pushing through the middle school doors- without the footsteps of the past beating in my head

I think it is hard to live in the present without the footsteps of the past beating in your head. That is the best way to explain pushing through the doors of middle school again. My own experience of being a middle schooler long ago walks along side of me. I didn't like middle school.

When I went it in the early 90s with big bangs and pegged jeans it was junior high. Although I went to school in the safety of the suburbs it was the scariest place I have ever been. And this urbanite has lived in 4 cities. Flashes of girls hitting other heads into lockers, crowds surrounding fights and no one stopping, the cool ones partaking in sex and drugs and I barely had a period and held a hand of the opposite sex. I got asked out through friends of friends and held notes with such words, and found dancing partners as I slow danced in the beginning of puberty.

I was not a leper. But I was scared. I went to a school where violence and following the mob mentality the norm and at 80 lbs and under 5 feet tall when I had started ( a growth spurt pending)- I had little choices. Other than to be nice to everyone and hope that one of the prettier popular girls wouldn't want to beat me up. I found solace in school (getting into accelerated classes) and running track- if you were good it give you protection plus lots of teammates as a buffer. It got better. Towards the end. And then high school allowed me to breathe. And most of my own work has centered around high school. And I have loved it. I dreaded being in a middle school. Because of my own experience with it. The young girl who became too scared to speak up, too scared to be herself, long ago was reincarnated back to living. I didn't want to go back to the old days of fear of others. Fear of myself.

But as soon as I sat in the office- watching the movement and pace of the counseling office- in this middle school-I felt more comfortable-at ease. My first day jitters drifting away with the young girl who was. Was before. As I saw the faces of the students and how this counseling office existed in the world of the school. I felt the hallway underneath my feet, the middle school students wanting to talk and actually seemed to want to talk longer than I anticipated. The deep thinking of a 6^th grader is surprising and simple in unison. I walked around talking to 6^th graders during lunch and no one gave me the look of despair due to an adult talking to them.

Two girls with the same exact hair style with barrettes choreographed perfectly reminds me of what was. Still is. In middle school. A boy laughs at someone for getting hurt. Her friend. Stops without skipping a beat sticking up for her. I feel a smile growing inside of me. The young girl of before roots her on. And there was a hope. That grew. Excitement and anticipation grew inside of me while dread had lived. I was excited to be in middle school as an adult. It could be different. And it might be different for the students I would see walking down the halls.