High school! Wouldn't go back to high school if my life depended on it! Ah, those awkward years! Dealing with pimples that you thought would never end. Trying to memorize the Pythagorean theorem that your math teacher insisted that you must know for the rest of your life. Hoping not to be taunted by the football jocks.
Going back to high school to me is like having a unclean horse sit on my dinner. It's not a pleasant thought. However, it wasn't all bad.
Pimples. White-headed bumps that just seemed to appear on your face. Waiting to be popped. Gross. What exactly was that white stuff that landed on the bathroom mirror when you popped it? I try not to think about it. Today, I am surprised that I don't have a pothole map on my face. Pimples are now a thing of the past. Thank goodness that's over.
On a talent note, I was in the high school band. I actually began my musical career in middle school. Mrs. Wall, a tall blond, arranged musical instruments in "the band room" and I went in and tried each one out. I knew I was destined to become the world's great French horn player. Performances at the Met, platinum albums, adoring fans screaming my name. (Now, I look back and think... Right, the French horn...) One day while practicing, I heard my back yard neighbor tooting on his trumpet out. Much to the dismay I'm sure of the neighbors, dueling brass began between the two houses. How long and loud could you blow your horn? I'm not sure who won. It was probably a draw.
High school was rough for me. I didn't quite fit in. I felt like an odd duck. It wasn't until my junior year that realized my calling. In hindsight, it was the starting point for my trip down the road of arts and culture. French class turned out to the boost I needed to say "Hey I can actually learn something I like." From there, I began to blossom and knew education of some sort would be in my future. Many thanks to one encouraging French teacher and one very patient math teacher. Both taught me I could earn a good grade.
Now I look back at those high school years and think "What I would give if my worst worry was a pimple for prom?" Or "What the hell is the Pythagorean theorem used for and why was it so important?" (I don't remember it) Or even better, "OK, how many of you jocks are now overweight, beer drinkers, or even better, turned out to be gay?"
CSM
Going back to high school to me is like having a unclean horse sit on my dinner. It's not a pleasant thought. However, it wasn't all bad.
Pimples. White-headed bumps that just seemed to appear on your face. Waiting to be popped. Gross. What exactly was that white stuff that landed on the bathroom mirror when you popped it? I try not to think about it. Today, I am surprised that I don't have a pothole map on my face. Pimples are now a thing of the past. Thank goodness that's over.
On a talent note, I was in the high school band. I actually began my musical career in middle school. Mrs. Wall, a tall blond, arranged musical instruments in "the band room" and I went in and tried each one out. I knew I was destined to become the world's great French horn player. Performances at the Met, platinum albums, adoring fans screaming my name. (Now, I look back and think... Right, the French horn...) One day while practicing, I heard my back yard neighbor tooting on his trumpet out. Much to the dismay I'm sure of the neighbors, dueling brass began between the two houses. How long and loud could you blow your horn? I'm not sure who won. It was probably a draw.
High school was rough for me. I didn't quite fit in. I felt like an odd duck. It wasn't until my junior year that realized my calling. In hindsight, it was the starting point for my trip down the road of arts and culture. French class turned out to the boost I needed to say "Hey I can actually learn something I like." From there, I began to blossom and knew education of some sort would be in my future. Many thanks to one encouraging French teacher and one very patient math teacher. Both taught me I could earn a good grade.
Now I look back at those high school years and think "What I would give if my worst worry was a pimple for prom?" Or "What the hell is the Pythagorean theorem used for and why was it so important?" (I don't remember it) Or even better, "OK, how many of you jocks are now overweight, beer drinkers, or even better, turned out to be gay?"
CSM
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