Homecoming Revisited

The halls are plastered with red and black crepe paper, home-made posters geared towards motivating our teams to victory, calendars informing the student body about the many different activities taking place both on and off campus--a root beer chugging contest today at lunch, powder puff football tonight. The students race back and forth past my door cheering their class, harassing the underclassmen (freshmen get no respect), basically being typical high school students. In may ways this week is little different from any other week at AFHS, except that this week we focus on our fall sports teams as they strive to bring a sense of pride and prestige to the school.

I never really understood the ritual of homecoming. When I was in school I tried my hardest to avoid anything that required me to spend more time than was absolutely necessary at the school. I was the kid that sat at the top of the bleachers, hair hanging reclusively in front of my face to ward off any and all extraneous interactions. Arms held tightly at my side as I refused to participate in any activities, cheers, chants, or screaming matches. I took pride in my school, don't get me wrong. My senior year I and several of my friends decided that it would be a fun activity to streak across the football field during the halftime activities wearing little more than capes, ski masks, and speedos, and running shoes. Most of us made it to the other side, one good friend was hog tied in the middle of the football field because he was the slowest of the pack (always make sure you are faster than one other person and you should be ok). But homecoming always seemed a little funny to me. Sure it was fun to get out of school a little early, or to miss out on class time for pep-rallies and assemblies, but there was no real sense to the title.

Homecoming ... where had the teams gone that they needed to return? I saw the "star" quarterback in class everyday. He made a habit of demonstrating is amazing throwing ability by zinging little pieces of paper across the room at me. I had often wished that he would have gone somewhere, anywhere, else, but no, he was always right there, tormenting me from afar when the teachers backs was turned. I would have loved to throw something back in defense, a desk, a dictionary, at least sharpened pencil, but when you weigh little more than 120 pounds, and are roughly the size of a tall yard gnome, you very little recourse for rebuttal. So I took the punishments that were dolled out with the best sense of dignity that my tiny frame could muster. It wasn't much, but I did what I could. At the assemblies it wasn't that I refused to support the teams, not at all; it was that I refused to support certain players on the teams, hence I applied a carte blanche ban on all cheers and jeers.

Today I find myself in an interesting position. As a teachers at American Falls I want to see my kids engaged in their school. I hated high school and I think a part of me wants to make sure that the students whom I see myself reflected in the most are not having the same permanently scarring experience that I am. Is this possible? Is it plausible? Why do I care? The answer, I guess, to all of these questions is a resounding I don't know. Perhaps part of it is because I am a teacher and that is what I'm supposed to do--I inspire! (Ha Ha Ha, that sounds so canned!)Anyway, what ever my reasoning is, I'm sure that it all boils down to the fact that I am crazy. So, returning to the paper draped hallways of my present employment, I find myself reliving a very troubled youth. I run around like a mad man now because I refused to then. I swallow live goldfish so that I will be accepted and thought of as a "cool" teacher. Sure it is fun, and yeah I enjoy it now. I just wish that I had taken the time to enjoy it then as well. Perhaps my experiences would have been different and in retrospect I would look at high school with a more hopeful feeling.