I am now sitting in the place where a lot of my adolescent poetry was created. I would go back to my high school and squeeze between the toilet and wall in the handicap stall to really be in the spirit, but I am much happier cuddling on my childhood bed with my Pillow Person at the moment.
I did promise you some more poetry, but I think I found something even better.
My sixth grade yearbook! Back then, sixth grade was a poignant year in my life. I felt it very apt that the yearbooks were titled "Crossroads" because 12 years old is a major crossroad in one's life.
As you can tell there's a circle around my picture. Every year, I circled all of my friends in my yearbooks for posterity. This year, apparently, my own picture qualified.
I looked through all of the signatures and remembered that I had actually signed my own yearbook that year.
The note says:
"Dear Becky, I know it's kind of stupid to write to yourself, but who cares! Wow! You've had a hell of a year. First year of VMS, 6th grade. I know it's been tough, but's [?] it's been cool, too! I know you're thinking that this was one of the best years of your life, and, it has! When you look at all the people who signed this your yearbook, you'll know why this year was so cool! Never forget this! Love, Becky (you)."
When I look back upon sixth grade I remember it as one of the most miserable years of my life. Why did I think it was so cool? I decided to listen to my own sixth grade advice and checked out some of the signatures to see why I thought this year was so cool. Here's the best I found:
"Becky, Thanks for all your help [explaining what Kristallnacht was in Social Studies without making too many of your classmates cry.] You were great in the debate against Mrs. Kenshaw's class. Sorry you lost. Cloning is a really tough subject for sixth graders to debate. Have a good summer. Sincerely, Mrs. Saggot."
Damn, sixth grade was a pretty good year.
Hall of Fame