New York Years: Algonquin Middle School

  

I was growing up--although not physically. I was barely taller than 4 feet, with skinny legs and curly pigtails. Besides that, with my birthday in August, I was usually the youngest in the class. One boy, who was cross-eyed and always had a locker near me, would often pat me on the head and call me "Shrimp." Looking back, I'm sure he had a crush on me, but I couldn't stand him. *smile*

My friends and I were ready to enter middle school. Other elementary students from various towns joined us. To me, it was another "move" and I rebelled with the changes. (There were other changes going on at church, and I'll talk about them later.)



There were some fun things about the new school. It sprawled out into three long wings. There was a big theater-type auditorium, a big lunch room (with a hand-washing station in the hallway). We had a huge gym and real locker rooms, although I didn't like showering and changing my clothes in front of the others. I especially like the traveling rings and square dancing. (I even convinced my teacher that my broken knee was healed, so I could participate...but injured it more.)


I loved my new band director, Mr. VanBuren. Band was the highlight of my day. My friend, Penny, and I would get get giggling when we played "The Syncopated Clock" because Mr. VanBuren would bounce, and his baggy pants reminded us of Dancing Bear on Captain Kangaroo.



We had French class once a week, and I fell in love with the language! I couldn't get enough of it. I remember having my project (a string picture of the Eiffel Tower) displayed on the bulletin board.

I usually liked English class, but not that year. In fact, I've blocked out most of what we learned that year. I do remember being falsely punished for plagiarism and having to write something completely over in front of the teacher.

Typing was offered and I took the class--only it was on the opposite end of the building. I was on crutches that spring, and I got permission to leave one class early so to be able to get to my typing class in time. I remember picking up my crutches and walking on my "broken" knee in the empty hallway, so that I could get there faster and be the first one to class.
*silly me!*

I'm also ashamed to say that it was during my 6th grade year that I forged my father's signature on a note that was sent home about missing homework. I think my father's tears was the worse punishment I could get.

I was probably a typical jr. high kid, confused by who I was becoming and testing my independence. I'm not proud of that year, but I made some good friends in that school and lots of good memories.