(1985-86 school picture)
I do remember how it feels to be in sixth grade.
I remember dreading lunch period. I never knew where to sit, and most of the time when I chose a place, kids would get up and move away, leaving me all alone. Tears splashed on my Holly Hobby lunchbox while I ate. Every day I wondered why no one would sit by me. Sigh. Honestly, it could have been my food. Milk is not cool in middle school. My mother put 2% milk in my thermos while other kids had KoolAid in theirs. The really cool kids had no thermos at all, just a Capri Sun or a Coke wrapped in tin foil. Worse, my mom bleached out my thermos every night, so it wasn’t just warm milk, it was Clorox-scented warm milk. It is not cool to have an apple in your lunch, either. Without fail, mom included half an apple, with lemon juice rubbed on the cut side, so it wouldn’t turn brown. Except it always turned brown anyway, and then it was not just an apple, but a face-puckering, citrus-sour, brown apple. Then there were her legendary sandwiches. Three kinds stayed on steady rotation in my lunchbox: First, there was The PB & Banana Sandwich, which was fine until we were out of peanut butter, and my mom made the nightmarish Mayonnaise & Banana Sandwich. Bad days. Very bad days. Second there was The Goopy Gray Sandwich. She’d grab peanut butter and grape jelly, add a spoonful of each in a bowl, and then whip with a fork until the filling was a dull gray mixture that she slathered thickly on Roman Meal wheat. (I was so embarrassed by this bizarre family delicacy, but I swear it tastes better). My cafeteria suffering was not complete. The coup de grace was my mother’s longstanding favorite, The Liverwurst and Butter Chunks Sandwich. Or Bologna and Butter Chunks. Or Deviled Ham and Butter Chunks.
“Why do you like a dry sandwich?” she’d marvel in the kitchen every morning. “I don’t understand someone who won’t touch Hellmann’s. I just don’t. You’ll have to have butter on it.” My mother is from Georgia, and she thinks fat and moisture are the largest bricks on the food pyramid. Ignoring my protests, she’d cut pats of butter to line a soft square of bread before she’d lay on the liverwurst or some other smelly deli meat.
All of that, and she never wrote a smiley face on my napkin.
But I knew my mother truly loved me, and that undeniable reality made sitting alone with my foul food bearable. Not only did kids make fun of what I ate, they made fun of my nerdy clothes. And my nerdy glasses. And the fact that my mom wouldn’t let her little nerd wear make-up, get her ears pierced, or shave her legs until 7th grade. Sometimes kids bypassed me and made fun of my mom. I would tell her about it, but do you think she cared? She just kept going with the freaky lunch protocol and no razor privileges.
I wanted to know why things couldn’t be easier at school. Didn’t the other kids know I barely was holding it together? I had developed systemic lupus, but it would be another year before anyone knew it. It made my hands hurt so bad, I had to blink back the tears. Sometimes I felt dizzy or profoundly exhausted. Every day was difficult. Besides my medical concerns, I began to worry about my parents too.
I liked the escape of school so much and showed it with my expression of delight when we were given a new project to complete. My favorite assignment of all was rewriting a weekly newspaper article, taking it from a journalistic to a personal interest style. I was sure I could do that well. I would scour the paper and forget my troubles by rewriting for hours, imagining how my classmates would be entertained by my work. Then, I stood at the podium every Monday, so proud to read what I’d written over the weekend. When I looked up, grinning, the kids were rolling their eyes and mouthing cruel comments at me. My smile dissolved. I wasn’t standing before a rapt audience liked I’d hoped; I was standing before a firing squad.
No, no. You can think a lot of things, but don’t ever think I have forgotten how it feels to be in sixth grade.
I know it hurts. People tell you that it won’t hurt forever. They are wrong. It will hurt forever, just less. Ultimately, you will be glad you went through it, because it was your training. If I had not had it hard back then, I would not be prepared for the life I am living today.
It was being teased for my appearance that taught me not to care what other people think about how I look. Had it not been for that training, I would worry about how others view my unsteady gait.
It was eating alone in the cafeteria that taught me not to be overly dependent on anybody, not to be afraid of silence, and how to enjoy the times when no one is around. Had it not been for that training, I would not be able to spend long hours comfortably alone on flights or waiting in airport terminals.
It was my mother’s weird menu that taught me to eat anything without complaining and learn to like unusual foods. Had it not been for that training, I would not be able to travel widely and adapt to other cultures quickly.
It was being ridiculed as I stood at a podium every week that taught me not to be afraid of audience reaction. Had it not been for that training, I would not be able to stand behind podiums and speak confidently and with integrity today.
It was watching my family fall apart and feeling the intense pain of illness that gave me empathy for my students. Had it not been for that training, I would not have learned the importance of a compassionate teacher.
It was hearing other kids say that they did not like my writing that taught me how to withstand criticism and write from the heart anyway. Had it not been for that training, I would not be typing right now.
My dearest students, you are in school, all right. Most of your real assessments will never show up on any report card. You are living them in your heart. Middle school is a painful university that is preparing you for all that is to come. Welcome the curriculum if you can. The outcome will be worth your effort.
I may not know where you are going, true, but I know you will shine when you get there.