Chapter 5: Different

Middle School wasn't anything like Waldorf.

In Waldorf, each grade had its own room. Other than gym or recess, it was the teachers who would come to the classrooms to teach! There was no crowded halls, no madcap scramble.

In Middle School, I had to lug my books from classroom to classroom. I couldn't just leave them in my locker in between, because each and every year, my locker was always as far from any of my classes as it could get. There were two staircases, one at each end of the building. The UP staircase, and the DOWN staircase. And heaven help you if you ever got caught trying to go the wrong way. It didn't matter if your next class was just a few steps away, you were obligated to go down that hall, use the proper staircase, and then walk all the way back.

In Waldorf, with each grade in its own room you grew up with your classmates, and they became a bit like a second family. Sure, some would move on to other schools, and new faces would turn up now and then. But it was nice and consistent.

In Middle School, the only friends I had were in Homeroom. They weren't bad friends. But it certainly wasn't the same. And certainly no one in my other classes was interested in being friends.

I hadn't wanted to leave Waldorf. But my grades left my parents no choice. I didn't like school to begin with. Not for any particular reason, mind. I wasn't bullied, or belittled. But to me, not only did I have to spend 8 hours a day listening to boring adults talk about boring things, I would THEN have to go home, and spend another few hours doing boring homework. To an immature 13-year old, the year was divided unfairly, into 3 months of relief, and 9 months of soul crushing boredom. And heaven forbid you try to relieve that boredom by reading a book under the desk, or by staring at literally ANYTHING other than the blackboard.

By hook and by crook, I'd managed to coast my way all the way up to 6th grade. But at last, my grades made one thing clear; I could not move on to 7th. Not even if I crammed. So, my parents had a choice. Keep me at Waldorf, which had done its best, and I stay in the 6th grade room as all of my friends move on to 7th grade, and I end up in a room of strangers, who know I don't belong with. Or, they find another school, one that might actually be able to help.

And so, Middle School, starting 6th grade once more. It was strange, but an adventure. It was annoying, but that was my attitude towards school anyway. And I was kind of proud to be part of Special Education. After all, that must mean I was very smart, and needed "special" consideration!

I don't remember the exact date the other shoe dropped. I had been putting up with all of the odd looks I'd get, when people saw me leave the Special Ed homeroom. I figured it was because I was new. I had ignored the confused comments at lunch about our field trips to the zoo or minigolf. They were rewards for being good students! And sure, the other students in homeroom were a bit odd, but that didn't mean anything!

I was walking down the hall at school, just before math class. And something clicked.

I was different. Not special different. Not gifted different. I was weirdly different. Unnaturally different.

It was an odd fugue I fell into, as I remembered back at Waldorf, how when everyone else was doing classwork, I was drawing out machines and inventions. How whenever I'd try to parrot a catchphrase or a common saying, my friends would laugh. Not unkindly, but not in a way I understood, either. I remembered how I'd set up my own "detective" business by putting a posterboard on my desk, and my calssmates had humored me by giving me clues and puzzles to solve. I wasn't any good at it, but it was the thought that counted.

And none of that was normal here, in Middle School. No one laughed when I said something stupid. No one wanted to look at my drawings. And while the homeroom teacher would kindly redirect me if I got off topic, other teachers would shut me down, and demand I stay on task.

In Waldorf, there was no Special Ed program, or any education regarding autism, or Aspergers. I wasn't weird at Waldorf. I was just me. My parents had tested me, and had tried to explain to me what it meant. But it had never really clicked until I left Waldorf. Until I'd been shown what the rest of the world was actually like.

I'd been given a mirror, and I had a brief glimpse of how I looked to everyone else.

My memories of the rest of that day are blurry. The warning bell ringing for class, sitting through boring lessons, and riding the bus home. There was no big blow up, no argument, no tantrum. Just a small piece that finally made sense of the puzzle.

I've had a few points in my life where my life changed. This is just the only one I know of where I could see the change as it happened, and recognized it for what it was. Where I could feel that safe haven of ignorance slip away.

And I could do nothing to stop it.

But hey, I was in Middle School. It couldn't possibly get any worse!