It’s dej
á blonde, all over again
She’s so much more cool than I ever was. She’s ready; got the
right back pack, naturally blonde hair and a secured spot on the
junior varsity field hockey team.
The Girl is all set for her first day of high school.
It’s dejá blonde, all over again
She’s so much more cool than I ever was. She’s ready; got the right back pack, naturally blonde hair and a secured spot on the junior varsity field hockey team.
The Girl is all set for her first day of high school.
This would be harrowing for any mother, but for me, sending her to my alma mater is beyond traumatic. Didn’t I just get out of 5th period English a few minutes ago? And aren’t I supposed to meet up with the gang to head to Lyon’s after we cruise First Street?
Back then, cruising made sense. It was where you hung out with your friends and made fun of the ones who weren’t there. Now, it’s a waste of gas and where are all “you kids” actually driving to anyway?
As The Girl is readying herself for her first day at GHS, I am lost in thought about my own first day. I hate to admit this, nearly 20 years later, but I was a Band Geek (first chair, alto sax, thank you very much). I was also big into all things literary. My only saving grace was that my braces had come off two years before.
I had heard that blondes had more fun (doing what, was a mystery but I thought it couldn’t hurt to at least tempt whatever fun was out there with a bottle of peroxide) and high school was going to be Good Blonde Fun. Except that in my case, being a natural brunette, high school was going to be Good Orange Fun. And then Good Green Fun when I tried to dye it back.
I was full of teen angst, before there were shows like 90210, Dawson’s Creek or The OC to show me that the world is full of pretty people with idiotic problems. I was sure I was different and that no one else could possibly feel anything as deeply as I did. I would scribble in my journals until all hours. Rereading them now, I must have been an absolute joy to live with. I hope that The Girl is chronicling her teen years, too. She’ll enjoy the laugh later on.
I paced in my room for days before the first day. Actually trying on four different pairs of the same kind of Levis’s 501s with different Bill Cosbyesque sweaters with my bright white high-top Reeboks. I was going to start the 1984 school year off right. The key was to look different from anyone else and yet blend in. I still cannot figure out that logic.
To add an interesting spin, my sister was a senior the year I was a freshman. When we would see each other around campus, she would alternately pretend she didn’t see me, or give me a wave, depending on who she was with. We didn’t cross paths much, so I was glad I didn’t have to contend with teachers expecting a lot from “Suzie’s little sister.”
The Girl is a pioneer. A ground-breaker. She’s going it alone. No one to help pave the way, without even a small wave from a mostly embarrassed sibling.
I know she’ll do just fine. She’ll regale me with first day tales and I’ll ask her if the algebra teacher who had a leisure suit in every imaginable color is still there.
Luckily, I still have a couple of more years before I get to hear the age-old question.
“Can I borrow the keys to the car?” I will simply ask, “Where are you kids actually driving to anyway?”
