Nursery:
I remember the girl who brought kittens for show-and-tell. I
thought she didn't deserve them and I believed I did. I was extremely jealous.
I’m more of a dog person now anyway. I remember the boy with the lisp. He had a
lisp that would make him spit everywhere. “ Lindthhhh, do you want to go play
in the Thhhppppand pit?”
“Uh-uh.”
I remember the
teacher teaching us our shapes.
“Is this a green square?”
To which our little nursery bodies would inhale and all
scream “NOOOOOOOOO!”
“What color is it?”
“BBBBLLLLUUUUUUUEEEEE!”
“Is this a triangle?”
I wondered why we were all screaming, but inhaled deeply and
screamed anyway.
Kindergarten:
I was very excited to put on the plaid jumper and collared
shirt. I remember going to half-day and watching “Dragon Tales” with a sippycup
of chocolate milk and a bag of cereal before school. I came home happy and worn
out. School was tiring back then. I learned a lot. I made my first best friend
whose name was Morgan, and whose last name I don’t remember, and don’t remember
if I ever knew.
First Grade:
I became friends with Rosie.
“Do you want to play with me?”
“Yes.”
We found out we lived just a few blocks away from each
other, and have been friends ever since then.
I also saw my friend
Maddy hug a boy. In disbelief I asked; “Do you like him?”
“No, he’s just my friend.”
“Oh.” I didn’t get it.
Phillip told me I was going the “wrong way” on the
monkey bars. From then on he was on my bad side. There is a wrong way to talk
to me about monkey bars.
Second grade:
I loved math and
doing problems on the board. I sat next to a boy who cheated off me and ate
chapstick. I didn’t mind.
Because Austin Orr
and I were desk buddies, he used to grade my math packets. He always put smiley
faces next to the ones I got correct. I always wished he’d do just one big
smiley face rather than a bunch of tiny ones. And forget the nose.
Third Grade:
Moldable erasers and mechanical pencils were all the rage.
Girls would trade and borrow all through class, and sometimes got them
confiscated. I received moldable erasers from my friend Rosie for my birthday
the summer after that school year.
I had a substitute teacher for most of the year and even
though I recognize her face when I see her around campus, I cannot remember her
name. And I feel bad.
Fourth grade:
I felt so lucky to have Mr. Johnson as a teacher. He sang
songs, told jokes and loved math. Aspen had hiccups, and Mckenzie kind of
sounds like my name Lindsay. I ate a lot
of sugar cubes as I used them to construct a medieval castle, complete with a
horse in a horse stable.
Fifth grade:
Our assembly was about the different organs in the body. I
was the stomach. I was in a group with Sadie \, Whitney , and Logan. When we practiced our parts in front of the class my group got an en core.
Up to that moment I had never been so proud.
We put the lines to the tune of Some
Say Love and made up fake sign
language so we could perform it Napoleon
Dynamite style.
“Your stomach , it is
a worker.
It’s strong walls work
all day
To blend the gastric
juice and food
And send it on its
way.”
I still remember the signs that went with it.
Kat Beasley and I sat in the back of the room and laughed.
Rosie got jealous. Kat and I asked our Latin teacher if he wore a wig. He
claimed he didn’t. I became friends with Ria. She’s cool. She’s a triplet.
Sixth grade:
I was separated from my friends and put in Ms. Kuehn’s
class. I met Mikaela, and because she was a gymnast like I was, I spent all of
lunch with her doing handstands. Blake
was a new kid who said “yes ma’am”. And
Josh was a new kid who said “Alta is for skiers.” I used to charge Isabelle a quarter every
time she swore. She still owes me at least two dollars.
Seventh grade:
With the help of my fellow surgeon Aspen, we saved the lives
of many trees around campus. I became so curious about migraines that I
eventually got one during a science test. I failed it. I had learned all I
wanted to about them.
I unknowingly wrote a deep poem in Dr. Taylors
English class. I don’t think I knew what
it meant back then.
The fear never lessens
When close enough to
touch
He will hobble away
peering back
With a scowl
At first you had
whimpered
And hidden
And he had lain dozing
In the dark
You have seen him
squatting
To stare at you
With a strange yearning
look.
Eight grade:
I discussed defibrillators with Aspen and Josh. I read the
Odyssey and was so proud. I discussed the use of the word ‘jounce’ in the novel
A Separate Peace for an eternity. I
played soccer. I had fun, while my friend Rosie lost her dad and became angry.
I learned to soak up her extra emotions like a sponge.
Ninth grade:
I came back to school to find that I now had to look up at
everyone. They had grown.
I was still a sponge but I couldn't hold anymore. This year
was probably the worst to date.
Tenth grade:
Rosie left Waterford and things were better for both
parties.
I was afraid at the beginning of the year when I read “Ken
Shaw” on my schedule. I heard that he sprayed his students with stinky
chemicals and sent them into enemy teacher classrooms. His class ended up being
one of my favorites. I especially liked the labs. Many of my pens are melted a
little on the end from the time we spent using the Bunsen Burners.
Eleventh grade:
My AP Physics class changed my life. The most difficult
class I had to date, it was also the most interesting. During lunch, I
discussed time machines and “countercurrent exchange” with Aspen. I even gave
her a copy of A Brief History of Time
so we could talk about it. I would drive
home and think; I could calculate this
force and that force and this is kinetic friction multiplied by the constant k…
Also, just think of all the forces at work on a treadmill.
Senior year:
I was still settling in when there were only three weeks
left. Because things often become
clearer when looking back I can’t accurately summarize this time. I have realized I will miss without exception
every one of my peers. I feel, whether consciously or not, over the years, I
have learned from them. Waterford has given me more than I can even say.
I will
not cry at graduation. I will not cry at graduation. I will not….
*Indian Education is the title of a short story by Sherman Alexie
. Check it out.
