School Days...

[Srbo]

I don’t remember that it was ever snowing that hard, like on that December day back in 1998.
Every snowflake, that fell on my hair, tried to tell me its own fairy tale, but there were no fairy tales left…they dried up, a few years before that. Or at least I didn’t hear one…nor felt one…
Mom and I were standing in front of the ruins that were once called our house, and I was quietly smoking, just looking around.
The snow was falling on us freely, but we didn’t look for any shelter, we just stood there, my suitcase right next to me, I just came back from Canada, to visit, looking at the remains of our burned down city.
I was standing in front of the ruins of my house and I wasn’t crying, wondering how come I am not.
I was looking towards a small hill that was located a little further left from my house, but because of the hard snowfall and many lifeless, dead, grotesque looking trees that were once alive growing there, I couldn’t see if it was still there.

“Listen son, lets go over to the neighbors house, their basement is still standing, they have a spare room…lets go warm up, eat something and rest…you must be really tired.. and I want to hear your stories from your travels…please don’t go over there" – said my mom, in a cheerful, but at the same time, very, very worried voice.
“Mom…you know I have to. You know… just like I do…”
She just sadly hung her head, grabbed my suitcase and said no more. She went on to our neighbors house.

Maybe I should have, but I didn’t listen to moms words. I went towards that little hill, towards that, what I hoped was still on top of it.
It was snowing harder in those moments, even though I thought that that was impossible.
"Harder yet ? "
Unreal.
And finally, I got there…where I wanted to be…to see.
My High School.
I didn’t cry before…but here?
Everywhere were ruins…nothing was left…except for pieces of the building that once was a school, shattered glass…and still, three years after…the smell of death lingering in the air…
No mercy there.

When I got into the city, and walked down the remains of the streets, I noticed, that for some unreal reason the Church was not destroyed. No glass on the windows, the detonations of the bombings shattered it…but otherwise, the building was there. For two months, my city was under heavy missile and artillery attack 24/7. Non stop. But, as for a real miracle…the Church stayed almost untouched.
So, I hoped then:
”If this stayed whole, a building where people go to be friends, to pray, to be closer to whatever is out there, to…Hope…
Maybe…maybe…they didn’t touch then that other building…the one full of innocence, full of dreams, kids hopes and first, hidden, kisses…”

But, they did.

I stood in front of those ruins and I still heard our laughter that came from our classrooms, I saw myself and my classmates how we were skipping classes to go and have fun elsewhere. Who wants to go to school ?

I saw my friend and classmate Boris, who tried to answer a question from Dostoyevskys “ Crime and Punishment “, when our literary teacher asked him about it…and when the professor asked why did Rodion kill that old women, he answered…”well, maybe he had a cold.”
The professor looked in disbelief at Boris, smiled and said that its maybe better that Boris may be excused…coz he was sure Boris had a cold.
I saw us, young guns, laying in the grass around the schoolyard, between classes, chewing gums and looking at the girlies…lying to each other how we went out last weekend with that or this girl for an ice cream and movies…and maybe, just maybe…kissed her…
I saw those girls passing by and the wind made their long hair fly proudly through it, like their hair were beautiful, free flags…in a land that doesn’t know hate…
I saw our Biology teacher, the most feared teacher in the whole school, sitting behind his desk, the one guy that made our life really miserable…but that day, he just sat there and didn’t say one word all class long…and still, not one of us dared to move an inch , or to speak… that’s how scared we were of him…
Month later we found out that he forgot his false set of teeth that morning at home…and that’s why he didn’t say a word all class long…

I saw so many things that afternoon…so much happyness, so much laughter….
And I also saw our faces, in a mild May afternoon of 1990, when the last school bell announced that our schooling there is over, and all of us were running out of that building happy, tearing our schoolbooks and notebooks apart and thinking that we are free now, finally…never knowing that we were free, really free, right there and then….

I turned around slowly…soaked with memories, snow…and tears…onto the path that only grownups walk…kids say that that path is stupid...but what do grownups know?
We don`t listen...

And I kept walking through the ruins of my city, to my neighbors basement, thinking that

From our cradles
To our graves
We will never forget
The beauty of our school days…



Care to share some school memories ?

Thanks for reading….

