Being a new kid in school is tough. Moving from a big city school to a small country school is tougher. Becoming a Freshman in High School and being both was a challenge.
In the summer of my eighth grade year after my sister was born, my parents needed a bigger house for four kids. I found one two streets over but it seems a brand new house was in the plans. I never dreamed that my whole life was about to change. The house that they purchased was to be built in a new school district, in the country.
From my standpoint, this was completely unnecessary. There were lots of perfectly good, bigger houses in our neighborhood. I was on the Jr High Basketball team and was sure I would play in the ninth grade. My Girlfriend lived only six blocks away. Our Church was over three streets and up 5 blocks. My part time job at Pizza King was on the same street as my house. My best friend lived up the alley and over one street. My fish bowl existence was about to spring a leak.
My arguments fell on deaf ears, we were moving. That August we packed up and moved about 5 miles straight west into a County school district. As far as I was concerned it was like moving to Siberia. What made matters worse was I had to start a new school in three weeks as a Freshman in High School. On top of all the other insults, I was going to have to ride a School Bus to get there and it was yellow! Being cool had two chances, Slim and None and Slim just left town.
The first day was a blur of introductions and stares. I was staring at them and they were staring at me. On the second day I realized that a cute blond girl in the front row went to school with me in elementary school. She approached me after class with a smile and an observation. “You will like it here, it doesn’t take long”. That was easy for her to say, she was already here and besides, girls grouped together and protected each other. Then I found out that I was one of only four new kids in the Freshman class. Great I was in the minority of the minority.
Days became weeks and the thaw in human relations had begun. The first inroads were on the School Bus, it was actually kind of fun. The bus driver played current music on the radio while we sang along and it seemed to be the catalyst for a good mood while riding to school.
It helped that we were generally seated in our classes alphabetically. As I arrived to each new class, the same two girls were there, smiling and waiting to be my bookends. There was some kind of security in that, one or the other of them always had an extra pencil to replace the one that I had forgotten. We became friends and they helped me navigate the social waters of a new school. After the first month, the teachers began to pronounce my name correctly, finally, which helped to abate the snickers and giggles that inevitably came when my name was pronounced. Not only was I new, a Freshman, a boy, from a city school; my name was hard to pronounce. My Mom was sensitive to my plight when I returned home from school and tried to assuage my suffering with brownies and cake. She assured me that I would fit in soon.
I’m not sure when soon arrived but it did eventually. I tried out for the Freshman basketball team and became a member. In Indiana that’s tantamount to winning the lottery. My bookends, introduced me around and vouched for my likability. The guys invited me to hang out after school. The girls began to become even more attractive than the city girls. Most of all, the school population was more friendly as a whole. It was still true that a lot of kids in my class had gone to school together since first grade but that only created a sense of security for them. It was out of that security that they were not apprehensive to accept new ideas and people. It was not long before I was one of the group and dating the Chemistry teacher’s daughter.
As I look back on that experience from over fifty years ago, I am so thankful that my Mom & Dad built that new house where they did. Those friendships continue to last to this day, and I eventually married the chemistry teacher’s daughter.
