Edward. Edward? As the first grade teacher peered around the class patiently, she again called out, “Is Edward Kentner here?” Suddenly, I snapped to attention, recognizing my last name. The first name attached to my surname was a mystery, but I knew I was a Kentner. I timidly raised my hand, which got an immediate smile from Mrs. Toll. I decided at school students must have different names than at home.
Since my earliest recollection, everyone I knew called me Lee. Of course, the only people I knew were my immediate family: Mom, Dad, Grandma Mary, Grandpa Bob (not the husband of Grandma Mary), and my brothers, Gene and Steve. We were a farm family with no close neighbors or relatives. Our lives revolved around gathering eggs, raising a garden, milking cows, and slopping hogs. I always thought I was my mom’s favorite because I could make her laugh. I loved to hear her call my name. It was like hearing music.
Thus began my life with a dual identity. From the time I stepped off the school bus each afternoon until I mounted the steep, intimidating bus steps each morning, I was Lee. Lee was the animal-loving farm kid who enjoyed milk toast for breakfast. From approximately 7:15 every morning (Monday through Friday) until 3:45 each afternoon, I was Edward. Here, I was the socially retarded, country hick with two pair of school pants and three school shirts. I cleverly mixed and matched my wardrobe so none of my classmates realized how poor our family was. I had one pair of shoes, and I hoped no one noticed. A strange thing happened that first year while riding the bus. I found out my older brother Gene’s school name was Donald. I decided Edward wasn’t such a bad school name.
( to be continued Jan 14th)
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