It's time for story time with Bike Boy. I get flashbacks quite frequently, and most of them are entertaining to recount.
Last Thursday was 8th grade shadow day at my high school . No, I am not in 8th grade, but I am in 12th grade, so with my air of superiority, I reflected fondly upon my past. Of course if you follow this blog closely, you'll know mostly everything there is to know about my 8th grade. However, 9th grade is a subject very much untouched, so I think I'll utterly defile it.
Folks say that 9th grade is a year of no expectations, but that's complete garbage to me. I spent freshman year building up an entirely new persona. I think it was my therapeutic attempt to change my uncomfortably awkward 8th grade self. In 8th grade, timidity overcame me. In 9th grade, I became the funny man. To some, I was considered the class clown, but I considered myself to posses a more dignified self-deprecation than the average clown.
We must use what we were given. Isn't that the truth? In my case, I was a freshman, the lowest-standing member of a high school society. However, that meant 3 things: 1) I was the youngest person in the high school, 2) I was the smallest person in the high school, and 3) I was a person of which people had low expectations.
I have always thought of high school as a large theater. It is a source of entertainment if you are willing to see it that way. It provides the opportunity, the arena, the characters, for unforgettable moments to occur.
My freshman year was a collage of unforgettable moments. They must be credited to the students of Washtenaw Christian High School. I found my niche: being small, extremely throwable, and willing to be thrown. During high school retreat, I was gleefully tossed into a lake by a jovial mob of classmates.
It was bliss. I spent most of my time with upperclassmen, participating in the craziest shenanigans. At my school, people didn't lock their lockers (ironic, I know). My Junior buddies and I would go around the school to pick out a choice locker. Typically, we would pick out a Senior locker (there was a good-humored rivalry between the Seniors and Juniors, as it invariably is at a high school). We would pick the locker of a senior we knew well (there were about 110 kids in the school, so that was easy enough) and open it. My job was to go inside it and wait for the unsuspecting civilian. My Junior buddies, who couldn't fit into the locker, stayed a relatively close distance from my location and kept me posted on the whereabouts of my victim. Then the victim came and opened the locker. My silent presence was enough to frighten them, so I tended to not say "boo".
Most of the time, my victim was totally cool with it. One time, however, he wasn't. I hid in Mason's locker once, but he had set a trap for me. I had slipped into the locker without Mason noticing, but when he came by, he was suspicious of the group of people surrounding his locker. When the locker opened, and light streamed in, I didn't even have time to duck under the soccer ball. Fortunately, Mason's soccer ball whizzed just over my head and bounced out. I took off down the hall before he could apprehend me. It was one of those hilarious moments where everyone, including Mason and me,was having a good time, but Mason was still going to hit me with the soccer ball if he had a chance. I rounded a corner swiftly and used civilians to block Mason's path. It was desperation at this point.
Somehow, I made it to Spanish class largely untouched. I had no regrets.