To review the dramatic stories of 1995, I ended the year as a seventh grader at Willow Lake School, where my first year of junior high was highlighted by lockers, dances, and international travel the previous summer. But it was also lowlighted by terrible acne, an irate ag teacher, and the even-more-irate basketball/football coach, who would not shy away from the spotlight in 1996.

1996 is a tough year for me to remember, honestly. There weren't many notable events that I can recall, aside from my first Twins game and getting my driver's license. I moved from seventh to eighth grade, joined the track team, and raised hell after school with Dusty Hovde before confirmation classes.

I pretty well covered most of the events of seventh grade in the 1995 biography, but 1996 had some interesting stories as well. Dustin Davies was the new kid in the class, and much like Andrew Graham several years earlier, no one really wanted to be his friend. I of course was too nice to him and he quickly became my sidekick. Davies lived with his mom and stepfather, Bob Syring. Bob and Davies didn't get along particularly well. So one day while sitting in study hall drawing my Sumpy comics, Davies suggested I draw a Bob Syring comic. Also, coincidentally, Bob was the substitute teacher monitoring the study hall. I drew a violent comic with Bob in giant glasses with a sombrero and bow tie, and Davies with ridiculous sideburns. Of course when I was finished, Davies rushed it up to show Bob. I feared the worst, but much like Dan Tonak's reaction, Bob seemed to love it. Davies and I would sit in every study hall drawing these comics, and that's how I became the greatest cartoonist in the history of Willow Lake School... or at least that year. Soon the seniors were asking me to draw comics featuring themselves, and I became very popular. If I had work to get done in study hall, it would have to wait, because I had a long list of requests from upper classmen. It would get really annoying sometimes. Everyone would be looking over my shoulder expecting each line I drew to be a masterpiece. I would literally draw someone's arm, and the crowd couldn't wait to see it, so I'd have to pass around this piece of paper with an arm drawn on it.

On the basketball court that winter, I was coming off a good sixth grade season where I was the starting center, but as luck would have it, I had my worst season ever. Coach Bryon Noem only played the players who showed up for the varsity practices, and many of us weren't on that list: me, Justin Korbel, Rick Zantow, Todd Froke... So I very rarely even appeared in a game. As you may have read in the 1995 edition, the reason I stopped going to practice was because of Sumpy, the JV coach whose uncontrollable temper was too much to handle. I could do no right in practice, and it culminated with him telling me, Justin, and Todd "You may hate me, but the feeling's mutual." So many of us just stopped coming. But I kept coming to the games.

One time we played a C game, and Sumpy was our coach. The C team included seventh through tenth graders. On this particular day, I realized I had forgotten my uniform at home moments before the team boarded the bus, and needed to call home for Mom to bring it to the game with her. But Sumpy refused. After simply asking to call home before the bus left, Sumpy responded with, "It's not my f&*#ing problem, get on the bus." I know it's not his problem. I just needed to use a phone. But being the prick he was, I was denied my request to call home and went to the game with no uniform.

Another time with Sumpy filling in as coach, we were given a half-time "pep talk" after trailing Iroquois by six. His pep talk consisted of screaming at us, throwing markers, knocking over the whiteboard, and abandoning us. He did not return to coach the second half of the game, which we came back to win by ten points.

Another first as a seventh grader was the track team. Much like our elementary field days, track was a good excuse to leave school for a full day in the spring and lay out on a blanket in the grass with the other tracksters. At first, I was actually pretty good at a couple events. On more than one occasion I took home first place in the high jump. Another time, Dusty Hovde, Jesse Van Heukelom, Josh Maynard, and I took home first in the medley relay. Unlike today, I was in peak physical condition back then and running a mile or two non-stop was far from a problem. Maybe I could have been even better if I had actual track shoes. One time during a relay, I was turning a corner and my right shoe literally broke in half. The end with the toes flew off. I taped the shoe back together on the bus and was back out for more events later. The best part about being on the track team was that in no way was Brian Sumption involved as a coach. Mr. Stobbs and Mr. Kruse were the coaches back then and were easy to get along with.

That summer was one of those long, boring summers where I occasionally helped Dad with the farm work, but mostly sat in front of the TV watching Little House on the Prairie and Saved by the Bell reruns or played in the pool. Again, it was fairly rare to so much as see any of my classmates during the summer. But at least this time, I had a few summer activities to pass the time.

As soon as school got out, I started Driver's Ed. In South Dakota you could get your learner's permit at the age of 14, which I would turn later that summer. After a week of old videos and note-taking, it was time to hit the road. With Mr. Stobbs as the instructor and Jesse as my partner, we left Willow Lake at 7am for three straight mornings of on-the-road driving in Clark, DeSmet, Huron, and Watertown. I passed with flying colors and would be allowed to get my license in August when I turned 14.

That summer also marked my first trip to the Twin Cities. I had badly wanted to go to a Twins game for several years, so when Mom heard about a bus trip that was going to Minneapolis for a doubleheader between the Twins and Athletics, she figured Dad and I could go. So Dad, Regan Glanzer, Jesse, and I boarded the bus with a bunch of senior citizens and went to Minneapolis for the pair of games. Before the first game even started, I caught a ball thrown to me by Oakland pitcher Jim Corsi. I was also featured on the JumboTron with a poster I drew for the doubleheader of conjoined Twins players. The first trip to the Dome was a complete success. In the 115 games I've been to since, I've caught two balls and been on the big screen only a handful of times, which kinda puts these two games into perspective of how lucky I was.

