As taken directly from an english assignment, here's something of note that happened for every school year from K-11.
K:
Our class was really big--big for the smallish school I was in anyways, probably only around 30 students, but I felt like a lot at the time. I was excited, I think I was still yet to develop the social anxiety I have today. I wanted to meet all of these people and make friends. A few days into the year, the decision was made to split the class in half, people were separated at random. Because of the way schedules worked, you’d rarely see anyone outside of your class. I ended up becoming close friends with some of the people in my half, but once in a while I’ll wonder what would have been different if I was on the other side.
1st:
There was an attempt by my elementary school to teach us how to type, however that really just consisted of looking at the next character of whatever word I’m typing, slowly hunting it down on the keyboard and pressing it because 1st graders aren’t nearly developed enough for much beyond that. Naturally, I procrastinated, played games and talked to friends, or anything else to distract me from the world’s most boring game of whack-a-mole. So I ended up not finishing in time so the teacher quickly typed out the rest for me while shaming me viciously. I still don’t understand why adults are so mean to kids. I think too many people forget what it was like to be one.
2nd:
My mom helped work on some fundraiser for the school; I don’t remember what it consisted of, but I think it involved Little Ceazar’s. Whenever she was working on something I’d be in the library with her. We’d normally be there for a couple hours and leave some time after dark. I don’t remember any of what was said or done, but I remember the feeling of being in a familiar place at a time you never saw it at. The empty halls and the quiet felt so strange. If I ever got the chance, I wouldn’t mind walking those halls again some day. I think I like the feeling of being somewhere I shouldn’t.
3rd:
My elementary school was set to close down at the end of the year, everything was old and breaking and it was pretty clear to everyone that it just couldn’t support what it needed to anymore. But there was a story, a story of a time capsule, left by some 6th grade class many years ago. No one was quite sure what was in it. Supposedly, it was buried under the playground, and the principal knew where. So on that very last day, everyone gathered around that place, and the principal and a few others dug. I think this went on for a few hours, everyone standing in scorching heat, waiting. If it was ever real, they never found it. If it was ever real, it’s still there. And I know roughly where it was supposed to be. But some things you just don’t get closure for.
4th:
(name of school) is a big building, or at least it felt like one at the time. Because of where I was dropped off, the best way in was around over half the building and in the door that goes directly into the 4th grade section of the building. Every entrance to a specific grade level’s area looked the same and while there were numbers on them, they didn’t correspond to anything. I always found the correct door by looking at the crowds of students usually stationed outside waiting for the doors to open. That day however, I got there late so there were no other students outside. The only people that were there were the staff that were outside each door that refused to let me in because I wasn’t a part of that grade (even though that would let me get to where I needed to go from the inside) while adamantly refusing to give me any useful information. It was the first year of the school’s operation, so they probably knew little more than I did. So I ran around the building very panicked and scared for some painfully long minutes before finally finding where I needed to go.
5th:
My friend group and I played a simple game. You’d swing on the swing for as long as you needed and then would jump as far as you could, your result being marked into the woodchips you were landing in. I don’t remember how good I was, but I played it a lot and it was fun. Everyone did it out of the love of the game without any worry of how much it’d hurt. That moment of flight and eyes filled with sky was well worth the harsh landing.
6th:
There was a game I used to play in the first few months of 6th grade during recess. I don’t remember what it was called but multiple people (however many wanted to join) would stand in these hexagonal wooden arenas and attempt to hit the other player’s legs with a ball. You couldn't pick up the ball, only hit it, and if you were hit, you were out. The last one standing won. I played this game a lot and was one of the best players. This was the only and probably last time I would be confident in doing something athletic. I stopped playing after the first few weeks of the year. I don’t remember why.
7th:
For most of 7th grade, I brought my switch to school, mostly just to have something to do before school and during lunch. I don’t remember how it started, but I ended up being the host of a system of 1v1’s in SSBU between a group of friends and some others before school. The rules were stupid, the controllers were terrible, and everyone (including me) was plain atrocious at the game, but it was fun. I’ve found I just can’t play fighting games like that anymore, I think I’ve grown to admire that younger self for not being able to care less about being “good”.
8th:
On the third day of school, I stepped wrong between the curb and the bus, twisted my ankle, and collapsed instantly. So I just decided to get through the school day with it. After trying very hard to and succeeding in not blacking out in the hallway, half crumpled on the floor and finding out the hard way that “tunnel vision” exists outside of movies, I got up and painfully limped through the entire day. I still don’t know how I managed this, this was the only time I’ve ever been seriously injured and I had to go up and down stairs multiple times. After being very late to every class, I went home and stayed there for at least a week, I never even went to the hospital for it. I’ve been way more careful getting on and off the bus since.
9th:
It is often said that the first day of something is always the hardest, and for the most part I’ve always felt like that was rarely the case. There was one pretty clear exception though: the first day of band camp. It’s worth noting that I’ve never been athletic, quite the opposite really, so hours on end of intensive physical activity in the sun with very little in the way of breaks and no water (because I forgot to bring some) wasn’t great. I was barely capable of standing by the end of it and I am very glad that I hopefully will never have to feel that sore again.
10th:
The marching band is organized into “squads”-- groups of 4 students with the same instrument with a leader determined by seniority. Typically groups with freshmen have a senior in them to help out the new people. I was in a group with 2 freshmen and a senior. The senior promptly left immediately and was replaced by another freshman. Sophomores really aren’t supposed to be squad leaders, but that’s just how it worked out. I was frustrated at first, but I grew to really like the role. I liked teaching them and helping them along, trying to make their first year better than mine was. I think I did well and would have done it again if marching band wasn’t very time-consuming and physically draining. I like teaching, but I don’t think I’d ever want to be a teacher.
11th:
There was a type of survey we did in my psychology class, something official-feeling that put numbers to 5 traits. Everyone put their results into a slideshow, organized by which traits returned positive or negative results. There were maybe around 50 participants across all hours and 25 possible results, most of which went uninhabited. I think I was the only one to be alone in mine. I didn’t like realizing that.