Last night, I went to my neighbor’s 8th grade
graduation. These days, it’s a full
blown thing – cap and gown, diplomas, etc. I really enjoyed their principal, who seemed to know every kid. And he was genuine and just appeared to be a stand-up guy. Groups of kids sang, some
better than others. Several kids gave
brief speeches. In all, 148 of them
walked the stage while the in bleachers, full of family and friends, we cheered them on.
It was very sweet. It
was warm in that gym, and loud. So, it’s
not something I’d do every day, but our neighbor was well worth the sweat.
Apparently, my life overlaps all over the place, because
their PTO president appears to be the wife of our CFO. It makes sense – we live in the same part of
town (and presumably school district), and he has kids that age.
In the courtyard, I ran into Susan – a former
co-worker. When I started at PureSafety,
there were not many women in positions of power. She was a team manager, and she’s a few years
older than me, so I adopted her as a mentor.
I still remember having to go to lunch with a creepy co-worker who made
me uncomfortable. She helped me navigate
the process, and I was grateful to have someone take my concerns seriously. My own manager would have told me to “figure
it out”. Which, ironically that is why
the creepy guy invited me to lunch in the first place. He told our manager that I didn’t seem to
like him and he couldn’t understand what he’d done. My manager suggested he invite me to lunch to
work it out. Bad idea.
So bad.
Anyway, Susan is
amazing. She speaks a number of
languages, went to Oxford, and has three kids.
Her son graduated last night, and her twin daughters will graduate next
year. I asked her if the principal was as good as I
thought, and she confirmed he was. It was just a positive experience and I’m glad we went. Parking was a nightmare, and the crowd of
crying kids and family at the end was overwhelming, but hey – you only leave middle school once!
It made me think of my own 8th grade
graduation. I honestly cannot remember
whether they called everyone’s name. I
know we didn’t have caps and gowns. I
wore the same thing I had worn to the dance a few weeks before – a white
sundress from The Limited. I loved that
dress. I was in the process of growing
my hair out, so it was a mess. I had it
tied back either with a strip of white cloth, or a piece of lace my grandmother
had given me for my birthday once. Yeah,
it was an odd present, but that was Baba. I didn’t wear much makeup back then. I might have had lipstick on. Which is to say, I might have put on lipstick and chewed it off. I definitely had braces.
So here’s true confession time. I peaked in 8th grade. Sad, right?
But that was a peak year for me.
As was 10th grade, but right now, let’s focus on 8th.
I was on the Jr. Academic Bowl team, and we won state that
year. I was a yearbook editor, I helped
write the school musical that year, and I had a decent role therein. I had lots of friends and went to parties. I had a boyfriend. And although he was a complete asshole to me
who failed to recognize my existence pretty readily, I had a boyfriend. And I got my first kiss (and subsequent
others), and a little under-the-shirt action.
Don’t judge me. I thought I
loved him. That’s a lie. I knew I didn’t love him, but I also knew I
wanted a boyfriend. Whatever. It was a symbiotic thing. He got to cop a feel, I got to have a
boyfriend.
Finally, it’s worth noting
that I was well on the principal’s radar.
She adored me, and would from time to time pull me into her office to
chat. She decided she wanted me to do
some speaking parts at graduation. So I
did. I couldn’t tell you what or why,
but I did. She also, bless her heart,
gave all the kids on the academic bowl team a Cross pen when we won state. It was a nice pen, and I had it for forever. I may still have it somewhere. She was a lovely person, but she was also a
little quirky. She was a blonde (not
natural), wore bright red lipstick way outside of her natural lip line, and had
a very distinctive southern accent that I could mimic perfectly. She actually knew that I could imitate her
and didn’t seem bothered by it.
But she liked me for whatever reason. Now, understand that I was not, in any sense
of the word, popular. The population at-large knew who I
was (and probably thought I was a dweeby kiss-ass), and among the brainy set, I was a reasonably welcome fixture, but I was not
popular. I was also not that smart. They put me in Algebra and Physical Science
at the start of the year. I failed out
of Algebra within the first three weeks, and they moved me down to
pre-algebra. I was pretty well stuck in
Physical Science and I floundered through that.
The result is that I would always be out of synch in Math and Science
throughout high school. Oh well.
On the other hand, I was killing it in French class. My teacher had requested me because I had
traveled in a tour group with her to
Europe the previous Summer. I was one of
two people from my homeroom block who had her instead of the other French
teacher. I was delighted because Mme.
