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For some reason.
This time of life is a time of life many choose to remember.
Love to remember.
Hate to remember.
Prefer to remember.
Loathe to remember.
Never move on from.
Refuse to forget.
Why?
Did you peak in high school?
Won’t, can’t put away, those feelings of luck or the feelings of stuck.
Most can honestly admit both feelings occurred from time to time. Most can honestly admit this while and with the fact hormones took on a life of their own during these precious and growth filled years. 🫣🤢🤔🤫🤥😍😘🧐🥳😭🫵🏻.
It has been said, although there is no real stats or data to “back this up”. There were “groups”, or persons, there exists “groups” of persons. Mercifully, hopefully you “fell” into one of these “groups” as a means to belonging, or belonging.
Myself.
I remember thinking, “It is gonna be four lonely years”.
As I stepped onto the grounds of this seemingly partitioned dog eat dog world of different sized peoples, with different voices pitches different sideways “glances”, different ways to carry their books (this was the pre-designer back pack era…….) different this and different that.
Just call me a dinosaur🦕🦖.
At this time. The word gay still verged on the meaning of “happy” and if one was feeling “tendencies” was hard pressed to admit it outwardly.
Out loud anyway.
Chewing gum in the hallways—a luxury. So was talking. The so called “crush” on another was usually anticipated and waited patiently for during the passing in the hallways between class changes wherein you could get a “glimpse”. And then dream about the love affair the entire next period, class period.
When you were called on and answered whatever came to the top of your mind, the teacher had an understanding…..albeit a red check mark put next to your name for “lack of focus”, inability to pay attention, something to that effect.
It could be the best of times.
It could be the worst of times.
The in crowd.
The out crowd.
The jocks.
The sports.
The geeks.
The nerds.
The shop kids.
The home economic kids.
The popular kids.
The not popular kids.
The dancers.
The choir.
The band.
The thespian.
The Pom Pom.
The cheerleaders.
The track.
The field.
The detentions.
The early class.
Driver’s ed.
The smoking lot.
The parking lot.
The loud bell rings.
Between classes.
wherein the time one might even change from group to group…
The smart kids.
The dumb kids.
The median kids.
The leaders.
The followers.
After school activities.
Before school activities.
The old teachers.
The young teachers.
The assistants.
The librarians.
The janitors.
The hall monitors.
Plenty of places to hide.
If the things became too much to bear, in front of others.
For some, make up was the mask of choice.
For others, it was not allowed until 16, 18 or in small doses.
Most of the time the four years felt dreadfully out in the open.
Especially, if not most of all in the lunchroom. The so called cafeteria. That first day, finding a place to sit was best helped in you “knew somebody”. Whether you may have liked them or not it was considered better that sitting alone.
At least, until you got to know some people in this group, or maybe that group. Who even knows at this point…just making it through the day may have been the A+ assignment for the day.
Did I mention….this was pre-cell phones.
Just call me a dinosaur.🦖🦕
So. Imagine having to actually converse with another human. Some may have thought this would immediately put a nail in their coffin, if they opened their mouth to do something other than eat. Baby steps.
A smile. One of the persons being a little braver than the other and striking up a conversation. It could get messy. It could be confusing. What to say next. The conversation, knowing what to say in return.To impress. To depress. (Those hormones could turn up on the darndest of days.) Sometimes leading to a grunt, groan, stammer or cackle. Within ear shot of another.
Fast forward.
To the reunions.
In later years.
Connections made during those high school years sometimes never really leave us, completely. Something about that time of life. Sometimes stick close to the vest. Sometimes just sticky and icky.
Close to the head.
Close to the heart.
In good ways.
In not so good ways.
The reunions are oftentimes a snap shot of the same old same old.
Who moved on.
Who did not.
Who married who.
Who did not.
Who does this.
Who does that.
Who went on to the NCAA
Who went on to Hollywood.
Who became a doctor.
Who became a mechanic.
Who became a landscaper.
Who became a painter.
Who became a big wig on Wall Street.
On and on and on and on.
Who “looks exactly the same” as if this happening was a testament to a life well lived.
Who put on the pounds.
Who took off the pounds.
Who lost their hair.
Who found a decent “do”. (Finally)
It still is all about the hair😵💫👩🏼🦱👩🏼👨🏾🦳🧑🏽🦲🧔🏿♂️.
But. In the end. It is really a lot about.
Acceptance.
Who felt the “system” accepted them.
Gotta remember that high school mentality runs, can run, far and deep.
And wide.
And some folks choose to remain stuck in the luck of those days of wonder, glory and peak doom.
And others. Move on.
Fondly remembering the clog shoes, flair pants, dime store makeup, flexed muscles of this sport or that, the search for the best to sit with in the lunchroom, the search in the library. The search for identity does not leave some folks.
The feeling a part of the group was so strong and such a “buzz” they decided it in their bests personal interests to keep connected in and to the high school bubble of life.
It felt safe. It feels secure. All for one and one for all. The big difference is in the moving on. Seeing all that life can offer in regard to challenge and competition.
Life offers a lot., It can offer a lot. Way more than the suffocating bubble of the safety and security of non stop adolescence-like existence. Time can be the leader, the healer, the fashionable way to compass along. With comfy socks.
Please though, don’t assume and don’t always ask Siri. Siri may walk along another in the hands, pockets and halls of high school.
Last I checked, though,
Siri has no heart.
A heart is a requirement, a must even, in order to survive a four year, eye for eye, tooth and nail life kind of a high school person must or may endure oftentimes in an attempt to make it through the day.🙂……
happily and readily enough to
wake up to a new and glorious day and set of new day challenges.🧦🕞👠🥾💪🏻🤡👹😻🐶
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