Freshman Disorientation
Junior High was crowded, noisy, and bewildering. You could do an indoor lap around the split-level square donut of a building, and accidentally finish on the wrong floor.
In 7th grade, my homeroom teacher's efforts to teach us study skills were puzzling. He exhorted us to study "how to study," so that we'd learn how to study. Study Hall didn't help. That was a place to doodle and daydream, to watch the leaves turn color, and on a bad day to count the spit balls on the ceiling. For some, it was a convenient place to copy other people's homework instead of bothering to study at all.
So smooth and creamy on the outside;
so nutty on the inside
photo by Anthony R. Wencer
Each day of the week had its own rut, and finding our way to our next class became automatic. By 9th grade, we had benefited from our interactions with some excellent teachers, and with some who were less than excellent. The chaos of being one of 3,600 students - more than in any other single school building in the State - would leave many of us with low opinions of school administrators.
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