With no more baseball to occupy my time in the summer, my junior high friends and I entered a team in the annual Carpenter softball tournament. We didn't realize that we'd have no chance going up against adults, but I formed a team of twelve teenage boys and girls. Yeah, we pretty much got destroyed, but the other team let us hang around for a while in the first game, taking it easy on us. In fact, we were tied going into the late innings and thought we could win, but then they hit like nine home runs in one inning to pull ahead. It was fun, nonetheless, and later that night would be one of those out-of-control Carpenter street dances. I remember distinctly walking around and seeing third graders with beers in hand--no joke. Ashley Hofer, three years younger than me, was double-fisting Old Milwaukee Lights while walking down the road. There were no cops in sight, and no one seemed to care. My friends and I spent the night trying to steal Kenny Lusk's wallet, but when we finally got it, he freaked out on us and picked a fight with someone he thought had taken the wallet. We dropped it and ran.

That was pretty much my summer. Aside from that one trip, I just spent my days mowing the lawn, swimming, watching the Twins on MSC, and tuning in to plenty of quality TV reruns.

Eighth grade was now here, and I was nowhere to be found on the football field. After the incidents from the previous season with Sumpy as coach, I vowed not to play. In the Willow Lake community, it seemed like you were looked down upon if you weren't in sports. People couldn't care less if you were a good student or were in band or plays or whatever, as long as you were on the team. I definitely noticed teachers treating me differently when I didn't go out for football. A few others joined me in the ban, including Todd and Justin. And Guy LaMont quit because of his asthma. What made it really weird was I was asked to referee one of the junior high games that year, and Sumpy didn't so much as make eye contact with me even when I threw flags on the team. But I was happy to not have to deal with him anymore.

Off the top of my head I can't remember what classes I took in eighth grade. I know the teachers would have been Mr. Kelly for social studies, Mr. Meyer for science, Mr. Kruse for math, Mrs. Hinkley for reading, Mr. Kinder for English, Ms. Berens for computer, and Mr. Ehrke for band. What exactly the classes were, I don't know. Eighth grade was the year I was promoted to A band along with Guy and Josh Symens. We were the first of the eighth graders to join the high school band. In Mr. Meyer's classes, he would start off each class by showing us his latest discoveries online, which always fascinated me. This was about the time that giant dancing baby video came out and the internet was pretty much unheard of.

The biggest event of 1996 may have been getting my license. On Wednesdays, I would drive to school so I would have a ride home after confirmation classes. Dusty Hovde and I would get in my car after school and raise hell, cruising around out in the country. One time we were driving out by Dusty's old house in the country and were going fairly fast over a hill at railroad tracks, when elderly school janitor Flossie Disrud was coming from the other side, also very fast. The way Dusty and I like to tell the story, we flew completely over Flossie's car and landed squarely on the road and kept going, while Flossie's car rolled and burst into flames. Of course we both just slammed on the brakes and swerved out of each other's way. Another time, we were going down the road and met Sumpy. We all ducked completely down so he couldn't see us. So for a couple seconds it looked to him like it was an unmanned car going down the road. We laughed as Sumpy stopped and stared in bewilderment. There were a number of other stories that will have to stay between me and Dusty, but one thing is certain: we were definitely up to no good.

Wow, I'm really drawing a blank for the remainder of 1996. I can vaguely recall watching the Yankees beat the Braves in the World Series. I know I spent many days at Jesse's house after school playing Deion Sanders. The only other big event of 1996 that I can remember much was the great blizzard that saw Willow Lake cancel 31 days of school that were never truly made up.

That winter it was an all-out blizzard every single day for two months. For me, it was a dream come true. As long as the buses attempted to go out and pick up the kids, it could count as a day of school. So many times I would ride the bus for two hours, get close to school, and then Mr. Poppen would announce over the radio that school would be cancelled, so we'd turn around and start dropping everyone off. I'd get home around 11am where Granny would be sitting in our living room watching the weather report on Kelo-Land with the volume all the way down. I'd go and change it to Jerry Springer and we'd watch that until Dad came in to make dinner. Then the rest of the afternoon was spent playing in the absurd snow banks. There were drifts that were higher than our entire two-story house. My upstairs bedroom windows were completely buried by snow.

This was the same winter Granny got trapped in her trailer house when it was buried by a snow bank. Dad and I also dug a long, twisting tunnel to get to the propane tank for it to be refueled. Roads were so far under the snow that no one even knew where the roads were supposed to be. Dad and Jim Opsahl made some makeshift roads with the plows. And all the while, Mom was still out hauling mail every day in the country. Sometimes when I was stuck at home I would ride with Mom on the mail route in case she got stuck. That didn't always prove to be a good idea though, like the time we slid up next to a mailbox. I got out and pulled the mailbox back while Mom drove the pickup, hoping not to scratch the paint... only I let go of the box too soon and it sprung back and scratched the whole passenger's side of the pickup. This storm continued on into 1997, and snow days were "made up" that spring by dismissing school at noon, then starting a new school day at 12:50. So in actuality we were going to school for the same amount of time. I don't think too many of us were complaining.

In the winter I began another tumultuous basketball season under the coaching of Brad Noem, younger brother of Bryon Noem. Sumpy was still there as a JV coach, and we still had our disagreements in practices, but I was going on a major growth spurt and probably outweighted Sumpy, so I didn't get hassled quite as much. Noem was a fairly likeable coach, although I still was riding the bench most of the time with 13 guys from the class on the team. I began coming to a few more practices, but they were painstakingly difficult. Practice went for three hours and at least half of every practice was conditioning or confusing drills. While basketball practice was becoming just as bad as football practice, I decided to stick with basketball because I really enjoyed playing when I actually got the chance. In the coming years, that would pay off.

That pretty much sums up 1996. The year ended with the first of ten straight years of lame-ass New Years parties.