As I unearth relics of my past in the ongoing basement cleanup project, I’ll share some of the interesting findings here.
The most recent discovery was that of my 7th and 8th grade yearbooks. Looking through them brought back quite a few memories, many of them positive.
7th grade was a year of massive change for me. I hit puberty in the summer between 6th and 7th grade, so when I showed up for the first day of class, I was like four inches taller, thinner, and more gangly than my classmates remembered. It was in seventh grade that I got school sports out of my system, because that was the year that I wrestled. This was the year that I took up baritone because I broke my arm while wrestling and couldn’t hold my trombone. This was the first year that I got straight A’s. It was like puberty finally initialized my brain so I could start processing data correctly. I asked a girl out this year, who said yes, then promptly told me she made a mistake two days later.
8th grade had fewer changes than 7th. I was still trying to work out who I was and what interested me. I got my first (and only) detention that year, given by a substitute who thought that I couldn’t pay attention and talk to my friends at the same time. She was wrong though. I totally could, but she wrote me up anyway.
I know some people remember their middle school years with dread. They were times of change, physically and socially, and change can be downright traumatizing. But I remember those years fondly. Sure, I’ve probably blocked out the truly horrific stuff, but either way, I remember enjoying those years.
It’s funny now to flip through these yearbooks and look at the faces of the classmates, many of whom I see on Facebook with their own families, and think about how much (and how little) has changed.