It is 1985, Mike and the Mechanics are singing "All I need is a miracle" and I am beginning my senior year. My arm is not broken (10th grade) and I am not in psychological counseling (11th grade,). I did have a debilitating situation growing, though, which was work. Although my summer jobs between 1984 and 1994 consisted of back-breaking labor and construction jobs, I worked during that school year in the kitchen of a nursing home. I am willing to bet that 99% of those people are dead now. I guess that happens.
It seemed like I had this job for a long time, but it might be a stretch to say it lasted more than 16 months. I was being encouraged at home to start saving money for college, because I would probably not be able to get any loans. (A year later my step-father confessed that he was unwilling to fill out the financial information for guardians on a federal loan application because it was too personal. I guess to ease the guilt, or to keep me from going to my father's side of the family, I was loaned $10,000 for college over 4 years.) So, I found myself in my senior year working over 20 hours each week. No problem, I was able to maintain my C grades with a very modest attempt at homework.
The encouragement grew for working to earn more money, and to be honest the nursing home wanted more out of us anyhow. I went from working every night and half a Saturday to every night and the whole day on Saturday and Sunday. By the middle of the year, my workload was up to 40 hours a week. (They technically kept me at 38-39 hours to prevent full-time status.) I wasn't the only one, either. Dave, my good friend since the 5th grade and his (our) friend, Susan, started to see our hours creep up over 30. I was starting to miss sleep and was getting resentful of school for inhibiting my work schedule. (I took a lot of pride in cleaning dishes and mopping floors.)
In November 1985 I was granted early acceptance to Mary Washington College. Technically, this is a moderate-to-selective school, and I was an average performer who did NOTHING extra in high school. How did I get in? Well, as the ONLY publicly-funded institution specifically named for a female (George Washington's mother), MWC needed some Y-chromosome. That's right, not only was *I* the co-ed at this traditionally female institution, I was also a product of affirmative action. If I was a female with a 2.55 GPA and a 21 ACT score (SAT equivalence), I would never have graced the Georgian architecture of that campus.
It was after my college acceptance that my workload increased, and my grades slipped. My A for that year came from a Creative Writing, where I wrote a one-act play about a normal-to-exceptional kid being raised by his 60-70 IQ parents. Trigonometry was a mistake, I should never have been in there (I had enough math credits to graduate without it, obviously.) I should have taken Typing II, or baby-sitting, but I already wrote about my vo-tech aversion.
This was the first year that I hated English. Mrs. Hollingshead really was faxing her effort in beginning in January. We started Macbeth, and never really ended it. After reading it through, in class no less, for about 5 weeks, the videos started. We saw the Roman Polanski version, which I believe was his first work after the murder of his wife by the Charles Manson girls. We saw a black-and-white TV version from the 1960s. And my favorite was the version with no set, no stage, no props, and no costumes. Just shades of purple and stuff. My memory tells me that it was uninterrupted (filmed straight through) and that there were only a handful of actors. Mrs. Hollingshead told us that we would only watch a bit of it, to focus on the language and not be distracted by sets and costumes. (As if Shakespeare didn't use sets and costumes!) We ended up watching the whole thing. My friend, JSA, joked that we would be watching the sign-language version next. (If he had a different English teacher, then we were in the midst of a conspiracy. They decided not to teach us anymore.)
Hah, I just noticed I had an A in computer science. It was programming in BASIC, and I had already taught myself that language at home with our 8086 XT-clone. If only I had spent that time on mastering Latin. (I made the mistake of choosing Latin in college as my 4-semester language requirement, and failed it again one year later!) Latin and Physics were impossible without doing the homework, which was evidenced by my performance in those classes.
Business Law was a waste of time, except for the field-trip to the county jail. Mrs. Busby didn't teach us business, or law, but a weakened form of government. I honestly don't know why I didn't get a C in that class, but I never went back to get the full grade details after I got that grade (I think 3rd quarter was a B). I somehow felt that I crossed her in some way (I worked with her youngest son, a dufus, at the nursing home).
You could also notice that I had two absences that year. These were the only two my entire high school tenure. One of them wasn't even legitimate. I was on that field-trip at the county jail, watching a court-case involving an uncle as sexual predator to a 6-year-old girl. Her testimony was amazing. For some reason, the prosecutor asked for a public trial, possibly to embarrass the defendant into a plea. He put up a fuss when 20 high school students walked into the court room and sat down. The judge told him that it was public and we were more than welcome to stay as long as we weren't disruptive. We were captivated, and embarrassed, and paralyzed. I wish I could get up and leave, but I couldn't. So we watched this case unfold, listening to the descriptions of this guy spending too much time tucking his niece in at night. His nickname was "Uncle Big Time" and that was how he was referred to by the victim, and the lawyers. 15 years later, I sat in that same court room and watched my brother defend a guy who assaulted a woman.
By fourth quarter, I knew that I wouldn't have perfect attendance. I didn't think it was fair because I really wasn't absent that day. I bitterly complained to all of my friends about it. The second absence was due to hearing tests in Washington D.C. I was back by the end of the day, but I did not try to straighten my record out. I would have one real absence, and let it be done with that. My sister, who graduate 4-years earlier, DID have perfect attendance on her record. This was important to her for some reason, even though she probably missed a couple of days each year. She had friends go to home room for her and say "here" during roll call. Now it's all just funny.
In July, 1986, I received a letter from H. Conrad Warlick, Dean of Students at Mary Washington College. He said that my acceptance to MWC was being suspended, until I reply with an explanation of my horrid academic performance. I remember writing a letter about things being hard, and having to work so much. I promised that I would not work while in college (I kept that promise). I even think I mentioned my fractured relationship with my father. I feel bad about that, he didn't have anything to do with my performance in high school, good or bad. A week later, the college responded that my acceptance was provisional, and that I was on academic probation my first semester. I had to meet with Mr. Warlick a few times, and my freshman year (1st semester, that is) was actually decent.
I started to gain more control of my life through college, which I see now is pretty normal. If I had to choose which 4-years to re-live, I would choose college over high school because high school is really a waste of time. I also could have made some drastic personal changes in college that would have lasting impacts to this day. Nothing that I could do in high school could possibly change who I am today, however. Absolutely nothing.
High School was just a distraction in my life. ...but it seems like I can remember all of it...
--gh
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