5th grade

As I said I previous posts, moving in 5th grade was hard.  I have since come to understand, that pre-adolescence and middle school/junior high is a brutal age for girls especially. 

The good thing about being the new minister's kid was that there was a built in welcoming committee.  The youth group at the church had an roller skating party for on the first night we were there!
( As a disclaimer, I am not changing names.  I am only using first names, and if any one of the people I mention would like me to change/not use name/pics, I will do that.  But I am not planning on saying anything negative about anyone, anyway)

I think I may have posted or written about Billy elsewhere  in this blog, but he figured so strongly that first meeting and throughout my time in  Jeff City that I am going to write about him again. 

I know that I met a lot of kids that day, some of whom would be great friends, but Billy was the most memorable.  Billy was a person whom I think fiction writers wish they could think up in their heads.  Billy had not one mean bone in his body,  He could be a little catty, mind you, but he was mostly just joyful and eager to meet everyone.  Billy was actually a pretty adept ice skater, but he could get around on roller skates well, too.  I was so fascinated by his joie de vive and his fancy skating tricks.  I cannot remember a time that Billy was smiling or without a devilish twinkle in his eye.  He tore up the skating rink that night.  One of the kids broke her ankle that night, but the excitement of a broken ankle just did not compare the excitement of watching Billy skate backward and jump into a sit spin!

The next day at church, Billy was talking with my mom.  They were discussing blisters he had formed while skating .  He said "They feel squishy...Squishy is the only word"  I had never met anyone like Billy before!  Who talks to adults like that?  Billy figured strongly in my life, but for now, I will just say he left quite an impression! More on Billy to come.

Except for overlap in about a billion places, it felt as if my church life and my school life were pretty separate.  At church, I felt comfortable and accepted.  School was another matter.  My one hope for acceptance was my friend, Carole, who was in the other class.  We didn't even have lunch together!

Parents, don't kid yourself that kids in grade school are not hierarchical.  I could see the class social and academic hierarchies from the first day, and knew that I was going to need to vie for my spot.  I had come from a school where I was in the top social strata and was, .let's face it, a true teacher's pet.  Once, when we had a substitute in my St. Louis class, the teacher had left a not for the her with instructions to "Have Amy read to the class from The Arabian Nights."  And no one in the class jeered or blinked an eye or  gave me grief!  I read at least one story and got so engrossed, that I forgot I was reading aloud in front of the whole class.  Oh the power!!

So I came from one end of the spectrum and landed firmly at the other with no idea how to respond!  I tried bragging about how great and popular I was.  Total turn off.  It wasn't much of a try and I was soon out of ammunition.  One day in art class, a girl ( who would become my friend)  Told me my picture was cute.  I knew she was being condescending (although I didn't know the word for that then), and I hated myself for responding.  I also hated that I wasn't an adult favorite.  I had never been in trouble with a teacher before, and now, through no fault of my own, (I plead ignorance of the law), I was getting yelled at for walking on the grass, or talking too loud.

This school sucked!  I should mention that after my sister's first day of seventh grade, she walked in the house, through down her purse and yelled "I'm never going back to that school again!" .

I played sick for two, maybe three days, before my wise parents (who I know saw through the ruse from the start), gently told me they knew I was faking and told me to get my wimpy self back to school.  No, really they asked me what was wrong, and having them listen to my woes was enough for me to get back on the proverbial horse and go to school.  Do, you know what saved me?  I could sing.  I actually had someone say years later, that no one knew what to make of me until I opened my mouth and could actually sing.  If I knew that's all it took, I would have walked in singing the National Anthem!

Potential crisis in the parsonage!  To be continued...