Used to Be Young
Used to Be Young
A note from a former homecoming queen who now teaches at her high school.
The pep band drums rattle my ears, and the smell of the gym hits me like a time machine. I carefully direct my steps to the wall, rather than the bleachers, as I repeat to myself that I am not 14, I am in fact 25. I line up against the wall with the other teachers and I watch.
The music is the same. The gym floors shine the same. The air is the same. The kids are the same. I could pick each child out individually and immediately identify their match to a kid I graduated with. The angsty smart girl who actually does know more than you, the football player who’s actually a softie, the couple that everyone idolizes — all the same characters are still there. (If you ever reenter your high school — you’d probably find matches too.)
My body questions my brain — making sure I’m actually an adult and not perpetually stuck in high school. I check in and assure it, I’m grown now. I’m safe.
But it’s eerie in times like pep rallies. My classmates are gone, and I am still here. Now I’m responsible for a piece of someone’s childhood (180 childhoods to be exact).
I teach in a building that didn’t exist when I was a student there, so most of the time I am totally disconnected from the reality that I am a teacher at my own high school. It feels very separate. But on days when I venture out in the gym or cafeteria, my body both chuckles and panics in nostalgic confusion.
I resent it and romanticize it. I am scared of it and comforted by it. And the tension is as weird as you think it may be.
The music rattles the stands and cheers echo as the homecoming court is announced. I feel panic throughout my body — my heart suddenly racing as if I am going to have to walk across the gym and wave to everyone. Because I actually did that before, years ago, in this same gym. With the same smell.
The roars end and homecoming weekend begins as I exit the gym, running my room key through my fingers and trying not to let my memories flood me.
I’d much rather think about dinner, or a design project, or what I am doing this weekend. Or 25-year-old thoughts. But the darn gym smell gets the best of me.
I can remember the pep rallies. I remember how the football field felt under my feet when I was announced as homecoming queen. I remember the panic of being seen and perceived. I remember suddenly feeling mortified I had a crown on my head because everyone was looking at me. I remember how pokey it was, and the color of the roses they gave me. I remember the student parking lot, where I coincidentally parked next to my now husband for my whole junior year. I remember the guilt of growing up, the grief of leaving childhood. I remember the friendships and how slippery it all felt. The smell of the cafeteria on pizza day. And I remember the CD’s in my car (1989 by Taylor Swift). I remember rushing to the bathroom before my 8th period ended to adjust my makeup before a boy walked me to my car. I remember all of it. The weight of textbooks in my hand.
I remember all of the expectations and none of the control. I remember high school vividly, as I walk through its landscape.
And then my eye is caught. By a high school student who eagerly walks to the parking lot, with her homecoming plans in mind. She had described to me her dress earlier. I knew her dinner plans for homecoming, the color of her corsage, and all her fears about the night.
And I see that she’s my match. It’s like I’m watching my 16-year-old self from a distance. And a tear is in my eye as I am reminded of the job I hold. As uncomfortable as it may be to walk the halls I used to walk, I know I’m here for her.
I never anticipated being a teacher, and I have no idea how long I will be one. But I know I am here for her. I’ve taken some sort of weird time machine here, laid down the crown, and am back to bring some love into each childhood I encounter.
You only have one childhood.
And this week I thought about mine a lot.
I would tell 16-year-old me that it’s totally okay to be excited about things, you don’t need to be embarrassed. I’d tell her that when you are 25 you won’t even remember what your homecoming plans were or how your hair looked. One of your high school friends passed away this month, so be sure to enjoy your friends extra and make memories — you have no idea how short a life will be. You are enough without any extra attention or achievements or some access to some type of friend group. You may say you don’t like high school, but one day the smell of the gym will kind of make you smile.
I’d tell her all of it.
And I actually probably will tell my 16-year-old student all of this, if I’m able.
A reminder to you that it’s good to occasionally remember. And it’s good to think about yourself when you were 16, and what advice you’d offer you. Adolescence is really hard, and sometimes we forget how far we have come. I hope you spend some time this week remembering.
XO Jenna
DIY Tea Recipe: Brambleberry Tea Soda
Ingredients needed:
Tonic Water (Fever Tree is our favorite)
Blackberries
Rosemary sprig
*optional* simple syrup
1. Steep 3g Bramble Berry tea to 6oz of 195°F water for 5 mins
2. Fill a shaker with blackberries and a rosemary. Muddle with a muddler or fork. Fill with ice and syrup, if using.
3. When tea is done steeping, add to the cocktail shaker. Put on the cover and shake to chill the tea. Add to a glass with some extra ice.
4. Top with tonic water, add an extra spring of rosemary, and enjoy!
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Beautiful glass storage for jewelry or trinkets
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My new Fellow thermos is how I transport my matcha to work daily and it does not spill at all! Trust me, I’ve tested it.
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