Fourteen Years in the Rearview Mirror
In September 1991, I was fourteen and was leaving 9 years of public school to attend a private catholic high school - Seton Hall Prep (go Pirates!). It was simultaneously one of the scariest and most exciting times in my life. There were six other guys from my junior high class entering SHP that year, so I approached the change with some hope for familiarity. But at the same time, I knew they wouldn't be around all the time so it would be up to me to blaze new trails and make new friends. That can be an overwhelming thought for a shy 14-yr-old kid, finding himself in a hallway of 240 young men; all unfamiliar, all equally nervous.
Adding to my hesitation was the fact that my first day of high school brought several more firsts with it - I was wearing a tie and jacket for the first time outside of a wedding or funeral; I was taking a bus to school for the first time; and I now had numerous classmates from non-caucasian families and varying socio-economic circumstances. That can be a lot to dump on a kid who went to school with the same group of "boys and girls" since he learned how to tie his shoes, who had only one Jewish girl and no minority children in his class, and who grew up 1/2 mile from his school building. But alas, I took heed of my mom's advice..."everybody there is in the same boat as you, they are new to high school, new to Seton Hall Prep, and are just as nervous about making friends". It turns out she was right, for the most part. One glaring exception arose in Mr. Seymour's English class on that first morning.
Like any other school, teachers seated us alphabetically according to last name. I was the first "D" in this Honors English class, and my last name started with D also which put me behind that last "C" - a dude named K.C. Creman. I specifically remember that first day because I couldn't see the teacher or the chalk board around K.C.'s big head. He had what can only verbally be described as a brillopad afro. At the time, I thought that perhaps he had a folicular disease, whereby his hair couldn't do anything but grow straight out. What did I know? I was new to anything outside of my small suburban town. I felt bad, thinking that his mornings must have been rough when it came time for hair combing. But my attention was quickly taken from his hair when he turned around to introduce himself. He had on a light-kelly green shirt with a green and orange striped tie! Apparently, as I would learn later, he was a proud Miami Hurricances fan. As we got to talking during breaks in class, I suddenly realized that his bearing the same last name of a Prep teacher was no small coincidence - his father taught English here, and had for some time. That immediately explained his outgoing personality, relative confidence, and my perceived disregard for fashion standards. He had the place wired - he knew the teachers and faculty already; he knew the system and where everything was located; he even knew that nobody really matched their clothes when they got dressed in the morning or bothered to practice serious hygiene - we were at an all boys prep school and none of that mattered. And none of this was new to him, and that was a huge advantage. But I thought, with hair like that, who was I to begrudge him of that advantage?
Adding to my hesitation was the fact that my first day of high school brought several more firsts with it - I was wearing a tie and jacket for the first time outside of a wedding or funeral; I was taking a bus to school for the first time; and I now had numerous classmates from non-caucasian families and varying socio-economic circumstances. That can be a lot to dump on a kid who went to school with the same group of "boys and girls" since he learned how to tie his shoes, who had only one Jewish girl and no minority children in his class, and who grew up 1/2 mile from his school building. But alas, I took heed of my mom's advice..."everybody there is in the same boat as you, they are new to high school, new to Seton Hall Prep, and are just as nervous about making friends". It turns out she was right, for the most part. One glaring exception arose in Mr. Seymour's English class on that first morning.
Like any other school, teachers seated us alphabetically according to last name. I was the first "D" in this Honors English class, and my last name started with D also which put me behind that last "C" - a dude named K.C. Creman. I specifically remember that first day because I couldn't see the teacher or the chalk board around K.C.'s big head. He had what can only verbally be described as a brillopad afro. At the time, I thought that perhaps he had a folicular disease, whereby his hair couldn't do anything but grow straight out. What did I know? I was new to anything outside of my small suburban town. I felt bad, thinking that his mornings must have been rough when it came time for hair combing. But my attention was quickly taken from his hair when he turned around to introduce himself. He had on a light-kelly green shirt with a green and orange striped tie! Apparently, as I would learn later, he was a proud Miami Hurricances fan. As we got to talking during breaks in class, I suddenly realized that his bearing the same last name of a Prep teacher was no small coincidence - his father taught English here, and had for some time. That immediately explained his outgoing personality, relative confidence, and my perceived disregard for fashion standards. He had the place wired - he knew the teachers and faculty already; he knew the system and where everything was located; he even knew that nobody really matched their clothes when they got dressed in the morning or bothered to practice serious hygiene - we were at an all boys prep school and none of that mattered. And none of this was new to him, and that was a huge advantage. But I thought, with hair like that, who was I to begrudge him of that advantage?
posted by bdonin at
11:22 AM
1 Comments:
that guy must have been an asshole!
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