Walking the Treacherous Halls of Seventh Grade

They called it junior high. The move from six to seventh grade. I would no longer be a kid, but moved onto the next chapter. A teen. I went from a chubby little girl to a young woman with her emotions running wild; and all it took was a short summer to do it. Talk about a growth spurt. It didn’t end there.There was a lot of growing that took place in the year I started seventh grade. I guess that’s what’s supposed to happen. They prepare you for high school and beyond. I went from one class to seven classes in a day. There would be so many different teachers and more peers also. A bigger world in itself. I only took solace that I walked every day to school just the same as I had up through sixth grade the school was located right next to my old elementary school both close to my home I was happy to not have the need to ride the bus. In the end, I had no clue what I was getting into that year. I was a little nerve wrecked thinking about all things that would be completely new and different. Who knew my transition to junior high would be so enthralling?

I soon found that I liked all my teachers for the most part. They all liked to teach in different ways and make their class fun and interesting. Of course, I had to find that one bad apple of the group. Or rather, he found me. I had no choice of what teacher I got to teach me for any class. No request. So, I got the creepy Mr. Peterson for gym class. He was an older man with glasses. I couldn’t believe that scrawny person was even qualified to teach physical education. Of course, he never took part in any activity he made us do. Who picks these gym teachers anyway?

For this reason, I hated gym class. It was the worst ever. The teacher was a lonely, old man who liked to look at the young girls in his classes. He could often be seen staring at them while they were performing their activities. According to the others, he stared at me the most. Besides that, I completely did not like this teacher, and the other thing that made this class horrible was the uniform we were all expected to wear. It was a plain white T-shirt, and shorts. Most of the girls, including myself, hated it and objected, but of course there was no choice in it for us. The teacher picked it, so we had to wear it.

My next disliked class was Science. I never was any good in science, and a lot of the things they taught I just did not understand. The teacher fit the profile of a man who grew up being into all the things a girl would find gross like worms, frogs, lizards and bugs. Of course, some girls liked those things. They were usually tomboys, and I was definitely a girly girl. My teacher was old with white hair and fairly long beard with glasses he was very hands on, and had a slight stench radiate from him; probably from all the variety of things he handled on a daily basis. He wasn’t so bad. What made this class bad on my list was because I had to dissect a frog to pass. One, gross. Two, I didn’t believe in being cruel to animals, even if I didn’t like them in the first place. Three, just no. Did I mention that it’s gross? Luckily, for that project we had partners. Libby was my partner, and lucky for me, she was one of those girls who didn’t mind dissecting a frog. I could barely look at it. We did so well, that at the end of the project, Libby and I got to have our picture taken for the school newspaper. It really should have been just her, but since we were a team, I was included. At least something came good from having to dissect a frog against my will. Plus, I passed the class.

The class I got stuck in where I really just felt out of place was Industrial Arts. In case you didn’t already know, that’s wood shop and metals class combined in one. I was not handy in any way, and wouldn’t know my way around the tool shed if my life depended on it. Let alone power tools. Somehow, I got stuck in a class with a bunch of boys, when I would have been better off with the girls baking in home economics. For wood shop, I had to make a shelf. The more complicated it was to make, the higher grade you got. I was an achiever, but I made the most simple shelf I could. I ended up getting an average grade along with that, but deservedly so. At least it made a nice keepsake for years to come.

The second part of class, we had to make a lamp out of metal. The only reason I passed that project was because the teacher did about 90% of the project for me. It was great, because I got a good grade, but I was a little embarrassed that I couldn’t very well figure out how to do the project myself. I was glad to see that class come to an end.

When I started junior high, I wanted to be in choir. By the time I decided to go for it, they had no room in their classes to add any more students. I was very disappointed, because I still needed one more class to make a full schedule. The only one left that I could take was sewing class. At first I was stoked about being able to create clothing. It was just a simple pair of shorts after all. No design. Just one solid color. Turns out I was horrible with a needle and thread, and even worse with a sewing machine. It took many attempts to be able to make a pair of shorts. Times ten. At the end of the day, they were uneven with bad stitching. Also, I had made them the wrong size. Luckily I had a couple younger family members that would fit into them, because they certainly wouldn’t fit me, like they were originally meant to. When I brought them home, not even my younger sister was interested in wearing them. She told me they were ugly. The only one that would take them was one of my cousins. He wasn’t picky and would wear anything. Needless to say, sewing class didn’t do anything to boost my confidence. Good idea, gone bad.

I was actually really good at math, until that year. I started pre-algebra. Things were actually going well until the teacher decided to change our seating. I ended up getting a desk in the back. I started having a hard time seeing the board. One day, I got called on to answer a problem, and couldn’t do it due to the fact that I couldn’t read the board. When the teacher found out, she sent me to the nurses office. There I took an eye test, and it was determined I needed to get glasses. Not too bad, right? Wrong. If I wasn’t already, I was sure that getting glasses was going to make me a geek for the rest of my life. It was the end of my seventh grade world.

In matters of my social life, I met my best friend and lost her all in the same year. She moved out of state the following summer. She convinced me to go steady with a boy I didn’t like. It was said he gave nice gifts to his girlfriends, so I did it. I opened my locker one day and found a bouquet of yellow and orange marigolds with a note. It said the marigolds reminded him of me. It said he thought I was bright, joyful and sweet smelling. It was sweet, but I just did not like him. I avoided him at lunch. I knew it was wrong to do this to him. That night, he called me at home, and I refused to talk. Next day, in my locker, I found a little box with another note. It had a ring in it. The note said there is more to come. I had an attack of conscience and broke up with him at lunch. I was told he was angry and heartbroken. I never saw him again.

The next day, I saw the guy I really liked in the hall and chased after him calling his name. I ended up tripping in front of everyone, including him. I broke open my chin and got eight stitches. My crush had been concerned, but to my dismay, no relationship formed from that accident. Just a lot of embarrassment and pain.

I liked to say that I was initiated into junior high my whole seventh grade year. Seventh grade was not my year for grades, popularity, or love. Luckily for me, eighth grade was just around the corner. I was surely glad I would never again have to go walking the treacherous halls of seventh grade.