Wednesday, September 01, 2010
My daughter, Margaret, started junior hi… I mean middle school three weeks ago. And while I’m correcting myself (which I find myself doing often now that she’s reached this age – not by choice – I might add) I should call her Meg – which she suddenly prefers.
ANYWAY, Meg loves junior… I mean middle school. I’m serious. She loves it. On the first day, the eighth graders applauded the seventh grade as they entered the gym. She’s even taking Home Ec… I mean FACTS (whatever that means).
I feel like I’m seriously missing something here.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled it’s working out for her. I’m just shocked, that’s all. I’ve been preparing for this for a couple of years. Hell, I’ve even read Queen Bees and Wannabees in preparation for the terror and tears I thought would come.
Instead, Meg’s experience is completely different than mine.
In the ’70’s, when I – ahem – went to what we then called Junior High – those two years were a nightmare. I actually tried to convince my parents to send me to an equestrian boarding school in Ohio.
Instead of applauding and supporting us, the eighth graders considered us “fresh meat” and couldn’t wait to torment and torture us. There were no peer counselors, no week-long ice-breakers and fun. That kind of support was considered ridiculous. We were expected to suffer the same hazing they had. Even today, at 44, I shudder remembering the stress and strain. Now the school is made up of Stepford Kids.
And Home Ec was not a requirement. In fact, I took Art every semester to avoid that class. And I still have the bust of Inspector Clousseau to prove it. But now, it’s called Life Skills or FACTS. FACTS? Well, she will be learning how to iron a shirt…so I guess that’s something.
There are some “improvements” I don’t like however. Back in the day, JH was where you were first exposed to a lot of team sports. Everyone made the team. Sure, your butt would be warming the bench if you sucked but you still made the team.
Now, the first two weeks are made up of auditions. And they’re hard. You have to try out for the volleyball team, for example. And most girls don’t make it. One of the few things you don’t have to try out for is cross country track. Everyone makes the team. However, if you want to compete you have to be able to run 2 miles. 2 miles. You even have to fill out an application for the newspaper staff and there’s no guarantee there. Hell, we probably won’t even have newspapers when these kids graduate.
I guess it’s a trade off. Middle school is a happier, emotionally (and apparently physically) safer place than it was when I was there. But it was your introduction to a lot of activities you didn’t have in elementary school. Everybody could join.
So, I’m confused. But I guess if Meg is so happy, I shouldn’t worry about it. I’ll just open a bottle of vodka, and forget about the crap I went through. It’s a new world.
The Assassin