Thursday, August 24, 2006

Elementary, my dear Watson

I'll start with my worst memory of elementary school.

Growing up we moved a lot. Not because I'm an Army brat (Dad was out by the time he married my Mom) but because our lease would end. And for some reason or another, they didn't renew. I don't know. I should ask them. I counted it once, I've lived in 20 different places in my life. I'm 27 years old. Fun, right?

During school years, I moved every two years, and always in the middle of the year. Man, did that stink. Middle of Kindergarten, middle of 2nd, middle of 4th, middle of 6th. Then my parents were able to build a house thankfully, due to some funding program.

Anyways. The first few moves of my life that were during school were insignificant. Litterally right around the corner from each other (17th to Ella, or was it Ella to 17th?) so I still went to the same school, same friends, teacher, everything.

Then in second grade we moved to Kandiyohi. Only 5 miles from the city limits of Willmar, but at the time, it had it's own elementary school.

Right before I moved to Kandiyohi, my dear friend Becky decided that she wanted to be called Rebecca, so I decided that instead of Cathy ( DO NOT CALL ME THAT! I HATE IT!), I wanted to be Catherine. We were so mature. Well, at least that's how I felt. I don't know why she wanted the change. (Tell me!)

When my teacher sent over my files, she sent a note saying that I wanted to be called Catherine. So then all the kids and my teacher called me that at the new school. I corrected them and said I wanted to be called Cathy. The teacher said that isn't what I had said before, and I needed to make up my mind. (Seriously, was it that big of a deal?) I chose Cathy. I sat in my desk on the right side of the horseshoe layout. Straight down the row was a girl named Megan (I should really be careful, who knows if she'd read this, find me and hurt me!) She would lay her hand flat on the desk, then curl in all her fingers but the middle one. Then smirk at me. I had to double check with my mom, but sure enough, that was bad. She would constantly tease and berate me in front of the others. That year I also had to get glasses. Not cool. Along with my short hair that I decided to perm. Oh, the humanity.

By third grade, you'd have thought she was used to me. But no. There was this boy, Brent. Oh, was he cute. He was in my reading group. I went to the table, getting ready for Reading, and was singing a song to myself. He smiled at me and started singing along. Megan plopped down and put an end to it. Later when we were all getting in line to go to the cafeteria (wouldn't drink skim milk because I thought it was SKIN milk), I found out from Angela that Megan paid Brent to be her boyfriend, and not like me.

I also was oblivious as to what was cool, and what was not. My mom went to a garage sale and found me a purple shirt. It was (is) my favorite color. So, cool, I have a new purple shirt.

Next day, sporting my new purple shirt, Megan comes up to me and says, "You have an ESPRIT shirt?" Befuddled, I nod. She says she'll give me five bucks for it. I said I'd have to ask my mom.

Mom put it to me this way: If Megan wants it, it must be something good. Keep it.

So I had a cool shirt. Yeah, I rocked.

I know that none of that was traumatic, or horrific. But I still can say that I dream about her. I despise her. If it wasn't bad to hate, I'd probably hate her, as she made my life miserable...even on up to High School.

Best Memory?

In 6th grade in Mr. Hamann's class, my friend Marie, from Hawaii came to visit for a few months and got to be in my class by sheer coincidence. I hadn't seen her in two years, and barely remembered her. But I asked her questions, and we realized we knew each other.
It was so awesome to have her in my class.

Also in 6th, ( I think? or else 5th- I remember it was in Roosevelt) we had Up! With People come to the school. That was awesome. And an artist in residence named Tacumba. I loved that, too. He was from Africa, I believe.

If this would've been Junior or Senior High, I'd have much better stories. But this will have to do for now.


doll~ said...

Sounds like a mean ass person that Megan! Thats kinda creepy about the milk, I will never look at skim the same again.. hehe, oh well I never did like it. ;)
The artist from Africa sounds cool!

beckster said...

hahaha. i don't know why i wanted to be called rebecca. that was the only time in my life. i hate that name. it's so snotty. you know, your best memory could have been when i refused to sit through the birthday party because you couldn't be there. now that's a great friend. hehe :) anyway, thanks for sharing!!!

Florida Girl said...

wow you really dug deep on the meories - good for you. I hate bully's and Meagan sound like a class A Bully to me. Good stuff Cat - I do enjoy reading your posts

Brooke said...

Cat, I can totally identify! I had a girl in high school named Megan that totally bullied me all the time. Just last night I was telling my husband how much I wish I could go back and relive high school...I would totally put her in her place and not put up with her crap.

I wish you could meet your Megan on the street someday and tell her how you really feel about the way she treated you.