As I sit here today remembering high school and flipping through the photographs in my senior memory book, the main thing that stands out for me is that I was constantly busy with a plethora of activities and school work. Back in the day I longed for close friendships. I was acquainted with a lot of people, but not really close friends with any of them. My high school years were filled with music, theatre, and art. I have written before about my involvement with the school cross country team, but that was for only one season in senior year.
During my time in high school I attended every single football, basketball, and baseball game whether at home or away. I remember going with my mom. She would head to the seating designated for the adult season ticket holders and I would find my way to the student section. There I would immerse myself into the midst of my classmates and have great fun cheering on the team mimicking the cheerleaders bedecked from head to toe in crimson and gold. Most people arrived at these sporting events surrounded by groups of friends. I always arrived to the student section alone.
All three years I was an active member of choir. I was in the mixed chorus my first year and then after auditioning was moved into concert choir as a junior and senior. I loved to sing and especially loved how our voices blended. I began choir as a first soprano, and by my last year my voice had dropped to 2nd alto. In my last year all seniors were required to sing a solo for contest. Except for that one occurrence, I always sang in ensembles or with the entire choir earning several gold medals during my time there. I was always happier blending into the woodwork than being in the spotlight.
Another course that I took every single year was Technical Theatre. I loved what went on behind the scenes of the stage. I busied myself painting scenery, helping to organize the costumes, learning how to apply stage makeup, and most importantly I began mixing the sound for all of the dramatic productions. My first job actually involved me being in charge of all the sound production needing done for any of the professional groups that graced the high school stage during my time there from the production of Don Quixote to monthly travelogues.
When I wasn’t singing or backstage, I was creating art. A big part of my day was devoted to art classes’ especially senior year. During my last year in high school I was busy working on an advance placement portfolio for college credit. I have always adored creating the human form and that was my thesis. I created the human form in every medium imaginable that year from pastel to watercolor to sculpture. My work was featured in the high school magazine, exhibited at the Midwest Museum of American Art, and included in a special exhibition at the local hospital. I also was an active member of pep club and decorated an athlete’s locker on game day all school year long.
In senior year I was inducted into the National Honor Society and added their meetings to my list of things to do. Outside of school, I remained active in 4-H serving as an officer of my club for 5 of the 6 years I was an active member. Thinking back on it now, it is no wonder that I was acquainted with a lot of people in school. I was involved in a lot of groups and it would have been hard not to be.
Boys never knew I existed in high school. I went to dances alone and met up with friends once there. Occasionally a boy would ask me to dance a slow song, but there were never any big romances. As far as the male population went, I didn’t exist. I certainly wasn’t the girl they wanted to date or take to the prom. I never went to any of those big formal dances. I can honestly say I was never asked. Being apart of the National Honor Society who hosted the Winter Formal, I remember going in as the last people were leaving to clean up the mess. If that wasn’t a kick in the a$$ senior year, I don’t know what was. It was right down depressing. The drama club hosted a dance too, but at least that one wasn’t a formal and I had the great pleasure of creating a jungle mural in pastels for that occasion.
By the time graduation rolled around I was anxious to shake the dust of Memorial High School from my sneakers and look toward the future. I had given up on ever forming close lasting relationships with any of my classmates. As I have come to know myself better over the years, I don’t blame my classmates entirely anymore. Now I realize that even then I must have subconsciously held everyone at arm’s length. I was shy and awkward then and always felt out of place. High school was a rite of passage. I survived with little desire to go back. When the reunion rolled around last summer, I avoided going. Since then I have had regrets. I should have gone and gave them the chance they never gave me at least once more until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.
Yesterday I watched as my son graduated from kindergarten. I don’t know what I expected when I arrived at the school for kindergarten graduationand took my place in the row of chairs facing my son’s class, but I certainly didn’t expect to be overwhelmed with the urge to cry or the memories that flooded my brain as I watched the events unfold.
I remembered the first moment I laid eyes on my son and how my whole being filled with unconditional love for him. That feeling returned as he waved and a smile lit his face that could turn night to day at my arrival. It was if in that moment he and I were the only ones there in that classroom. The feeling quickly faded as one over zealous parent stumbled past me with a camcorder the size of an elephant’s a$$. There really was no available room on the other side of me for her, but she pushed her way through and made room for herself. Seconds later, I heard her exclaim “Damn it, my battery just died!” I glanced in her direction and tried to remember my manners and force myself not to stare at her predicament. My eyes found my son again, as she almost took out the child sized play kitchen that stood between her and the wall with her monstrosity of a camera. I allowed myself to smirk, but nothing more.
I watched as he and his class performed several songs with so much confidence. The time then came when his teacher began calling each student to come forward and accept their diploma. Instead of racing up to her and snatching his diploma away and running hell bent for election to his seat like he had at the first of the year when he received an award for integrity, I watched my son stand up, walk sedately to his teacher, accept his diploma and then turn towards me with a smile that lit the room and wait for me to take a picture. Just as unexpected were the tears of undulated pride that pricked my eyes. I jumped up and took a picture just as I was expected to do and he returned to his seat beaming from ear to ear. His smile was infectious. I couldn’t help grinning like a blooming idiot as he literally glowed with his achievement.
There have been moments this past year when I wondered if we would ever make it to this day. I remembered the surgery he underwent last fall, and his accident leading to a severe concussion this spring. I remembered the amazement I felt when he was moved into a first grade math class and his ability to not only do the work given him correctly but with relative ease. I also remember when he finally decided to share with me that yes, he did know how to read! I remembered the pride and amazement I felt when we went to the all school art show and seen for the first time the artwork he had created. I felt the pride rush back from just the day before when he had brought that same art home along with a certificate and blue ribbon for his participation.
I realized as I watched the proceedings, gone forever was that sweet, precious baby I held in my arms and in his place was a little boy ready to proceed on to first grade and life with confidence and determination. I could see how he had changed, and realized how much he had grown over the course of the school year and I realized this was only the beginning until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.
