Diary of an Angst-Ridden Kid, Part 2

I promise you there will not be a part three; I'm a little too free with the expletives in the other entries, unlike kids today.

Just to show you I wasn't a puddle EVERY day, I give you this. I had just moved from New Jersey to Maryland, and there was some new optimism brewing. At least a little bit. 

The time of day was really important to me for some reason.  

One would not have guessed that being an English major was in my future, judging from how poorly I did in eighth grade Reading. As you can see, I cared more about that old popularity thing than I did about my schoolwork. Again, this is atypical of today's eighth graders.

Oh my, one of the most humiliating moments of my life. I'll elaborate in a moment.

So I was running props for a performance of "The Effects of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds." My latest crush, Erin, was in the front row. The lights dimmed to near-black. My task was to remove the tray of marigolds from a table and get off the stage in a matter of seconds. Simple. I was keenly aware of where Erin was sitting, and my thoughts--and eyes--were anywhere but on the box of dirt in my hands. Having retrieved the box successfully, I then turned and somehow high-stepped onto the chenille swivel-chair behind me. The world, and the chair, spun perilously. The next thing I knew, I was lying prone, having achieved a full-on faceplant, the flavor of topsoil on my tongue, fertilizer fresh on my face. And Erin four feet away. I could hear her cackle above the gasps and concerned chatter. I don't remember how I got off-stage.

And then came high school. I remember feeling absurdly out of place, a child of a teacher and a preacher among Baltimore's Quaker elite. My mom got a job teaching English at Friends School, I attended practically for free, and thus began my long career in independent schools.

As you will see below, I eventually recovered fully from my former affliction of abject insecurity. And if you believe that, I have a bridge over the Chattahoochee I can sell you.

So my stroll down middle school memory lane ends here. Thanks for coming with me.

Here's to all the young adolescents, past, present, and future, who somehow endure the heartaches of growing up. And here's to the adults in their lives, parents, friends, and teachers, whose love brings them through.