Wouldn't go back to high school if my life depended on it. Don't me wrong. It was a rite of passage that I had to go through, but in hindsight, the awkwardness of it all was too much. I try not to think about my high school years. I wasn't one of the football jocks, nor one of the smart kids, and most definitely not one of the "high school heroes, life zeros." I was just me and as I've aged, I've gotten better like a fine wine. You know those ones you hear about going for thousands of dollars in auctions.
What I remember most about high school was when it ended. I marched to Pomp and Circumstance, in my robe and cap, got my diploma, and that was it. I remember it well. I also remember when Roger, the guy who sat next to me in French class, got our teacher so mad she turned red. And I do mean bright red. She looked like a bottle rocket about to go off. It's one of my better memories. I would guess it was not for Roger since her red-glaring eyes were burning holes in him.
From what I recall, Madame, as we always called her, had given us the assignment to write a letter to an imaginary person all "en francais." In order to pass, she gave us a baseline and from there you could add more. If you didn't add more, you kind of heard about it. Roger heard about it. He used the excuse that he didn't realize and started pushing the issue.
I can equate it to kind of like a fight at the United Nations. Maybe with someone pounding their shoe on the podium. Madame obviously being the French delegate. Roger from Germany. Me from Ireland. (I only throw myself into the mix because I love the idea of the Emerald Isle and redheads.) Since I sat right next to Roger, I feared that yet another war would break out between the two countries. Ultimately, there seemed to be some sort of peace treaty. Possibly with Madam telling him to "knock it off or else." I suspect that day if the opportunity had arisen Roger would have been sentenced to life in the Bastille. Luckily for him, she didn't keep a guillotine in the closet.
Vive La France!
CSM
What I remember most about high school was when it ended. I marched to Pomp and Circumstance, in my robe and cap, got my diploma, and that was it. I remember it well. I also remember when Roger, the guy who sat next to me in French class, got our teacher so mad she turned red. And I do mean bright red. She looked like a bottle rocket about to go off. It's one of my better memories. I would guess it was not for Roger since her red-glaring eyes were burning holes in him.
From what I recall, Madame, as we always called her, had given us the assignment to write a letter to an imaginary person all "en francais." In order to pass, she gave us a baseline and from there you could add more. If you didn't add more, you kind of heard about it. Roger heard about it. He used the excuse that he didn't realize and started pushing the issue.
I can equate it to kind of like a fight at the United Nations. Maybe with someone pounding their shoe on the podium. Madame obviously being the French delegate. Roger from Germany. Me from Ireland. (I only throw myself into the mix because I love the idea of the Emerald Isle and redheads.) Since I sat right next to Roger, I feared that yet another war would break out between the two countries. Ultimately, there seemed to be some sort of peace treaty. Possibly with Madam telling him to "knock it off or else." I suspect that day if the opportunity had arisen Roger would have been sentenced to life in the Bastille. Luckily for him, she didn't keep a guillotine in the closet.
Vive La France!
CSM
