Name: Abigail M. Schilling
And they say that junior high is just a bunch of drama
At my small private junior high I learned judgement. With only 10 girls in my class and 20 cootie- (and fuzzstache-) ridden boys, us girls had to stick together. Of course sticking together means making fun of everyone else. The older we got the more we learned that tearing each other apart gave the greatest esteem but in the early days we targeted our teachers.
In the same way that contestants on ANTM shouldn't talk about Tyra because she watches ALL the footage, we couldn't get away with mocking the tenured full-timers so we went for the marginalized foreign language teachers.
The first Spanish teacher was a woman (maybe). The eighth graders said she wore a wig and I mean, her voice, it was so low and so deep and SHE SMOKED. Horrors of all horrors. We would try to say "hola" in her voice and double over in the locker room.
The second Spanish teacher was old. Very old. I never saw him with my own eyes since I decided to take French that year (a decision still haunting me, by the way) but I heard he was older than dirt, dinosaurs, and even the biology teacher.
His health was declining and he decreased to only one day a week and then he need assisted breathing and he had to move class to the first floor since there were no elevators in those days and he had one of those wheely ventilators. One day he just didn't show up to class. They never told us what happened.
His replacement was a timid 20-something girl. They were starting to infiltrate the school with them and I was too young to notice the underlying gender issues they were also infiltrating but it took me years to shake them.
She was strict though and not afraid to yell at the cootie, fuzzstache boys (she never dared talk that way to the girls). For all of this the boys loathed her. Finally, one day one of the boys whispered, mostly over his breath, "I hope you get dragged out into the street and shot."
Horrors of horrors. She walked out of the classroom and straight to administration. Where had he heard such language? They had prohibited clothing and outerwear that resembled gang symbols, and seriously, THIS WAS THE SUBURBS. I THOUGHT WE WERE SAFE.
You should have heard the administration when I announced I was going to a Catholic all-girls high school. I mean, there might be LESBIANS there. Or FEMINISM. Or, horrors of horrors, BOTH.
posted by Abigail at 10:06 PM
4 Comments:
"Is all this about you not being able to grow a mustache?"
I was the HUGEST JERK in junior high. I had this group of like four friends, and my friend Michelle and I would like, decide once a week to "get mad" at one of them, and we wouldn't talk to them until they begged us and told us how cool we were.
Seriously, Biggest Time.
I was there! Or sort of - because I was the only working mother of your class, so I can't really say I was there. IN FACT, how could I be there? Sheesh - when I was 14 minutes late picking you up, they put you in the after school "mom's who didn't pick up their kids ontime so charge them" day care! So, I said I would have you start walking up the street after school and then they scolded me as a bad parent for even thinking such a thing! Good golly, life in the suburbs was DANGEROUS!
Whoa, guess I have some issues with that place, huh?
Remember your 7th grade locker? Remember whose was next to yours? I'm going to his dad's church Saturday. (ooooh, clue).
Yeah, Heather, I bet you were a jerk. I did that in High school, but we always were mean to the same girl. We called her "Gads" cuz whenever we ditched her she'd say, "Eeegads!" Enough said, right?
code word: wshdn (washin' down!)
I was too nice in school. Now, I wish I were mean. Every day after kindergarten recess, we would run to line up outside our door. I didn't want to seem too eager, but I always vied for the second and third spot. First was the worst, second the best, third the one with the treasure chest. I could just see the vivid picture of sparkling gold coins in an endless chest.
I couldn't take it anymore. I carpe diemed. I ran as fast as I could to make the coveted third spot. Unfortunately, my classmates felt I was unworthy for the wealth. "First is the worst! Second is the best!" My time had come, I was trying to hide my prideful, victorious smile. "Third is the one with the HAIRY CHEST!"
I was shocked. It was my turn and they stole it away so quickly and so creatively. I was shy, but proud. I went to my desk and cried, pretending to look for my crayons.
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