So I never got around to addressing the latter part of Keith’s question regarding high school memories – more specifically, my personal least favorite of them.  No time like the present, since my eyes have been focused so much on the road I’ve yet to travel. It may do my soul some good to turn around for a quick look back.

I’m struggling with this one, though.  Whether high school, for me, was not nearly as full of miserable moments as I’d like to think, or I just have simply buried the past in favor of memory loss, I didn’t expect it to be quite this difficult to pinpoint my worst memory from those days.

There are many different routes my mind takes with such a question.

For instance, might we consider the rainy day in eighth grade, on which my school bus full of high-schoolers was treated to the sight of my nightgowned mother standing on the street, in front of the school, having gotten into a fender-bender after dropping my brother off?

Or perhaps it was the valuable lesson learned when my first love, whom I had abandoned for another, broke my heart in retaliation?

There’s the day I found out that I wasn’t eligible for the Honor Society because I’d gotten an in-house suspension for going along with my best friend, who insisted we skip Social Studies class.

Or, in a more sinister feel, the day a supposed ‘friend’ stole a very personal diary and circulated it throughout my class.

Looking back at my high school days, I expected to find an overabundance of bad memories – instances I no longer wished to recall or even admit had ever taken place.  But I didn’t.  I struggled to recall those times of animosity, of angst – but in their place were softer feelings.  Lessons learned, rather than grudges held.  I suppose that all of the bad times and adversities we beleive we face in our youthful days morph into something more meaningful over time.

I guess this is growing up.

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