Last night it thundered and later the rain woke me up. I listened for a bit then turned over and went back to sleep. It’s a much cooler day today compliments of that rain. It is also a bit damp still though the sun has finally made its first appearance. Tonight will be in the 40’s.

My very first graduation was from the eighth grade, and I still have our class picture. It was taken in front of a statue of Mary on the lawn of the convent across the street from the school. Father Sexton, the head of the parish, sits smack dab in the middle of us. All the boys are wearing jackets and ties. We girls are wearing party dresses, the sort which pouffed because of the petticoats underneath. I remember when that picture was taken, but I don’t remember graduating. I figure the ceremony was in the church as the school had no hall or auditorium. It’s strange that my memory drawers have such a hole.

I remember going to buy my high school uniform that summer. We had to travel a couple of towns over to where I’d be going to school. I remember my mother and me in a huge room filled with wardrobes holding the different pieces of the uniform in a variety of sizes. My mother bought a skirt, vest, blazer and two blouses. I remember wearing my uniform the first day of school. It had that stiffness new clothes seem to have.

I didn’t graduate from that high school. We moved to the Cape where, for the first time, I went to a public school and didn’t wear a uniform so my mother had to take me clothes shopping before school started. I still remember my first day at the new school. I wore a black wrap around skirt and a madras shirt. Before the bell, I stood on the bus port off to the side and by myself feeling scared, lonely and sad. Everybody knew everybody else. All my friends were far away at the school I loved.

My new school was the last place I wanted to be. I hated it. Each day I’d come home, throw my books on the table and tell my mother how much I hated it and how she and my father had destroyed my life by moving us. In time, though, I stopped throwing my books, found friends, got involved in the school and actually came to like it. It was where I returned after the Peace Corps and spent thirty three years of my professional life. It’s strange sometimes how things work.

This entry was posted on May 27, 2010 at 10:05 am and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. Both comments and pings are currently closed.