I, on a regular basis, am not much of a "crier." Shedding tears, like other teenage girls, is not a routine habit of mine; I simply go running instead. So today when a girl started crying at an open house, I didn't even blink. I didn't go for a run either, but graduation just didn't cause a ruckus with my emotions quite like it did other people. Perhaps it's because I'm so eager and willing to get out of this town that I don't think twice about leaving some behind. I don't plan on leaving everyone, I've just learned who is worth keeping around, and who isn't.
With that being said, I do feel an obligation to talk about my past twelve years of schooling, what it has taught me, and the people who have weaved their friendships, hostilities, and memories in and out of my path to college.
I remember different things about my youthful years, though I still consider my youthful years to be now, I'm talking about those preschool/kindergarten days. The half days where you didn't eat lunch unless your mother worked and couldn't get out to pick you up from school, the days when riding Dial-A-Ride was the "hip" thing to do. Those days where you wore those ridiculous bows in your hair that perfectly matched the crazy printed turtleneck your mother had "helped" you pick out that morning for school, along with the shoes and ruffled socks that matched. I remember when we sat on samples of carpets during reading time, I remember when there was a reading time. I remember when there were two recesses every day, and it was only a half day. Learning colors, shapes, letters, numbers, counting to 67 was a big feat. As we grew up, we became more aware of ourselves, of our peers, of the world around us. We developed a sense of protection of our friends, our feelings; we learned to take responsibility of our actions and defend ourselves when accused wrongly. We stood in "cold lunch" and "hot lunch" lines and talked about the days of the week, used counting cubes, and had a number line that stretched around the ceiling of the entire room, reminding us of how many days we had been in school already and how many more we had left. Cursive writing was a milestone during first and second grade, along with they fad of muttering "Bloody Mary" fifteen times in the bathroom during a break and running out with our hands covering our eyes, fearing we might see the crazy ghost. There were days of storywriting and telling, copycats, and dear friends moving away. We acted in plays, participated in cantatas, and holiday programs.
Through middle school we got a taste of high school; switching classes with a bell schedule, multiple lunches, and more strict homework assignments and rules. We dealt with the awkward stage our lives, where no one was really "all that," though we acted otherwise. We tested friendships, teachers, and our parents to the full extent. Middle school sometimes taught us the wrong as well; our placement in the foodchain of cliques and social standings, the immature way to deal with situations, and the constant desire and need for attention. On a happier note, middle school also introduced us to the world of school athletics and the meaning of the word "team."
High school tested that defintion; it brought out the best of us, and the worst of us. High school opened our minds to the harsh reality that Mommy and Daddy can't defend you 24/7, that homework should not be procrastinated, and that school lunch was, is, and always will be the worst decision you could make. High school tested our confidence, trust, and loyalty towards one another. It also distinguished the "real" from the "fake," and concluded the final steps of the chapter of our life when we can fully, and for the last time, depend on someone else.
Now, we step forth into the unknown, creating paths of our own and doing it with guidance, though we are too arrogant to listen in many cases. We're stepping out of the box, closing the lid, and moving on to bigger and better destinations. We're seeking out the true meaning of life, the ups and downs of the rollercoaster we ride every day, the very reason we wake up in the morning. We will stumble, falter, and sometimes fail at our tasks, but this will not discourage us. We are the future and we pride ourselves in the expectations we must fulfill. College will test our discipline, our responsibility, our character, and our trust. It will bring out the best and the worst, just as high school, but to an extreme. Our errors won't go unnoticed, and our accomplishments will stand out more than ever.
In all honesty, somedays I do wish that I didn't graduate from Hillsdale High (calling it that reminds me of the 90's television shows ... it makes HHS sound almost human). I am thankful that I grew up in a safe and secure town with a school that opens its doors to outsiders but protects us from potential threats. Counter to that, safe is rare to come by nowadays and isn't always realistic. But this is typical at high schools across the nation: the dislike of the everday ritual that occurs repeatedly in one's life.
Other times, I'm proud and content with graduating with the kids in my class of 2008. Without them, I would not be who I am today; without them, I would never have learned and expanded my knowledge to the depths it has continuously been pushed. I've known my classmates since middle school.
As we go our separate ways, there will be a void, though I don't want to admit it. I will miss the catty gossip and the lunchtime havoc.
I seem to have lost my train of thought. Perhaps I'll finish another time, though hopefully in a more focused manner. I tend to run myself off topic. My writing reflects my thought process, random, and easily distracting.
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