When entering junior high, we were constantly reminded by teachers, parents, and school administrators how different it was from elementary school. It was supposed to be the start of a transition from childhood to young adulthood, and though I discounted many of these sentiments at the time, looking back it certainly was. In an instant, it seemed, everyone started swearing and the hallways began to smell of a putrid mixture of not enough or too much cologne. For the first time we had to change before gym, no one really sure whether it was more socially acceptable to change in a bathroom stall or feign confidence by doing it out in the open. Talk swirled of who got their periods, who was wearing what bra size, and which boys needed to stop cultivating
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There weren’t many pictures taken of me from this time, but the few that I’ve found portray a lanky girl with a mouth full of braces, with a body that looked like it couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be nine or nineteen. My hair was caught halfway between being long and short, and my feet felt like flippers compared with my height. Of course, looking back I can see all these apparent flaws. By seventeen, most people have learned well enough what is ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ with their bodies, however, at twelve I had no such notion of this in terms of myself. I had never seriously contemplated what other people thought of my face or body, especially the opposite gender. In my eyes at least, though my slight curves said otherwise, I was still a child. My first foray into the high school side of the building, however, permanently altered this idea for me. Though in junior high we were not allowed in the senior high, I found myself over there after school one day- I think it was to use the vending machine near the cafeteria. With purposeful strides, I crossed over to the red tiles that signaled the forbidden territory of the senior high, keeping my head up in attempt to seem confident. I didn’t want to be caught in my small act of
There weren’t many pictures taken of me from this time, but the few that I’ve found portray a lanky girl with a mouth full of braces, with a body that looked like it couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be nine or nineteen. My hair was caught halfway between being long and short, and my feet felt like flippers compared with my height. Of course, looking back I can see all these apparent flaws. By seventeen, most people have learned well enough what is ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ with their bodies, however, at twelve I had no such notion of this in terms of myself. I had never seriously contemplated what other people thought of my face or body, especially the opposite gender. In my eyes at least, though my slight curves said otherwise, I was still a child. My first foray into the high school side of the building, however, permanently altered this idea for me. Though in junior high we were not allowed in the senior high, I found myself over there after school one day- I think it was to use the vending machine near the cafeteria. With purposeful strides, I crossed over to the red tiles that signaled the forbidden territory of the senior high, keeping my head up in attempt to seem confident. I didn’t want to be caught in my small act of