I know people who look back at high school and wish they could go back. I know people who want to leave it in the past and never look back. And I know people who could really care less either way. I don’t really know where I fit in that, but I know that my high school – the second one, since I transferred halfway through – and a few of the teachers had enough of an impact in my life that I feel like I at least owed them a visit. So I did.

Now, let me explain something real quick to you guys; teenagers scare the living shit out of me. No, really, they do. After being teased and taunted for years, a group of teenagers giggling and laughing anywhere near me automatically puts me on edge. But I was willing to walk through the halls infested with these loud cockroaches to see my old teachers.

I went to a school with a mild crime problem, so of course there was a security van parked in front. When I passed by, the guy honked at me, and I groaned to myself. I really didn’t feel like dealing with security, but I turned and went over to the car. Turns out it was one of my favorite guards, and he greeted me pretty happily before I went in.

I made the rounds to my favorite teachers. Two of them – two of the most important to me – weren’t there, so the chances that I’ll go back to see them before the year is up are pretty high. I was surprised how everyone remembered me so well. Probably the funniest reoccurring question was, “Are you seriously a senior?” Three years didn’t really seem like a lot, but it was. The auditorium and the music wing were both redone, and all of the kids had LAPTOPS. At the risk of sounding like an old grump, when I went to school, we didn’t get laptops. We had to crowd around one of the four computers in the room and share. Dang nabbit. Read More »