Monday, January 18, 2010

Tales From Seventh Grade

For those of you who wish to be drawn back into the memories of junior high...

First, daughter number two tells me a story from study hall:

She: I'm so pleased with myself today.

Me: What did you do?

She: In study hall, a couple of boys were being rude and mean. They were making fun of black people, handicapped people, fat people, and Nazis.

Me: Well, I might have allowed the making fun of Nazis, but the rest is bad. These boys must think pretty poorly of themselves to pick on other people, especially the handicapped. What did you do?

She: They drew something on a piece of paper and passed it to this boy who is larger -- and you could tell by his face he was hurt by it. But he just crumpled it up and tossed it in the garbage can. My friend went to get it.

Me: Silent (But instantly transported back in time and trying not to giggle over the days when garbage picking were 'normal'.)

She: And we were like, 'OMG. Somebody has to do something.' So I went up to the principal's office and told them what happened. And they're going to talk to those mean boys. So I feel pretty good that I did something about mean boys.

I'll admit I was pretty proud too.

Next, Des tells me this story of how she was embarrassed.

For this story, my thoughts, withheld at the time, are now expressed in the parenthesis. Names have been omitted for privacy sake. (If Destiny reads this, she may kill me as it is!)

My friend was upset because she just found out that one of her best friends died a year ago.

(Not to make fun of the death of a child, but there are plenty of reasons to giggle over a person you call a BFF but don't even know they died. For an entire year. Ah, teenage girl drama!)

She was crying in the library, back by the history books, in a section where no one ever goes -- by the Hillary Clinton books.

(A thousand arrows swiftly entered my history-loving and feminist heart. But if I ever need a place to hide in the junior high...)

Me and a bunch of my friends tried to cheer her up by singing a song to her. We sounded horrible. And it was working, she was starting to smile. Then X (the boy Des likes) walked by.

(Far less embarrassing, I think, that the early parts of the story; but then I've survived this and worse. However, it turns out that this boy she likes is also the object of as-of-yet-unrequited from several of the "horribly singing" girls. So I imagine there will be future stories over that issue -- and I shall have to keep mum quite a bit then too.)
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