Last night I went to an evening of one-act plays at the high school I went to. Walking through those front doors always evokes a trip down ye olde Memory Lane. After all, I walked through them every day for eight months out of every year for five years (no, not weekends)(and yes, I was a good student with a good reason for being there five years)!
When I was in Grade 9, the school was brand new, and my class owned those halls and lockers! We established traditions, set precedents, designed logos. My name is on several of the award plaques hung around the front hall, and my picture among those of the first graduating class, hung in the library. I remember when the library was a third of the size it is now, and the school was only an “L” shape instead of the “C” it is now. I was there for the first mass (Catholic School). I was the Assistant Director of the first play. I was there before the cafeteria’s food services were set up, and pizza and chocolate milk were brought in every day. I know there’s a time capsule buried somewhere, and I know what’s in it.
Without bragging on myself, I have to admit that I was one of the few students to gain admittance to the staff rooms in the first couple years of school… I was just that kind of student, the kind teachers forget is a student! Some of the faculty boasted that they’d trust me with their children. They let me use their office phones even though they were off-limits for students. They went to bat against other staff members on my behalf. In my last year, I could walk into the Vice Principal’s office just about anytime–I was sorta his protegee and we respected each other mutually. As the years went on, there were even some staff that seemed to be jealous of how I was treated by some of their peers, and appeared to be especially hard on me.
The VP made me the Editor-In-Chief of an idea of his which led to a school newsletter/newspaper we called the VOICE. I took the idea and made it my pi