Thursday, December 13, 2012

Waldorf Memories, Part 1

Yesterday I got my class yearbook.

I say yearbook, but it's really more like a memory book. My teacher, Mrs. M, who'd been with us since first grade, promised to make it. I guess she finally got it done. It was a year and a half late, but it's here.

A few words about my old school: It's what's called a Waldorf school. We had one teacher from first grade to eight grade and a lot of the kids (including me) stayed all eight years. It was...I suppose it was a good experience, although looking back I almost wish I'd transferred to another school after fifth grade. I had a total of two real friends in the class (who I'm still in touch with), but the whole class was actually fairly close. My mom was the administrator until she quit last year, so she was at the school from my 4th grade to 8th grade.

It was interesting to look back at all the photos. Our plays (Don Quixote de la Mancha in 7th grade and You Can't Take It With You in 8th were the best), class trips (the girls TP-ing the boy's room in Monterey, sketching the sunrise on the dunes in Death Valley, swimming in Hawaii...) and general events are all there. There are a few emotional pictures of our graduation and a lot of stuff I'd nearly forgotten about.

I have to say, overall I'm happier at my new school. For one thing, I actually love having a uniform. Most of the girls in my old class were skinny and beautiful, whereas I'm a lot bigger and I always dressed for comfort rather than fashion. I was always a little out-of-place since I wasn't wearing tight shirts and skinny jeans.

I also think that my new school is just a nicer place to be. Sometimes things at my old school got pretty...vicious. I had rough seventh and eighth grades especially. I was actually in therapy for a while. I have a lot more friends here than I did there, which helps.

A lot of the memories that stick in my head aren't great. I have a vivid recollection of a group of girls (who shall remain unnamed, tempting as it is) who, in fourth grade, literally came up to me and said that although they liked me, I wasn't popular enough to play with them. A close approximation of their exact words would be "I mean, I'd like to play with you, but then people would go 'Eeww, they're playing with Rowan.'"

The really sad thing about that memory is that I agreed with them.

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