We're Going to High School

If you came to me with a million dollars in a cute Kate Spade bag and said, "You can have this if you will relive one year of high school," I'd say, "Do I get to keep the bag?" and you'd say, "Sure," I'd say, "Can I pick the year?" and you'd say, "Yeah, any one of the four" and I'd say, "Could I have the bag in red?" and you said, "Sure," and I'd say, "Um, no. But thanks". Not for a million dollars in a red Kate Spade bag would I want to relive high school. A day, maybe, if I could pick the day. But not a year. Thank you, anyway.

I hated high school. I hated being a teenager. I hated being a pastor's kid. I hated the jocks and the soshes and the stoners and the a/v geeks, who broke my heart because they were even less cool than I was. I loved my little group of friends and the good, clean fun we had but I rarely had any classes with my buddies. I hated biology. I loved English. I hated PE (except when we learned square dancing). I hated being in love with the wrong guy and the way his sister tormented me when we weren't together. I hated not being allowed to go to dances but I probably would have hated dances because I was skinny and gawky and wore glasses and had a bad shag haircut (it was the 70s) and when I had a boyfriend he was older and didn't go to high school so I wouldn't have had anyone to dance with even if I'd known how to dance, which I didn't.

I wasn't pretty . I wasn't cool. (Golly, I was so totally the opposite of cool). I hadn't learned to value any of the things that were awesome about me, like my sense of humor or my compassion or my talent. I didn't fit in my skin and high school was, in short, nothing I'd want to do again for a million dollars in a red Kate Spade bag; not even knowing what I know now.

It is my fondest hope that it's going to be different for The Child. Grade school hasn't been a picnic for her. Between the bullying and the dyslexia and the struggle to fit in once she transferred from the bully school and the drama queens in her current class, she's had a rough go. She's paid her dues, people. I'd like to think that she's going to start high school, fresh from a life altering summer in France and armed with the self-possessions she's gained from all her hard knocks and will, consequently, find her niche, snuggle into her niche and rock it. I don't have dreams of her being a cheer leader, ASB president, homecoming queen and starring in every play. But I like to think that she'll find some nice friends, settle into her school work, get involved with the drama program and feel like she belongs.

I know. It's a bit much, considering that very few people I know speak with adoring fondness of their high school experience, but I still hope that for her. And when I hear people I know talk about the two schools to which she's applying, I think it's possible. Because they all speak fondly. I was wearing the sweatshirt for First Choice High at Trader Joe's one day and a clerk stopped me and said, "I went to First Choice. It was the best four years of my life". From her lips...

Today and tomorrow The Child is touring both schools, all day sessions, paired up with a current student, going through the paces and living the life of a high school student. She's psyched. She picked out an outfit (after carefully studying the dress code), put herself to bed at a decent hour, got up on her own and hit the shower (hello?). She is currently watching the news and eating a banana-yogurt-granola parfait. She's got homework packed in her messenger bag and money for lunch.

Saturday was the last of her placement exams. She feels really good about both of them. She said she finished every section before time was up (a huge accomplishment for little miss Freak-out-during-timed-tests). She said the math portion was really easy and she even felt good about the essay she had to write (pick a hero from literature and tell why you admire that person. She picked Hermione Granger from the Harry Potter books, because she respects her work ethic. "Way to suck up," said The Spouse). Having those tests behind her is a huge relief. Did I mention she had a very decent report card? And that she's written a fine essay about why she wants to attend First Choice (which will be adapted to argue for why she also wants to attend Second Choice)? I haven't written my essay yet. Oh, yeah, I have to write an essay about why I want her to attend these schools, too. Lordy, lordy, there wasn't this much paperwork involved when I applied to college. Letters of recommendation have been requested, the Pastoral Associate at church has written to confirm we are parishioners in good standing, forms have gone to the teacher and principal, lists of awards and community service and volleyball championships are being compiled and once all the i's are dotted and t's crossed, the whole bloody mess will be submitted (by January 17) and then we wait to see if she's accepted. Which of course, she will be. Who wouldn't be thrilled to have a kid like The Child in their student body.

Two days ago she was an itty bitty baby with chubber chubber cheeks and now she's going to high school.

I need a tablet.