3/27/07
I am now at a local middle school, at a rescheduled career-day presentation that is now social studies night for parents coming to pick up report cards. I had been asked to talk about miy job and how it impacts students. The only problem is I am stuck in a healh sciences classroom at the end of a long hall, and not too many parents and students are finding their way here. I sit writing journal entries on some scrap paper, thilnking about how many eons ago I was a student in New Orleans public schools. This place reminds me of my junior high where I spent part of 7th and all of 8th and 9th grades. The school was brand new when we moved in somewhere during my 7th grade year, I think it was 1963. I often felt very isolated and stuck for interminable hours each day in a vast, impersonal facility, with endlessly long concrete-block-walled hallways lined with rows of lockers, each with a Master combination lock. I am sure you remember fumbling with those contraptions between classes. I can recall those times now -- the clanging bell to change classes, taking books out of my locker and slamming the door shut, and walking to English, history or science class through a packed hall full of chattering, babbling students letting off pent-up energy before their next period of confinement within four walls, presided over by teachers of various levels of competence and commitment to the profession.
6:05 p.m.
3/29/07
Resuming this entry:
I was busy writing at the middle school where I left off above when the event coordinator told me that since there were not too many parents showing up, I was free to leave. I did not have to take a hint. I grabbed my things and left with the t-shirt the assistant principal had given me in appreciation for showing up.
A few final thoughts on my junior high experience. It was not one of the finest and most enjoyable chapters of my young life. Iwas never one for teeming crowds, students or otherwise. I was very tall and gangly -- 6 ft. 1 in. -- and thin. Although I liked to play basketball, I had an aversion to organized sports, yet I had to endure a period of time (punishment for something apparently) on the junior varsity team, where I warmed the bench during games. I hated that. Then there were the awkward and nerve-wracking school dances in the cafeteria which I attended on a couple of occasions, both times feeling very out-of-place and foolish.
I don't think I was alone in believing that junior high was a very awkward and even scary stage of early adolescence. I was such a serious student, and everything had to be just right: homework done on time, tests thoroughly studied for to the point of overkill, attention paid in class. I don't remember having a lot of fun during those years. However, I was considered a model students by my teachers, one of whom let me grade quizzes in her class and another, the most feared teacher in the school, taking very kindly to me since I was such a well-behaved youngster, eagerly listening to everything she said. I was just extremely conscientious and worried about everything and I tried to please my teachers. I guess I was just brought up that way.
There were incidents I will never forget such as being taunted by a bully in 8th grade and lashing out at him finally, only the second time in my life that I was in a fight. I was a very peaceable, non-violent person. He never bothered me again though I was hopelessly out-maneuvered and he was embarrassed that I was such a wimpy guy, flailing my arms around and trying to land a punch as he danced around me. None of the other kids thought it was funny, and they felt bad for me. I was not an unpopular student. He humiliated himself that day.
By 9th grade I was ready for high school. I was older and more mature, although I was alway much more mature than my chronological age. I did have a very good grounding in grammar and English compositiion skills in both 7th and 8th grades, and this was invaluable in preparing me for my later writing career and encouraging my love of writing. It was something that came naturally to me, but I am so fortunate also to have had good English teachers.
When we got report cards at the end of that year, I felt a chapter in my life had ended and awaited with expectation over the summer my entrance to the hallowed halls of high school.
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