I have few fond memories of being 15, I think I blocked most of them. One of the main things I remember is sitting behind the fish tank in Biology class. The teacher was punishing my father, an administrator, but little did he know, I loved my seat. In fact it raised my popularity a few points because I had one of the best seats in class. I remember hanging out with certain kids, but not much else. I was transitioning from glasses to contacts at the end of my sophomore year (see post titled Don’t Cry For Me Middle School) and trying to figure out how to fit in. I made it through HS, but would never go back. I’d redo college in a heartbeat, but all those movies about going back to high school? NO WAY!
Imagine my joy at getting to relive it in a manner that would make Alfred Hitchcock proud. It is surreal having a 15 year old daughter. First, she is much prettier than I ever was in school. No dorky glasses to push up helps immensely. She gets along with people like I did, but sometimes just seems to be searching for where she fits. I get it, the social hierarchy in high school is cut-throat. And I know it is just a stepping stone for the prodigal daughter. But getting her off this stone and onto the next one is killing me. When she shares a story with me I hear the music from Twilight Zone in my head. The monologue goes through my head with a few changes. Here is my version:
There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to adults. It is a dimension as vast as a school hallway and as timeless as a yearbook. It is the middle ground between sports and academics, between popularity and geekdom, and it lies between the cut of a teen’s hair and the cost of their clothes. This is the dimension of high school. It is an area which we call the Teenage Twilight Zone.
This is where I live. And I am just waiting for the birds to show up, but that’s story for another day.