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Morning of October 14, 1967. Saturday.



I am at my new school in late morning - seemingly in Florida, but it is not like any school I have been to in real life and it is also at least eight storeys high. The building is mostly missing the first two storeys (from under the higher storeys) and the rest is hovering in the air. It is not perfectly horizontal on the bottom, though, as one corner is “hanging down” more with more bricks and the bottoms of the outer walls are slightly on the diagonal.

I look at this now (March 2014) as being related to my transition from Wisconsin to Florida in that school was perceived as “incomplete” (or “unknown”) and “beyond my reach” during one time period. There was a longer period right after moving to Florida where I did not go to school (but did get to sit outside on the covered sidewalks on some days and sometimes talk to students - my first friend was Toby T, who became my best friend through much of those years). Someone had informed my parents that I might be uncomfortable with “learning” some things all over again as well as having to adapt culturally to the different mentality of the south (which is often seen or proclaimed as supposedly more racist and uneducated, though I was born in Florida - I was called rude slang Asian names by the majority for years even though I have no Asian heritage whatsoever - most people mistake even the slightest Native American features for Asian in the south, or used to - but this mostly destroyed any potential for perceived credibility regarding mainstream culture throughout my life though was only a small part of it). However, I was still always technically at least two grades ahead for my age (although never accepted the idea of being in the higher grades due to wanting to stay with friends as well as being near students usually much taller than me).

I stopped going during the middle of tenth grade, after a previous longer break (relative to the strange cysts in my right thumb and wrist and a longer time period of pain and a hospital stay) and got my GED, scoring the highest to date at that time for that region (nearly 98%).

Racially (when I was not constantly being called rude Asian names or asked weird questions by teachers on my “obviously oriental background”), I was seen as Métis, but people, because of my last name and its Anglicization (from Ladoueppe), assumed far more Canadian background than I had as well and the term was generic in the PAIA (not referring specifically to the Canadian groups but to all of mixed lineage). However, having lived in Wisconsin for years but completely losing my Floridian accent in a few months, people still thought I “sounded Canadian”, even most Australians, after living in Australia for twenty years (It is far more to do with my way of speaking than any regional accent).

Back to the dream. I do hang around the building for quite some time before going to the very large (American) football field in another area. It actually seems the size of about three football fields.

Strangely, there seems to be several games playing at once, all in the same general area, and moving between plays from different games. Even so, they mostly seem dressed the same. I do not get involved with the players in any way. I spend most of the dream time watching the “game” and wondering if it is just some form of strange practice for real games to come.