Showing posts with label jr. high. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jr. high. Show all posts

Monday, May 18, 2009

big day here at chez francis...

My youngest son starts 6th grade in the fall and today, I get to register him for his classes. He has instructed that I interview every teacher and pick only the nice ones because, and I quote, "I don't do very well with mean teachers."

Um yeah, I'll get right on that.

What I remember about 6th grade:

  1. I had a pair of bright green "painter's pants" overalls that I wore all the time.
  2. The big thing back then was to carry a large comb in your back pocket that often had a message on it. Mine said "No Tailgaiting." (BTW: I had no idea what that meant at the time.)
  3. My smart mouth fully developed that year. It was the first year I smarted off to a teacher. I had to write a report on why I shouldn't get a paddling. (yes, I went to public school. yes we had corporal punishment. no I did NOT want to bend over and grab my ankles) I wrote the report. I did NOT get paddled.
  4. I also wrote several other reports that year for my smart mouth for a different teacher. Because I knew Coach Ralph did not read the papers, I added commentary into the reports such as, "Teacher's Name is an ass" and "Teacher's Name is a pig." He either never read the reports or read them and let it pass because I had big balls because I never got into trouble.
  5. The cool teacher that year was my homeroom teacher so that made me cool be default, even though I had ugly glasses and was a good 5 inches taller than everyone else. (BTW, I'm exactly the same height now that I was in 6th grade.)
  6. I played kickball every day. And I ruled.
  7. I rode a motorbike (not really big enough to be called a motorcycle) for the first time. It was awesome, until I wrecked it and burned all the flesh off the inside of my calf. This meant I had to wear a skirt everyday to school for at least a week with a tube sock covering the burn. I didn't wear skirts. You can't rule at kickball in a skirt! I was flipping mortified.
  8. People started calling me French Fry that year. Thankfully, that nickname was quickly replaced with Mel.
I look at my youngest son and wonder if he'll have similar memories. Do you? I think 6th grade was the biggest year for change. I wouldn't go back but I can tell you, I love the kids at this age. I love watching them develop their personalities, push limits, go through the awkwards, and come out on the other side full of personality.