I never wanted to return to high school.
While I considered it to be a mostly positive experience, I was never that girl who wanted to go back in time and enjoy the spoils of yesteryear.
You see, I’m a firm believer that the past is in the past for a reason.
Perhaps this belief stems from a combination of superstition, independent thought, and watching too many movies where the main character ends up being chased by spirits who want to castrate them.
At the time, high school was considered the height of freedom.
Getting crazy bread for lunch, then slushies, then lottery tickets, watching fall football games…I had an eclectic group of friends and it was fun working through the system together.
Ironically, a lot of classmates who hated high school, whose apathy was palpable have become teachers.
And we wonder why the system is flawed.
Keeping this truth in mind, last week I had the opportunity to teach a couple sessions at a high school.
If my former classmates who hated high school could become teachers, shouldn’t someone like myself, who actually enjoyed it have a profound experience?
This is how I approached last Tuesday morning.
I was looking to educate, enthuse, inspire.
Channeling the teachers in movies, I approached this assignment with the tenacity of Michelle Pfeiffer, subject matter expertise of Richard Dreyfuss, and motivation of Robin Williams.
This day was the first day of my new life.
I started thinking about all the cool school supplies I could buy myself for my new career.
About 90 seconds into my return to high school experience, I realize I’m good.
I will stick to my day job and leave high school teaching to the pros.
Or prose.
Lol, I’m too clever to teach. Wise choice.
My decision not to pursue teaching is rooted in philanthropy.
Does the world need another teacher?
No.
I’m actually assisting with job creation which is quite nice.
I digress.
Fresh from my decision, and in an attempt to conduct some much needed fall cleaning, I come across this beauty:
I find my 1997 High School Yearbook.
This publication was the height of awesome almost exactly 20 years ago.
What?!?!
Is the universe trying to tell me something?
Have I dismissed teaching too prematurely?
I mull this over.
Opening the yearbook I realize a couple of things:
1. I hope none of the Yearbook staff obtained publishing jobs. The contrast colour to ink make everything hard to read. I made the photo noir for emphasis.
2. Once I get past the legibility issues, there are some really silly messages.
In no particular order, I give you; stupid things people write in yearbooks.
Note: I have not attached the person to the message because I’m classy like that.
And it might be libel.
“I can’t believe we’re graduating already, it seems like we just started high school!” Does it? Does it really? We received this yearbook at the start of Grade 12. Our first day of high school was over 1100 days ago. Pfft.
“Lidia, Lidia, your so cool, Lidia, Lidia your so not a mule. That’s the end of my career as a poet.” It’s also the start to your career as an English teacher.
“I can right in here. I see you all the time. I’ve got nothing to say.” Also a future English teacher. Note: I haven’t seen this person since this message. Hmm.
“Hey Lidz! I miss you you stupid, funny girl!” Stupid?! How rude! I contemplate adding this person’s name and social media accounts to this post.
“Hey Lidia! DON’T EAT MEAT! Show this to people, k?” I’m pleased to report this person is now a server at The Keg. Not sure if that’s true. As I write I wonder if it’s too early to have a burger.
“Lids, You know I love you even though we can both be annoying. Good luck with your future and I’ll see you at grad.” This message is flawed for many reasons. It’s Lidz, not Lids! You wasted real estate on on yearbook to tell me I’m annoying? Apparently we aren’t going to converse until grad in June, and that’s it for the rest of our lives.
“Lidia, I remember you from Grade 8. You were a great Valedictorian. I hope we can become better friends this year.” I make a note to look up this person with good taste.
“Lidia, I am the first to right on this page. I feel special. I really like these pens. I may have to invest in them.” Future Chair of NAS– Narcissists Anonymous Society.
“Lidia, You are an awesome friend and so funny. Don’t forget you have to write my speech.” What came first? Me being awesome and funny, or this person making me write their speech? Spoiler alert! I never wrote that speech.
“Lidia, It’s ME! Right now I can smell watermelon bubblegum and I want some. Yummy! We’re in English class. I wish the teacher would shut it about answering the actual questions asked in essays. Doesn’t she get it? Nobody cares about this stuff. Oh well, that’s life.”
This person needed to upgrade her English mark in summer school before applying to university. She also developed a severe watermelon allergy–several years later.
“Hey Lids, Your the funniest girl I know. I can just see you in like 10 years; you’ll have your own show and there’s an annoying kid that will say ‘Here’s Lidia!’and then you come on and say something funny and sing a common song.
So far, so good! Finally someone has embraced the true meaning of the yearbook! This post has been salvaged. And then this…
…I’ll be one of those loser people that tune in everyday because I have nothing better to do with my life.”
She should have stopped at “song.”
I smile.
With the brief trip down memory lane, I realize reminiscing can be fun, as long as it’s not taking up the present.
I may not have become a high school teacher, obtained my own tv show or had classmates that understand the difference between possessive terms and contractions, but I have memories, a decent sense of humour and my own blog.
No need to thank me for my literary contributions.
Your welcome.
🙂
lidz on the go 