High school...when I went, not where I teach

So this Tuesday I was able to meet up with two girls I had been friends with in high school, but hadn't seen, essentially, since graduation 12 years ago. We had so much in common, even after all those years and meeting was, at least on my end, really cathartic.

You see, high school was pretty hellish for me. I think it's that way for a lot of people, but it, I don't remember much of it fondly.

It's sad, really. I'm sure there was a lot about high school that was awesome. I can remember Mr. Barrett, beach, and a few friends. I remember some fun times, but overwhelmingly, when I think back to high school, the only memories that flood my mind are the ones that are negative, the ones that surround Austin's conception and birth.

Really it began before that, with my first bf. After he took a piece of me away, I never really was the same. It set into motion a series of events that would forever change my life. Then so many people chose my ex over me. So many people stopped talking to me after we broke up, after they found out. So many people made judgements and comments that, even 12 years later, have not lost their sting. I try so hard to get over it, but some nights, pathetically, I find myself chasing down a friend trail on FB only to learn something else about one of those former friends. Always wanting to reach out, to say hi, and to check to see if I really am remembering things correctly.

Did they really end that badly? If I friend you, what will be your response? A second rejection? A nostalgic, "Wendy? Wow...I remember her. I wonder how she's been." Or, perhaps the worst, "Who?" Do you feel as sick to your stomach when you think back to those days as I do?

Sometimes, I share these thoughts with my husband and he just shakes his head. He doesn't get it. Maybe you, dear reader, don't either. I can tell you who does, those of you who had your hearts ripped out in high school.

It's such a dangerous place. Some escape unscathed and live life without any discernible scars. You're the precious few who tell me, with excitement on parent's night, that you wish you could go back to high school, that your kid is so lucky to be beginning the best days of his/her life

And then there are the rest of us. The living, breathing, messes who had our souls sucked out of our bodies, stomped on, and left for dead. It changes us, forever shaping our conceptions of the world, of relationships.

Tonight, got to thinking about this more as I talked with my mom. We were lucky enough to get to ride together down to S-F to see Austin for Boy Scout family night. During the 2 hour drive there and the 2 hour drive back we were able to share so much. I remembered and talked through dark parts of those four years that I had successfully blocked out. But this time I owned it.

And though I hate the thought of what high school did to me, or rather, of what I let high school do to me, I realize, with a measure of gratitude, that it is the reason I've finally found so much happiness and peace. If my friends hadn't driven me away, into another's arms, I wouldn't have Austin, arguably the first best thing that ever happened to me. Additionally, my calling as a teacher most certainly began as Mr. Barrett was making life more bearable with his humor, with his sincerity, with his demeanor. My desperation to make a friend after the horrors of loss I faced in high school led to me coming out of my shell and actually talking to one of the best friends I've ever had, Renee. My need for money to pay for Austin's diapers led me to swallow my pride and take a job at McDonald's, the place where I met my amazing friend Stephanie, a woman who is single-handedly responsible for my meeting my husband. Because of the pain that lingered, I've gradually found my voice. I've gradually learned that playing silent and being hurt, will not serve to teach those pain-inflecters a message in compassion, but will only serve to hurt me more.

So I guess, despite the pain, the scars, the craziness I've carried around forever, high school was good for me. All the same, I'd just as soon Austin survives it without all the scars.

Moving On

So I haven't posted in a really long time...no biggie...no one even knows about this blog...though that may change as I'm thinking about linking it to my facebook. It's so easy to get into and addicted to another tech thing when school is almost over and I'm between obsessions...

I thought it fitting, after reading a passionate blog from one of my friends, to "say the unsayable." This is something I do with my creative writing students each year as we mine different writing territories. We simply write a letter to someone and tell them something we couldn't really say for any myriad of reasons. Here's mine. Bear in mind, I'm free-writing and it could use some work (since this is public and I'd like to seem 1/2 professional, the name has been omitted).

Dear *,

I'd like to say you stole 8 years from me. Eight years. This is the sum total of my teaching career. In my most bitter times you have been a great scapegoat. However, as I face the reality of leaving you in just six short days, I am starting to see you for what you are: a pathetic waste of so much of my energy.

When I started teaching I was naive. I firmly resolved to change lives, to be the best possible, to befriend colleagues and share, to change the world. You helped quash that and I let you.

When I think of all the things I could have been, but haven't become, I'd like to get mad at you, but I can't. You didn't make me pause and think twice, you didn't stop me from doing what I wanted, you only intimidated me and made me believe you held power over me. When I think of all the times I said, "I can't" because of you, I'm so angry. When I think of those four new young, excited teachers you'll be responsible for doing the same to, I sigh. I hope they have more strength, more worldliness, and thicker skin.

