I hated the hallways. The lockers. The gym.
I hated the lighting. I hated the noise. I hated the curtains in the windows.
I hated the smells.
I hated the homework. I loathed and abhorred the homework.
I hated the pressure, the expectations, the unsaid assumption that I was somehow not good enough.
I liked the books.
I liked paper and pens.
I liked to write. I actually liked essays because I got to write.
I really loved learning.
Most of the time I liked art class.
I liked my friends.
I liked boys, and the school was full of them!
I liked my locker once I had it full of all my rock star pictures and horse pictures and funny little tag that came off a bottle of peach schnapps that one of my friends smuggled into the school but that's not something we'll talk about here... let's not do too much digging up of the past now...
So she's off. First day of Grade 9. She's there right now, with her long legs and British knees, dressed in three different shades of green (mint, forest, and lime) with her big eyes lined in black. Last time I saw her she was dumping her giant purple knapsack on her desk and flipping her crazy long bangs off her cheek.
She's got math for homeroom.
I hope everything goes uphill from there.
The school's government has already pissed me off with their incompetence and stupidity. I dutifully filled out my parent survey sheet after the assembly, including such comments as "Couldn't you find a better way to organize the registration process than to yell out names among a chattering crowd?" as well as, "It would be helpful to hand out a readable map of the school" and let's not forget "How about conducting tours with a teacher guide who can speak loudly and clearly while staying out of the way of three other groups, all of whom are speaking loudly." First day and already I am a pain in the ass end of the school.
I think I might hate high school more than she does. And that's really okay.