Well I'm not the kind to live in the past
                                              The years run too short and the days too fast
                                        The things you lean on are the things that don't last
                                      Well it's just now and then my line gets cast into these
                                                                      Time passages
                                        There's something back here that you left behind
                                                                  Oh time passages

                                     Time Passages by Al Stewart – RCA Records - 1978

There comes a time in our lives when we look back at the journey and ask ourselves, “How the heck did I ever make it to where I am today?” The process of intellectual and emotional growth is truly an amazing thing. The circuits connect magically in our beings as little bits and pieces of information and experience fashions us into what we are - whom we become.

 Leave It To Beaver, the 1950s sitcom depicting the foibles of Beaver Cleaver and his older brother, Wally, growing up in suburbia, was the quintessential ‘coming of age’ story. Not a week went by that Beaver didn’t find himself in some sort of jam and I was there with him, perched in front of the TV for every episode.

 Each week brought a new challenge for ‘The Beaver’; new and creative ways to get in trouble. And it seemed he always got off the hook with a just a few firm words from his dad. Things always worked out for the best in Mayfield, the fictional paradise that was home to the Cleaver clan.

 Ward, the patriarch of the family, and June, the doting mother, were the perfect couple and the ideal parents. Ward always handed out the discipline and knew the precise words for every situation. Never once do I remember him so much as raising his voice. Spanking? Out of the question! I hoped my dad might pick up a few pointers from Ward, but much to my chagrin, that never happened.

 Ward was always clad in a suit and tie or, at the very least, business casual – even on the weekends. And then there was his wife, June, the perfect woman. Always the stylish one, she did her housework seamlessly without so much as breaking a sweat, decked out in a dress accented by a beautiful string of pearls.

 The Clever home was more than tidy. The word sanitized comes to mind. No newspapers on the floor next to Ward's chair. No bills stacked on the desk. The bedroom shared by Wally and Beaver was spotless, beds made, everything in its proper place.

 The decade of the 1950s was a great time to grow up, but living in reality was not high on the list of priorities. Unlike the decade that followed, the turbulent 1960s, when everything we had learned in the 1950s was torn down, when social change ruled the day; the decade of the 1950s was about perception, how others saw you, rather than about how things really were. ‘Fitting in’ was the thing to do. It was expected.

 I was what I’d call a ‘cookie cutter kid’ up until about the age of 12. I was pretty much like every other kid in Mansfield and, like most kids; I desperately sought the acceptance of my peers, so conformity was pretty much a given.

 As I’ve mentioned in previous writings, Mansfield was made up primarily of those of Italian and Irish decent. There were a few other nationalities scattered in here and there, but not enough so any of us noticed. We were fairly sheltered compared to the kids today. We only knew what was going on in our own back yards and we probably missed most of that. We were automatons in the worst sense of the word. Free thinkers were looked upon with scorn. That’s just the way it was.

 Then, without warning my life changed dramatically. Puberty hit me like an oncoming freight train. No one had warned me about this! I began to see things in a very different light – and that light was generally shining on the female of the species. I experienced a mixed bag of emotions where I was attracted to, yet terrified of women. It was as if they had some strange power and I was totally unequipped to deal with it.

 I was an abject failure in communicating with the fairer sex. I found myself embarrassed, sometimes humiliated by my awkwardness around them.

 I recall one incident in particular. I was entering junior high and we were required to wear uniforms in gym class. I thought it was a bit silly that we needed shorts and a t-shirt that said Mansfield on them. I knew where I was and as far as I could tell all my friends knew where they were, so what was the point? It all seemed rather silly to me. My friend, Eddie. told me that I shouldn’t think so much, a trait that I happily adopted and carried with me throughout junior high.

 In addition to the shorts and t-shirt, we were required to get an athletic supporter aka jock strap. The coach spent an inordinate amount of time on this strange looking apparatus, so I figured it must be pretty important. He opened up a gym bag, pulled out a jock and held it high above his head for all to see, which I found rather strange - even for the gym teacher.

 I’d never seen one of these things before but, to preserve my stature amongst my peers; I acted as though I were thoroughly familiar with this bizarre looking undergarment with a pouch in the front and absolutely no backside. I was at a loss as to why one would want to have their bare bum sticking out underneath their shorts, but I wasn’t about to question the coach. He wasn’t real big on questions and I was in no hurry to humiliate myself in front of my classmates.

 I went home after school and told my mother about the uniform – and the athletic supporter. My voice tailed off measurably when I uttered the words, athletic supporter, but somehow my mother heard me nonetheless. She handed me $20 and sent me on my way to Shaw’s Sporting Goods, which was located in downtown Mansfield on North Main street. Shaw’s was the only game in town back then. No Grogan/Marciano Sports – No Sports Authority – just Shaw’s.

 I arrived at the store and swung open the front door. Elaine Shaw, the owner’s daughter, was standing behind the counter. She was quite a bit older than I and very attractive – tall with thick, blonde hair. I rummaged around the store a while, gazing sheepishly in Elaine’s direction whenever the opportunity presented itself.

 I located the gym uniforms, grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of shorts and headed over to the counter where Elaine was busy sorting some merchandise. I placed the uniform on the countertop, took the $20 from my pocket and handed it to her.

 “Do you have everything?” she asked.

 The Encarta Dictionary defines an epiphany as…. a sudden intuitive leap of understanding, especially through an ordinary but striking occurrence. I had one of those! The jock strap! I’d forgotten the jock strap!

 “Ah, one more thing,” I mumbled, as I turned and walked back over to the men’s athletic wear. I found the section where the athletic supporters were laid out neatly on a display table. They ranged in size from small to extra large. Hmmm! What to do?

I was fairly certain that a small would suffice, so I grabbed one, headed reluctantly to the check out and laid the jock on the counter in front of Elaine. That moment was without question the most embarrassing moment in my 12 years on earth…. until Elaine said, “You look more like a large.”

 I can’t be absolutely sure, but I think that for just a moment, I stopped breathing. Elaine Shaw thought I needed a large! Wow! Wait until the other guys heard this. I’d be a god!

 Elaine went over to the men’s section, grabbed a new jock off the table and brought it over to where I stood waiting patiently and thoroughly humiliated. I paid her, grabbed my bag and made a mad dash for the door. I think I got about half way home before the color actually returned to my face.

 Well, I’m now a grown man with two grandchildren and another on the way. I’m no longer intimidated by women, although the communication part – well, that could probably still use some work. Just ask my wife.

 And, as with Leave It To Beaver, there’s always a lesson learned at the end of the show, or in this case the end of the column. And that lesson is this - Jock strap sizes are determined by waist size, not…….

Let's just leave it at that, shall we?

 Make it a great week!

Bob Havey is a freelance writer and a Mansfield native, currently living in Easton. His column "Take Me Back" appears every Friday at http://mansfield-ma.patch.com.His other column, "The View From Here", may be seen each Tuesday at http://easton-ma.patch.com.