I started my teaching career in the small town of Waelder, Texas. At that time, the population was around 400 people. It had been a booming little town years earlier, but it was pretty sleepy by the time I arrived. Highway 90 and the railroad tracks divided it into two halves. The northern half was pretty much the white section. The houses were nice old homes, mostly sitting empty after the old folks had passed. The southern half was where most of the people lived. It was predominately populated by black families. In fact the remains of the old Ralph Bunch High School, which was for black students during segregation, were on that side of town.

In the early 1980s, when I was hired as the only special education teacher for the entire Waelder Independent School District, all of the town's kids attended school on the north side where Waelder High School, Waelder Junior High School, and Waelder Elementary School sat side by side on North C avenue. I lived a about a half block away on Northwest First Street. It was less than a minute walk to work each morning. I traveled between the schools to service the different grade levels, but my actual classroom was located in the high school building close to the gym. That gym was used for PE classes, school assemblies, and basketball practice. For actual basketball games, we used the Ralph Bunch gym, which was in excellent condition, unlike the rest of the campus.

I remember going over to Ralph Bunch once with the principal of the high school, Mr. Lorenzo Miles, to salvage some materials from some of the deserted rooms to use in construction of a photography dark room in the old science lab closet in the currently used high school across town. He had tricked me into being the yearbook sponsor, which included taking and developing most of the photos that would end up in it. Being in that old deserted school was creepy as hell. I remember thinking how odd it was that the best gym in town was at that old spooky dilapidated campus.

Mr. Miles tricked me into lots of things that I may write about some other time such as eviscerating chickens for the FFA barbecue fundraiser, becoming an election judge during the presidential election of 1984, and joining the Waelder Lion's Club. But, this post is about the time he tricked me into being a player in the donkey basketball game. That was a fundraising event which had taken place in Waelder before. I however, being the city boy I was, had never even heard of such a thing.

I showed up at the Ralph Bunch gym with a feeling of excitement. I was a little nervous about riding a donkey in front of a crowd, but not so much that I wasn't ready and willing to play in the game. Unlike all the other men who were about to play, I had no real knowledge of what to expect. In my mind, I pictured myself riding a donkey all over the gym while passing the ball back and forth and attempting to shoot baskets. That was not what actually took place.

Before the start of the game, I was introduced to a cute little donkey. I got up on his back and sat there waiting for the game to start. I remember thinking how gentle and well behaved the little guy was. That all changed when the referee blew the whistle. Unbeknownst to me, those damned donkeys were trained to respond to the whistle by bucking off their riders. In an instant, I was sitting down on the floor of the gym thinking I might have fractured by rear end. There wasn't time to think about it though. That sweet little donkey had suddenly been possessed by Satan himself and started to attack me. I grabbed the rope that I had expected to use like reigns and tried to get him under control. Instead, he started bucking and kicking, which put both of us into a circular spin. You would have to see it to fully understand what was happening. I was going in circles being kicked in the ass by a demonic donkey, which had the crowd howling with laughter. It seemed to go on for hours, but probably only lasted about ten minutes. When the referee blew his whistle again, the donkey turned back into a fuzzy little angel.

I got back on the donkey ( I truly was young and dumb) terrified of a repeat performance. This time, however, the donkeys didn't buck us off. Instead, we actually played a rough version of basketball that mostly involved struggling to get our donkeys to go where we wanted them to. The audience loved it, but I was glad when it was over. The whole time I was afraid those donkeys would be signaled to go berserk again.

Fortunately, donkey basketball only happened that one time while I was teaching in Waelder. I would have done it again. But, the next time, I wouldn't be an ignorant lamb going to slaughter. I would come prepared with Charmin stuffed in the seat of my pants!