I’m still working on the formal diatribe. This will probably be cobbled from the bits and pieces you have seen thus far.
Last weekend was my twenty-fifth high school reunion. This could easily turn into a gritty piece on how I was monumentally warped by my high school experiences; but really, the late John Hughes did that so much better.
I have been of two minds about going to my 25th high school reunion. I’m usually of two minds, because I’m always kind of afraid of being out of one. As I began to get ready, I asked myself, “What are you afraid of, really?” My inner child said, in a small voice, “The Big Kids might be mean to me.”
Even I know how nuts that sound. Then I just shifted into Auto-Pilot and started the routine that I know so well, shower, hair, contacts, make-up. Not an arduous process really, because mostly I don’t care, and all of the show biz training, I can at least apply the spackle with the rest of them.
Why that’s important, I don’t know. And really, really, since when do I care so much?
Now that I’m home, I don’t know what it mattered. The cliques still clacked, the good salt of the earth people were still good and salty.
It’s interesting to see how things change and yet don’t really. A handful of people from my graduating class also went to the same small school that I attended when from K-4th grade. One of these people was at the reunion and I we talked for a bit. (Actually, I think I warped him hugely. I’m sorry if I did; he’s a nice a guy.)
For the sake of this conversation, let’s call him Brad. Brad’s older brother-Cyril(not his real name) was in a hurry to get inside after the bell rang and literally ran right over my older brother, G. G had bent over to tie his shoe seconds before the bell rang.
What I remember from this was my brother’s trip to the ER, and then Brad and Cyril and their parents coming over to our house so that Cyril could formally apologize.
As I retold this story, Brad said that what he remembers is that around that same time someone in our brothers’ class died, and all this time he thought that the deceased child was the same one that Cyril had run over.
I told him, no, it was G and G is just fine (well inasmuch as that he is fine.)
Further along in the conversation, Brad said that he and is wife are considering putting their children in parochial school for their early elementary education.
I told him that I am currently working on formal diatribe about education and that I am a staunch advocate of private education; and I went on to further warp him by citing his case as an example of how impressionable tiny children are and at this time, today, October 25, 2012, public schools in North Texas are slightly better than having a chicken who can play checkers spend the day with your kid.
The formal diatribe will include more specifics, such as my recent experiences in working with public and private education and the reasons why I think we as a society are digging ourselves into a huge hole by not providing every child with the best possible education.
The reason I am finishing the whole diatribe now is that I want to put together the best possible defense. Tomorrow I take on my most challenging job ever: I will be filling in for Miss Beverly; the Kindergarten secretary. Anyone who knows anything about schools know that the secretary is the one that runs the place.
Miss Beverly said that it should be easy, I just make sure the classes all get any updated carpool information or messages from parents and that band-aids and other remedies for boo-boos get distributed.
I’m not being sarcastic. I think being alert and present for any emergent need that a child might have is the most important job in the world.
I have to prepare carefully.