And while I am finally ready to take responsibility for the decisions I made all those years. The decisions I made to let you get to me, to let you steal my sleep, my thunder, my enthusiasm, my dedication. The times I granted you permission to change me, to make me change myself, I am ready to tell you the truth, what I really think. So here it goes:

Shame on you. How insecure do you have to be with yourself, with your talents, with your position, that you have to force a well-meaning teacher to change herself to suit you? What difference does it make how I teach? Does it change your productivity if I read a story you don't? If my kids have fun in my class, but dread yours, does it make you a worse teacher? Since when are your composition rules the only ones? If I read up on current theory and embrace it, teach it, live it, does it really hurt you? Must you demean me to your students to make your rules more correct?

How dare you talk about me to students! In what world do you need to convince them you're better. Not every kid will love you. Not every kid will love me. It's not some giant popularity contest and how pathetic and insecure are you that you have to make it one? I am here to teach, to be there for kids. Why are you here?

But enough about you. As I said, I have wasted too much time on you and you are pathetic. Oh, yes it's cathartic to dis you, but as many have pointed out, it's simply not worth it. Besides, I don't need any more purgatory hours because of things I've said about you.

But I will say this: Thank you. Thank you for being such a beast and teaching me that with all enthusiasm there should be temperance. As Friar Laurence says, "These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume." You helped teach me the true meaning of these words. Thank you for teaching me the value of friendship at work. I never would have needed to make such deep and lasting connections if you hadn't made work such an unbearable place. My friends became my friends because I needed to feel happiness at work and they let me. Thank you for showing me just how work shouldn't be so I will appreciate a new position, one in which colleagues share, don't feel threatened by greatness, and enjoy their lives. I will flourish because I will appreciate what I have never had.

I pray for you. I pray that you one day wake up and say, "I'm sorry." That you one day realize that a little power is a dangerous and great thing. And that you will atone for what you have done to me by never repeating it with anyone else. I know this may be a lot to ask. Hell, it's probably impossible, but if there's one thing you will never take from me it is my optimism. In eight years, hope, the thing Pandora unleashed last, will never be stripped from my grasp.

And so, I'm done. I didn't say all that I wanted, but I said what needed to be said for now. I will be the bigger person and wish you well. I will genuinely hope life gets less sad and pathetic for you and I will wish the new department tremendous new beginnings.

As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord and I will serve the lions. I hope to be like Daniel. You have already taught me how to emerge from the den unscathed. Life can only get better for me. I hope it can for you, too.

Sincerely,

Wendy

Z is for Zoo

I love the zoo. Boy is it a good thing that all my other blogs were so darn long that I don't have to say anymore than that. Again, I will fix these tonight! But, I don't have to...cause I'm done :)

Y is for Yay!

Yes! I am almost finished! I just have Z and I'm done. Yeah, I know this post sucks...I'll fix it later. Who cares because I did it :)

Okay, so that is a poopy attitude. Let's try this again:

Y is for yau, yipee, yahoo, yo-mama, you-bethca, yes!

I am so excited!

X is for X-men or wolverine :)

I love X-men. No, not the comics, though I've bought a couple for my son. No, I'm talking the movie. The last one brought me to tears! I really like the characters and the plot line. It is such a cool concept to think we might be living among super-humans.

My favorite X-man is Wolverine. Ow, ow. Enough said. Hugh Jackman is the man.

W is for work

Work. It's hard, rewarding, thankless, and exciting. I think the part of work that I am most bitter about right now are these blogs. They are ridiculous! No, I don't think the assignment was. I think the fact that I am doing my own homework IS. What's worse is that they are guilting teachers into doing this crap now and I've fallen for it hook, line and sinker! What the heck is the point of me doing EVERYTHING I assign, grading it, planning it, and then working hard on my other job: my life? Oh, well, at least this post can be considered finished, too. I'll try to be more positive in the next one!

V is for Vitamin

Well, since I've done more than my word requirement...I'm going to cop-out until tonight when I can fix these last five posts up. The next four posts will be short and sweet...because I said the words had to average 150. Looks like being long winded worked out for me :)

So here goes. V is for the vitamins I have to take everyday now. They taste yucky and cost a little more than I expected them to. Luckily, the doctor gave me about 30 for free so that was cool. I have to take two for the price of one and I always take them with food. Yay, another blog done!