Armstrong Relived  I'm at Armstrong High School. It's the end of the '95-'96 school year. I feel out of place and unaccepted; ignored. I'm with my friend Nate Nelling. We're walking down the main hallway. We see Mr. Olson, Mr. Kluball, and Mr. Hacker, all teachers. We near the office. There are ten photographs on the wall. There is some kind of contest to put names with the faces in the photographs. People I know from high school are there, including Chris Pattison, Dave Butcher, and my basketball teammate Shawn Salzburg. My friend Kevin is there doing his usual attention-getting routine; something to do with a cake. I walk by the lunchroom area. I have a limp. I can't walk. It's like my ankle is rolled over, or one leg is longer than the other. I try to walk normal. I know that I'm older than everyone else, and am self-conscious of this. I don't really fit in. As I walk, I lick my fingers. There is something sweet and sticky on them. I get down towards the lockers. A classmate named Mike Smith is there. He is talking about a football scholarship.