Hello Monday -- High School Story

The thing about high school is that it's either really a great time in your life, or it's terrible.  The people I've spoken to on the subject seem to hold one of those two opinions.  I'm sure there are some here and there who are in between those two extremes, but more often than not, the folks I've asked had one opinion or the other.

My opinion?  TERRIBLE! With a lot of capitals!  Why?  Because I never fit in anywhere.

While that shouldn't be the goal of a high school student, the reality is, that for most of them, that is THE ultimate goal.  You get to school and you quickly realize that you must find a group of people to call your own.  If you don't do that quickly, it very likely will never happen.

If you're unfortunate enough to be coming from outside (meaning another school or town), you'll have an especially difficult time.  Well, unless you happen to have the certain something that draws people toward you like a bee to honey.

I didn't have that. I also didn't have a group.  Sophomore year was spent trying to be a 'prep'.  I couldn't tell you why exactly, except that I now had electricity and thought I stood a better chance of getting my hair right.  I'd learned that being a 'stoner' didn't work well if you wanted to be liked by the majority. (when you wear super short skirts and tight jeans and revealing whatever, you've very likely to be branded a 'slut' and that doesn't work well for fitting in.)  At least that is how it was in my experience.

  (The requisite school photo - this happens to be the only one my father purchased of my entire time in high school.  Please not that this was my version of 'big hair'.  Its' the biggest I could make it go.  My hair was always completely uncooperative when it came to attaining body. In hind site, I actually like the way it looked whereas I now look at the hair of my fellow schoolmates and cringe. LOL)

  (The school ID - this, together with the yearly photo are the only photos taken of me that year)

So, I tried the route of turtle neck sweaters, big hair and rolled up jeans.

I honestly can't even recall who I might have called friend that year.  I can recall the classes, Mr. Weber's Introductory Algebra, Mrs. Kirk's English, Driver's Ed, Typing, Biology with Mr. Morgan, French with Madame Woner.  But who were my friends?

I'm sure there were some. I did make a few friends but none were the sort that I spent all my time with.

I do remember trying to acquire my first boyfriend. (unsuccessful) Getting my first kiss (a boy who couldn't, in all honesty, be called friend) And my first experience with sex (a shameful event that happened in a public restroom and which I'm not sure I'll ever be able to reconcile myself with). I think the fact that I allowed it is what pains me the most. At least it did at that time.  I was mortified because after the fact I realized I'd only been used.  He was the same non-friend boy and it was a one time event that left me humiliated in every possible way.

Lunch was often spent walking across the street to the strip mall that held a Hardee's and a Round Table Pizza. And where did I get any money for those things anyway???  Daddy wasn't typically one to give me pocket money.

I did cook alot that year.  My dad had given me a Betty Crocker cookbook for my 15th birthday the previous summer.  (I still have it and I still use it.)  Hmmm, wonder if he had ulterior motives?  Did he hope I'd cook for him?  Good possibility.

I can tell you that I made it though that year academically. I was a good student, a natural student and I got on well with my teachers.  Better, in fact, then I ever got on with my peers.  Perhaps that was the thing that caused me to struggle so to fit in. Having experienced life in a rather ugly form up to that point, I was in a very different place than many of my peers, but I seemed to have a report with my teachers and school counselors.

By the time Junior year had rolled around, dad and I had moved back out to the homestead. Step-mom had gotten clean and sober with some help from AA, made her amends and we were back to being a happy family again.  And Dad was thrilled to be back in the boonies where he could do as he liked.  And that summer, the two of them were married.  (Wife number 4 at this point)

I had turned 16 and dad and Uncle Monte helped me buy a junky old car which Monte helped me get running. It was a 1973 Datsun 610, complete with peeling vinyl top!  White with what had been a blue top, it had....uh....seen better days.  No air conditioning, barely any heating and it would automatically not run if the weather turned wet and especially if it snowed.

 (The photo below is not my actual car, but is a pretty good representation of what it looked like when I had it.  Well, this one looks better since it is without the peeling vinyl top, but hey, it's the best I can do!)



However, with the car, I could begin to rule my own world a bit.  And so I embarked on my independence.