This week for the Remember the Time Blog Hop we are talking about our first day of school. Any grade or stage will do. AND I have a guest co-host this week, Rob from Growing Up On Prytania. Rob’s blog is a perfect fit for the blog hop, as he has a very distinct “Wonder Years” feel to all of his writing. In fact, I can practically hear Daniel Stern narrating his posts as a grown-up Kevin Arnold. So please make sure to visit Rob’s blog here, and give him an RTT high-five!
After reading Rob’s blog, head over to see my usual partner-in-crime, Emily…because it’s her BIRTHDAY!!! She’s taking a little vacation from RTT this week so she can celebrate by going to as many restaurants as possible to get free desserts and piss off multiple wait staffs by forcing them to stop earning tips so they can fake a smile while clapping and singing a birthday song to her. You can make her gluttonous day of dessert and songs even more special by heading over to her blog or her Facebook page to give her some birthday LOVE 🙂
Now, for my first day of school post…
This was the day I had been looking forward to practically all my life. I was finally outfitted in the same green, grey, and yellow plaid my mother had worn before me, and my grandmother had worn before her. The moment I walked through those doors marked the beginning of a third generation of women to become Angels. I had grown up going to alumnae events there, picturing myself putting books into the lockers and buying sodas from the vending machine. For some time, I didn’t realize there was even another option for high school…not because my parents had brainwashed me, but because I was just so darned enamored with the place, and I wanted so badly to follow in the footsteps of my history.
So nothing could possibly ruin my first day of my freshman year of high school. Nothing.
Then I walked into my Biology class. And I saw…her. My old nemesis. (Granted, she was not aware of this; but my nemesis she was.)
Just a few months earlier, our grade school softball teams had been bitter rivals. And I mean bitter. There was jeering, and taunting, and grudges held. I don’t know that I would have recognized most of these reviled opponents outside of the softball diamond, but I definitely recognized her. Not only was she a tall, leggy blonde, but she was also the pitcher. So I had spent inning after inning staring her down, trying to will her to walk me and proclaiming, “We want a pitcher, not a belly itcher” as she tried to focus in what is undoubtedly the high stakes situation of grade school softball. I even knew her name: Cherié.
And there she was. At MY high school. Wearing the same uniform as me. This was a total catastrophe.
When I got home that day, I’m sure it was one of the first things I told my mom. “Mom, it’s the worst. THAT pitcher from St. Gen is IN my Biology class! I don’t think I want to talk to her.”
The more I thought about it, the more I wondered how this was all going to play out. I had to spend the next four years with this girl. I felt certain she was probably an evil, vindictive person. She had to be to have played on that team. What if she tells a bunch of people not to be my friend? What if she flips my tray in the cafeteria? What if my Biology teacher pairs us up as lab partners? I knew one thing for certain: I was definitely NOT going to try out for the softball team. There was no way I was going to chance being teammates with her.
The next day, the worst possible thing that could have happened did: we somehow ended up sitting across from each other at the lunch table. Awwwwwwkward. At first, I tried to talk to anyone but her. Then I started worrying about being so overtly rude. I have always been uncomfortable being just flat-out mean to people’s faces, even if that person was basically the demon pitcher for Satan’s softball team. Besides, she didn’t appear to be spitting flaming vitriol and breathing out the fumes of social sabotage. So I tried to play it cool, like I wasn’t absolutely and totally sure I knew who she was, down to her name and the number she wore on her softball uniform.
“Hey. Didn’t you go to St. Gen?”
“I thought you looked familiar. I think I played softball against you…”
Fast forward eleven years, and THAT pitcher was a bridesmaid at my wedding. To this day, she is one of my oldest and dearest friends.
And neither of us ever played softball again.
This post is part of the Remember the Time Blog Hop. You can join in, too!
1. Write your post. Remember, it can be ANYTHING about the First Day of School…! Just try to stick with the whole “back in the day” vibe ;D
2. Grab this badge and place it at the bottom of your post.
3. Add your link below and come back to see all the other great posts your blogging pals have written! Comment on them and tweet and share your favorites! You can also follow the Remember the Time Twitter account @RTTBlogHop. The link-up closes at 11:59pm EST on WEDNESDAY, so get those links in before then.