Adams was the better of the two teachers.
We learned a lot that year. In
fact, I won a commendation for that class (as did my friend from the homeroom
block), and the guy we sat next to got a commendation for most improved. I like to think we had something to do with
that.
And then, there was chorus. I'd had a few solos over the years, and I was a decent Alto. At the end of 8th grade, we had to audition to determine placement
into which group. I went in, sang a few bars
of Chapel of Love for the HS director, I think he may have had me do a scale
and some tonal memory. I ended up in
Chansons – the women’s group. At first,
I was bummed – I had wanted to be in Varsity – the mixed chorus. But, once I got to High School, it became
clear that Chansons was the more rigorous, exclusive group – I was one of
three Frosh in it. I made friends with
the older girls, and I’ve stayed friends with many of them.
Clearly, my intelligence was skewed to the right brain.
And I was lazy when it came to Math and Science. So, as a result, I was not a Junior Beta Club
member. This made me the one student in
gifted classes who wasn’t a member. The
day they left town for the annual conference, and the day they went to Six Flags
were a little awkward (and quiet). I remember Mme.
Adams telling me she fought for my inclusion into the club, but a C in 7th
grade math killed my chance. She called
math my bête noir. And because I spoke a
little French and had a sophisticated vocabulary, I knew exactly what she
meant.
So, after 8th grade graduation, I gathered at
Dairy Queen with some classmates for a little ice cream celebration. And here, here is the memory of my 8th
grade graduation that is crystal clear in my mind.
One of the boys in the group started talking in hushed
tones. Now, this was a nice boy. Like a super clean-cut, athletic, smart Wally
Cleaver-esque kind of guy. Eeeeevery
girl with half a brain had a crush on him at some point. For
ease of narrative, let’s just call him Wally.
So, we’re all packed into a booth at the DQ, spooning ice cream into our
mouths, when Wally begins describing a sexual act. He names it, and none of us know what it is,
so he details it out for us.
And remember – I’m not a prude. By this point, I’ve been felt up! I’ve frenched! Wally told us what it was, and my jaw dropped
- if not physically, certainly mentally.
I was clearly not as sophisticated as I thought. I filed away this act in my brain, but even
43 year old me thinks it it’s pretty evolved , so my little 14 year –old brain
was just appalled. I don’t think I said
anything negative. I think I just nodded
and kept eating. I wondered where he had
learned this information, and if he had employed it. Remember, this was pre-internet, so there were
no online videos, no Urban Dictionary.
I
am grateful that my boyfriend wasn’t there – remember, he didn’t acknowledge me
to his family*, so he didn’t join the gang for ice cream. It was Wally, a few girls, and a few
boys. I cannot reliably tell you who was
there – I seem to think I remember a few people, but it was 30 years ago. But I can remember I was sitting across the
table, leaned in to hear. I don’t think
that this the Leaning In Sheryl Sandberg was talking about.
I remained friends with Wally, though not super close
friends. Just “we’re in a lot of the
same classes” friends. One of my pals
had a massive crush on him, and I felt bad because I knew he would never go for
her. She was tall, tan, athletic,
outdoorsy. He favored petite, blonde, ultra-girly
girls. But she was blinded by her
affinity for him. She’s married now and
raising a lovely tall, tan, athletic, outdoorsy daughter.
Although we went to college together, I saw Wally there only
once in my Junior year. The last time I saw him was a
few months before I got married. I was
at the grocery store, and I looked up and there he was. He was engaged (to a petite ultra
girly-girl), and buying cat litter for their shared animal. I wonder if they were participating in that
act, or if he had found something better, newer, kinkier. We may never know.
So here’s what I really remember about 8th grade
graduation:
Rainbow kiss – an act where a couple engages in oral sex on
each other to completion, then share an open-mouthed kiss to exchange fluids.
 |
| Nothing like this at all. Please move along. |
But that’s really so 7th grade. By 8th grade, if you haven’t moved
on to donkey punching, you’re behind the curve.
I kid. I kid.
You may move your tassels.
Congratulations!
ae
*The boyfriend’s family was not stupid. They knew about
me. I ran into his mother some years
later and she mentioned he was dating a girl who reminded her of me. So, I
have to hope that they thought he was kind of a jerk to me. Because he totally was.
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