[SKfan2006]

if i told of any of my school memories you'll be getting alot of bull since school was not my favorite thing since i was always bullied and disliked.

[Srbo]

You did fight back, at least once, eh ?
Care to share ?

[Samantha_]

All right this is total stream of consciousness...

cut-off jean shorts, tire swings over creeks, four wheeling, making prom floats, football games, dances...

a crazy snow filled night four of us pulled one another on a saucer sled behind a four wheel drive...

making cheerleading team for two years and not the third, tennis team, dance team, pressure to make good grades...

writing letters in class instead of paying attention, laughing with my best friend, class rings, letter jackets, senior skip day...

writing: to err is human to forgive divine it is unfortunate the principle of my school is not divine but perhaps I should not have erred...

hiking, skipping stones across a creek, the lake, water skiing...

music, always music...

best friends, first love, true love and everything that came after that...

[boogerb53]

wow: How truly beautiful, Srbo. You touch a part of my soul that no one has reached in a long time.

[Roseasharn]

Srbo, this won't even come close to what you wrote (it was beautiful, you know), but here are some of mine.

When I think of my school days, what I remember most was singing. Practicing, performing, competing. My first competition where I messed up and instead of covering like nothing happened, said "oh my" and THEN went into the next line like nothing happened. The first time my dad heard me sing an aria and relented and said opera didn't sound like dying cats. My high school sweetheart and his beautiful voice. Singing with him on anything and everything every chance I got. Choir trips and hotel food. Being a part of the only established couple on these trips and probably the only people who didn't try to sneak around and make out. Making out in our empty houses after practice. My dad never understanding why singing was the thing I wanted to do, but being there for every performance, every trip, every retreat in whatever support role he could. Him making fun of himself for not being able to sing. The good part of his family joking that "out-sourcing" for children was the only way to get a decent singer in the family. Worrying about the length of dresses and having my girlfriends tell me that "well, at least if you mess up no one will remember. They'll be too busy thinking about your legs". Never being able to take myself seriously enough. Laughing at our choir teacher when he tried to reign in the class' enthusiasm by saying "No, NO! not sixteen yards and a cloud of dust!" The competition where I sang "Can't help lovin dat man of mine" and fell off the chair I was so very seductively draping myself over. I laughed so hard that I missed a whole verse. And everywhere, music. Beautiful music in foreign languages that I couldn't understand or full of grown up yearnings I was just starting to understand. Disappoinment and heartbreak when I failed. But never for too long. Because there was always some other thing to get ready for. Elation and pride when I succeeded. But never for too long. Because there was always some other thing to get ready for. The first time I realized I was good, but not quite good enough. And then deciding I didn't much care because it was so much fun. It was like a little world inside the bigger world of high school. It was the best.

[Srbo]

Thank you so much on reading and your comments.
Rose and Samantha, your stories made me smile, some very nice memories there.
Thank Boogerb for your input as well.

What`s up with the rest of the board, you guys didn`t go to school or what ?

[tillyn]

Enjoyed public school, hated high school, couldn't afford to dress half decent, looked poor was poor. You know you are by the way you are treated. Luckily for me, i knew who i was, an walked with my head up and still to this day. Time has improved my bank book along with hard work. I try to help with food banks, and gently used clothes etc. Hard enough going to school harder when you stand out. (Although living in a war torn country makes my story sound trivial.)

[Moderator]

For the most part, hated high school -- too many cliques, was very shy so always felt awkward, had (have) naturally curly hair which in the '60s was the worst because the style was long and straight (the ladies can empathize ), thought the kids in the "in crowd" were immature jerks and couldn't wait to graduate. Sorry, very few good memories to share but I thought yours were lovely, Srbo, and am glad you have them.

[Spideyman]

Moved from NYC to a small town in south New Jersey ( if you were not born there, you didn't belong there) first year of High School. Attended the Catholic HS. I think they invented cliques. Hated every minute. Two years foreign language was required to attend university- A new regional HS was just built and I saw a way out- flunk French 1 just enough so it is was nonpass at the Catholic HS, but acceptable at the Regional HS.

Parents never understood how I managed French2, German 1 and Latin so well after having such a problem with French 1

University was a much better experience.