The School That Built Me

There were about 95 graduates from Metcalfe County High School  in 1974 and I was one of them. Years later I returned to that same school building as a new teacher. I taught there until it was determined by the local school board and the Superintendent that we needed a new high school. The building that was once my high school then became a middle school.

The night we graduated I cried buckets of tears. Crying was the one thing I could do very well back then (still can) and I blubbered through the whole ceremony. 20 years later I was a teacher at that same school and I attended the last high school graduation ceremony ever to be held in that building. No one who knows me was surprised when I cried harder (and louder) than most of the parents in attendance, or the graduating seniors.

I simply don’t do goodbyes gracefully.

 

 

People Change and So Do Buildings

Years went by and a new middle school was built. The building sat empty and the decision was made to tear the old school down. A few weeks ago there was a community farewell ceremony. Anyone who ever taught there or went to high school there was invited to attend.

I didn’t go. I couldn’t. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was get inside that building and cry in front of a couple hundred people….again.

Right after that ceremony I went out of town for a week to visit some relatives and when I got back into town and drove past the building I tried not to look. I didn’t want to see it, but this town is so small and the building was so big that there was no way to avoid it. It was like driving by a car wreck and trying not to look.

I finally gave up on not looking and today I pulled into the parking lot of the school and just sat there in the silence….remembering.

So many of my best teenage memories happened in that building and they are as fresh and raw as if they happened yesterday instead of 40 years ago.

I  remember what I wore the first day of my freshman year of high school. It was a skirt with suspenders and a white blouse, similar to this one.

More Things I Remember

Sitting on the stage in the mornings and afternoon break in front of the big maroon curtains, talking to my friends.

The smells; mystery meat that was supposedly hamburger cooking in the cafeteria, cleaning solvents and cigarette smoke from the bathrooms, sweat and body odor from the locker rooms.

The wooden bleachers in the gym where I sat during study hall with my BFFs and hiding a copy of Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex but Were Afraid to Ask between the covers of our American History book.  We didn’t understand half of what we read, but it was a whole lot more interesting than what was in the history book. (FYI-Ironically I became a history teacher).

The tunnel between the gym and the classrooms where students often hid out to skip classes or went to make out.

Countless basketball games that seemed more exciting than any college or NBA game could ever be because the players were my friends.

Giggly cheerleaders dancing to Elton John’s Crocodile Rock at half time while their stern (but loving) sponsor watched over them closely and advised them not to run around with a fast crowd and to be at every practice early and plan on staying late.

A hideous one-piece, navy blue gym suit that snapped up the front to our physical education classes and feeling like the biggest dork in the world.

Dissecting frogs in Biology class and being totally grossed out.

Beta Club and skit practice and what a big deal it was to go to the State Beta Convention.

Writing notes and passing them during class. I guess you could call it pre-historic texting.

And all those memories happened in that building.

A Pile of Rubble

Looking at the pile of rubble reminded me of  the words from Miranda Lambert’s song, The House that Built Me.

It says in part,

“You leave home,you move on and you do the best you can.

I got lost in this whole world and forgot who I am.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it 

this brokenness inside me might start healing. 

Out here its like I’m someone else, 

I thought that maybe I could find myself. 

If I could walk around I swear I’ll leave. 

Won’t take nothing but a memory from the house that built me.”

Another Goodbye

Driving by the high school day after day and watching it be torn down is a little like watching a good friend die. I know that some will think of that statement (and this article) like they do made for television Hallmark movies, way too sappy. To them I say everyone has their role in life and part of mine has always been largely about feelings and emotions. It’s why I am compelled to write. I know I am nostalgic and I make no apologies for it. I am at the point in my life where I can look you in the eye and say, “This is me. Take it or leave it. It is what it is.” I couldn’t do that back in high school, but I can do it easily  now. That’s one thing school didn’t teach me, 58 years of living did.

I didn’t realize it yesterday when I pulled into the parking lot to make the picture but as I wrote this article (way into the early hours of the morning) it occurred to me that I’m not just feeling the loss of a building, I’m saying goodbye to the last remnants of my youth and like I said before, I don’t do goodbyes gracefully. I do them with an ache in my heart, a lump in my throat and lots of tears and snot.

I’m mourning every sweet face that won’t be at my high school reunion because their life journey ended way too soon. I am longing for a time when the only school shootings we had to worry about were spit wads by the boys in the back of the class room. A time when bell bottom jeans, mini skirts, Farrah Fawcett hair and letter jackets were the norm. Boys wore their pants pulled up and with a belt. If anyone saw your underwear you had sense enough to be embarrassed. A time when it was a big deal to go to the drive-in movies to see Jaws, Smokey and the Bandit, The Longest Yard and the best chick flick of all time (in my opinion) The Way We Were.

Remember those lyrics? They seem so appropriate when I think back on my high school days.

“Can it be that it was all so simple then

Or has time rewritten every line

If we had the chance to do it all again, tell me, would we, could we

Memories may be beautiful and yet

What’s too painful to remember we simply choose to forget

So it’s the laughter we will remember

Whenever we remember the way we were.”

This is my final goodbye to the school that built me and I feel the need to add a “Thank You.” Not just from me and the Class of 1974, but from every student, teacher, principal, cafeteria lady, and janitor who ever walked those halls.

You were the school that built us.

Thanks for the memories and goodbye.