Thursday, October 01, 2009

Life Story: Chapter Thirty Four

You'll note that it's been quite some time since my last Life Story posting. When I left off I was leaving middle school. I haven't been sure how to properly express my feelings for my entrance into the grand world of high school.

Ninth grade was a can of worms that I'm not too sure I was fully prepared for. Aside from dealing with a huge school on a spread out campus with mostly unfamiliar faces, I was still, technically, a psychological mess.

Just before I started my Patrick Henry High years, the anorexia had just about leveled off. I wasn't gaining weight, but I wasn't losing anymore either. Yes, most of the guys my age were polishing off a dozen eggs for breakfast and downing three or four gallons of milk each week. I complained about being full after eating half a sandwich.

Needless to say, this stunted my physical growth quite a bit. As a freshman, I expected to get picked on by the upper classmen on a pretty regular basis. Thankfully, it wasn't like Saved By the Bell. I wasn't Screech and I didn't get shoved into any lockers. I didn't get held upside down by my ankles and dipped into a toilet. My only real memory of any of the older kids giving me a hard time was when some guy told me that the elementary school was at the other end of the parking lot. That was a pretty good one.

But freshman year in high school wasn't all that bad. I mean, it wasn't great. But there were good times to be had. It was the year that introduced me to block scheduling. Patrick Henry students had the A-days and the B-days. A total of six classes; three on each day. Now, this meant you only had to endure Spanish III every other day. But it also meant you had to endure Spanish III for two hours at a time.

Aside from the semi-advanced foreign language class, my class load was fairly average: Geometry, World Geography, English, P.E., Earth Science, and Drawing I. I'm not sure how I got into that Drawing class. Basic Art was a prerequisite, and I sure hadn't taken Basic Art. I think my guidance counselor felt really sorry for me. She put up with a lot from me. Like I said, I was a psychological mess.

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