
scattered, and people laughed.
When I enrolled in classes at Orland High School in October of 1962, shortly after the beginning of my freshman year, I met Miss Gurrola, the Spanish teacher. She was very polite, and she welcomed me into her class. I had great interest in learning Spanish, and before long I felt comfortable in her class. The other students were already used to her, although she had just come to Orland at the beginning of that school year.
Sometimes I recall
an incident in which my father and another man were talking about a fifth
wheel. This was many years ago, when I was in my late teens and when fifth
wheels were not common features of recreational vehicles. They were used almost
exclusively with large equipment such as trucks and farm tractors. I asked what
a fifth wheel was, and instead of just explaining, my father took the occasion
to criticize me for not knowing. “It’s a fifth wheel. That’s what it is. Don’t you know what a
fifth wheel is?”