Reflection on High School

Today’s blog topic is from the Delve Deck: What is your most cringe-worthy high school memory?

After I drew the card, I sat down to think about it and promptly fell asleep. My brain may have been overwhelmed with possibilities or it may have been avoiding the topic all together.

My high school years were not ones I enjoyed. I am grateful for the friendships. I went to school because of journalism class. The rest of it, not so much. My high school years were from 1970 to 1974. I was not a popular girl; I was infamous though. I asked questions during classes. Sometimes, not intentionally on my part, teachers thought I was challenging their knowledge on a topic. Only once did I end up in the office for ‘questioning’ a teacher – it was a science teacher and my questions was, “Why does the textbook say this, when in an earlier science class, we learned different facts.” I do not remember what the topic was any longer.

Mr. B sent me to the office for challenging him. The principal and I sat and looked at each other and he may have given me instructions on how to behave in Mr. B’s class the next time a topic came up. Meanwhile I went to the library and found other scientific evidence that did not agree with the textbook and presented it to Mr. B. in private. Back to the office I went. The principal and I repeated the same conversation with the understanding that it did not matter if I was right, I needed to show MR. B respect. Which did not sit well with me. How do you respect someone who does not look at the evidence or at least engage in a dialogue?

This should have been a clue to the person I was becoming. It was high school that contributed to my dislike for authority. While I know how to be respectful and certainly work at it, I also know that I like to make up my own mind and trust my own instincts over what I am told is the ‘right’ or ‘only way.’

High school journalism class and English were my reasons for showing up to school. I loved English classes and took more of them than required. We had semester classes available to us for our junior and senior years. The poetry and short story class was my favorite as we spent part of the semester studying Black poets and storytellers. It was a world I knew nothing of having grown up in rural Ohio with one Mexican family, no Black people, everybody white like me. Still, I could relate to being an outsider in the community.

One memory I have is when we went before the Student Council in 1973 to challenge the “no pants” dress code. Dresses only – no midi or maxi length. Skirts or dresses no shorter than our fingertip reach and no longer than our knees. This dress code extended to all school functions including afterschool activities such as football games. Our moms could wear pants, female students could not unless they were in band. Cheerleader skirts could also be shorter. Two things the Teacher/Advisor said at the student council meeting have stayed with me over the years.

One statement was, “The farmers around here are conservative, and they do not want to see women dressing like men.” The second statement was, “Girls like men looking up their dresses.” My memory is clear on this – it is not an exaggeration. I remember walking away so angry. Male teachers, the Student Council Advisor among them, did stand at the bottom and side of the stairs as we walked up. Up was on the outside of the stairs and down was the inside. I found ways after that statement to get up the stairs as far to the inside of the group as I could. Dirty old men!

In 1974 the dress code changed, and girls could wear culottes or dress slacks to school. Hair for guys also loosened up during this time. Prior to that, I remember the principle giving guy’s haircuts when their hair crept over their collars in the back. A couple of us served detentions for writing a school newsletter article on the boy’s hair code before it changed. The worst offender for having his name on the article was the school board president’s son. His life was a living hell at home as well as at school for two weeks.

When I would tell somebody, I did not like high school it was not unusual to hear in response, “Why these are the best years of your life!”  High school did not prove to be the best years of my life. Every single year since high school has been a better year than any of the four years in high school. We should not lie to children and young adults. High school may be a wonderful experience for some, and I am happy for those that found high school a positive experience.

Work has started on the class of 1974’s fiftieth reunion. It is the end of June of this year. I have never attended the few reunions the classmates have put together over the years. I lived in California and the timing to go to Ohio did not pan out. Now that I am a ten-hour drive away and am retired, I feel like it would be good to go. I stay in touch with a handful of people from my class through Facebook. Last year I visited my friend Jean in North Carolina.

Fifty years is a long time ago. High school seems like yesterday. 

My joyful moment for today is the realization that college was an amazing experience over the many years it took me to get my degree.