Glory and Grace

In class last week, my sophomores and I were discussing embarrassment and how most people do not like to be singled out. This, of course, tied into characters in our current novel that seek to be seen and while others seek to blend into the walls - never a good match when those who want to be seen seek to pull the wall flowers into the glaring limelight. To help my sophomores grasp the tension and anxiety that often goes hand-in-hand with those excruciatingly embarrassing moments, I ended up telling them about one of my "classiest" moments in high school. Hard to believe I told (and tell) this story willingly....

In case you missed the "Grease" version of high school, seniors are supposed to rule the school. In 2001, I believed in that concept whole-heartedly and so on the last day of my senior year, I walked campus like it was my own personal kingdom. No more tests, no more teachers telling you to color and then telling you it was a worthwhile "academic" activity. My tenure as senior class vice president had gone well, and my responsibilities were almost over. In a matter of weeks, I would be a Cougar, no longer an Ugly Eagle sporting red, white, and blue.

My final walk on campus took me through the covered walkways near the amphitheatre to the parking lot in between the photo room and auto shop. I walked with my head up, smiling at the thought of a bonfire to destroy the final remnants of my public school career when WHAM! I hit the pavement with no hands to catch me after stepping in a pothole. The covered cake and cake plate I was holding in one hand flew like a Frisbee across the lot, and I lay on my half battered side not knowing quite what had happened. A set of arms scooped me up and I turned to see my kindergarten boyfriend trying to make sure I was okay. Ego bruised more than my ripped jeans, bloody leg, and scraped arm and hand, I braved a smile so he would walk away. People all around had stopped and stared - some openly laughed while others were bewildered by the massive hole in my pants and smashed cake plate. I gathered what poise I had left and scooped up my belonging sans the shards of plate and half-limped, half-walked to my car.

So "wonderful" to bask in the glory days of high school. Good thing I've tripped, not once but three times in the last week in the quad to keep those flashbacks close at hand and to keep my students entertained. Wouldn't want the embarrassment to fade away. But as Mr. Penovich always said, "Time plus tragedy equals humor." This escapade on my last day of high school is just icing on a very trip-filled cake and will someday be great fodder for the tell-all.