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$$ senior year, I don’t know what was. It was right down depressing. The drama club hosted a dance too, but at least that one wasn’t a formal and I had the great pleasure of creating a jungle mural in pastels for that occasion.
By the time graduation rolled around I was anxious to shake the dust of Memorial High School from my sneakers and look toward the future. I had given up on ever forming close lasting relationships with any of my classmates. As I have come to know myself better over the years, I don’t blame my classmates entirely anymore. Now I realize that even then I must have subconsciously held everyone at arm’s length. I was shy and awkward then and always felt out of place. High school was a rite of passage. I survived with little desire to go back. When the reunion rolled around last summer, I avoided going. Since then I have had regrets. I should have gone and gave them the chance they never gave me at least once more until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.
How do you celebrate a win? It can’t be much different than the way I celebrate. There is a lot of screaming, jumping around, a few high fives, and maybe the occasional butt bounce. During all this commotion I have to clap my hands. That is a given. To say I go completely ape $hit if my team wins is an understatement. If you are going to go to the game or watch it, you might as well make the most of the experience.
When I was a senior in high school I attended all the sporting events. I was a professional spectator. That particular year my high school football team played one of our major rivals at their football field. I had been panting after the quarterback of the football team since the previous year when I had got an eye full of him in those tight a$$ pants they used to make the boys basketball team wear. Those were the days!! These days the powers that be do not want anyone drooling over any of the junk in their trunks so not only did they make the regulation basketball trunks baggy as hell, they also now hang clear to their knees. It is a tragedy. Everything is left entirely to the imagination. It was one of those pathetic crushes from afar that in hindsight you simply look back on and wonder “what the hell did I see in THAT guy?” Anyway, I am off track! Because of my infatuation, you can bet I had myself at that game jumping up and down and cheering with the rest of the student body.
When the clock ticked down and our team won, I celebrated and took advantage of the opportunity given me. I jumped the fence, took the field, and body slammed that hot quarterback to the ground. It was a moment that will live forever in my memory. When else would it be acceptable to jump his bones and get away with it? Our team had won!! Everyone jumped the field, so I took the opportunity by the balls and literally jumped the guy’s bones. It was a stellar night. He was so pleased about winning, he hugged me back and life went on for me. I was floating about on cloud nine much as Charlie Brown floated after kissing the little red haired girl.
I have found in my experience, there is no better way to celebrate a win. I have found no high five, a$$ grabbing, screaming like a banshee celebration before or since quite has ever compared to rolling around in the mud with that quarterback on that particular long ago night. It was a moment that rocked. I have never done it since, but it is the extreme of celebration that few people experience. I am happy to say I have went to the extreme, and yes, all these years later; I admit I enjoyed it until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.
Wouldn’t it just have been special to be one of those remarkable tomboys who excelled in sports, always was picked first for teams, and played hard and well at everything she did? I think so too. Unfortunately, that wasn’t me. I was the shortest kid in the class who was the last one picked for games. I was the one the whole team would audibly groan if they got stuck with me. I was never very athletic. I had no coordination and always sucked at every sport I tried. Some kids like me are just not meant to rule the athletic fields.
When I was little, a bunch of kids would get up a game of soccer at recess. For some reason that seems completely beyond me at this point, I usually joined into this mad a$$ chase after the soccer ball. I may have gotten the opportunity to kick the stupid ball once or twice in the whole time I made an effort to look like I was playing but I never did anything remarkable like score a goal. If I would have, my classmates would surely have died from the shock. I was always placed as far outfield as I could get without leaving the schoolyard when playing kickball or softball. I would stand out there and pray the ball would not come my way so I wouldn’t have the opportunity to make a complete fool of myself. Ahh, those were the days.
All things athletic escaped me and didn’t really improve as I grew older. The powers that be forced all students to participate in gym class through the 10th grade. I used to despise the obstacle courses that my gym teachers would set up to torture me in front of my peers. In junior high I made it to my last event before I puked my guts. My gym teacher had the balls to saunter up and ask me if I intended on completing the event. Was he kidding? Hell no!! I just tossed my lunch on the gym floor. I am done. Be happy I made it to the last event!
In tenth grade an elephant vault was included in the course. Basically you had to run up, jump on a springboard, which would effectively catapult you up to the top of the parallel bars which had gym mats laid across it, and then you were supposed to jump to the ground and haul a$$ through the rest of the obstacles to the finish line at record speed. It was a lovely thought in theory, but the gym teachers hadn’t counted on someone as hopeless as me coming along. In front of my whole class, I ran up at top speed, hit the springboard, and smashed right into the mat. SPLAT!!! I fell backwards on my a$$ with the whole gymnasium exploding in laughter. It was one of the most mortifying experiences of my life. Like a Charlie Brown cartoon you could literally see the “HA HA HA HA’s!!” in the air.
It shouldn’t have come as any surprise when I got the brain fart to run with the girl’s cross country team in senior year that those witnessing the debacle of me arriving after running 4 ½ miles were in complete shock. I remember bending over gasping for breath while sweat literally poured off of me when the senior quarterback of the football team sauntered up and congratulated me on my achievement. Unfortunately I was to busy dying at that precise moment to come up with anything cool to say so I puked on his high priced tennis shoes instead.
I was completely shocked and thrilled when I was awarded a lettermen’s jacket at the conclusion of the season. I certainly couldn’t have received it because I had won every race or because I had been an asset to the team. Maybe they were so amazed that I actually survived the season and lived to tell the tale they figured I deserved a token of their esteem. Whatever the case, I flaunted that letterman’s jacket like I was top athlete on campus until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.
