Clearing a Hurdle

When I was in sixth grade, I thought that it wouldn't be that long until I was in eighth; only three years, right? Three years before that I had been in third grade, and it wasn't that long ago that I didn't know the multiplication tables or how to talk in public and not hide in the corner whenever somebody spoke to me (true story; maybe I'll write about it someday). Looking back, I guess that in some perspective it hasn't been that long at all. Yet it feels like eternity.

In my school, we make a pretty big deal out of the eighth graders leaving. They have their pictures taken and put up on the bulletin board, we hold a promotion ceremony, where everyone gets promoted but they have the slideshow of their baby pictures and the fancy list of their names, and the gift-giving ceremony on the last day of school, which is pretty heartbreaking. Every other year, it was just somebody else that was getting the special treatment and going to high school, which was a scary, distant land (down the street). I still think of the sophomores as being eighth graders, the giants that towered over me and used their mind power to pass every exam and talk so confidentially in front of the class.

I do realize that I've been in eighth grade for about seven months now, but it never really hit me how old I was (in perspective). My confidence grew so much, though, both inside and outside of school, and I guess it just had to do with knowing that I wouldn't make a total fool out of myself in front of kids who were three years older than me. Maybe I should just rename this blog Perspective, because I know that I had the power to talk in front of the class like I meant it, or walk down the halls confidentially when I was eleven, but I didn't know how to put it to use, because I was scared. And now that I've cleared that one giant hurdle, I have to get ready for the next one.

Last night, I went with my mom to the meeting for the promotion ceremony this year. Since February was such a hectic month for me, I kind of skipped it in my head, so to me, it's still the beginning of March, and the end of the year isn't that far away. While my little brother went to play outside, I sat a few tables away (they were in the cafeteria) and tried to do my homework. My teacher explained to the parents who are in charge of the event, mine included, about what has been done in past years, and then it hit me that this was the ceremony that actually concerned me. When they said "eighth graders", that meant me. I never thought of my classmates and me as being as big as the eighth graders when we were younger, because we've grown up together, but looking around now, I realize that we kind of are. Either that, or the sixth graders got shorter.

Every year, my friends (this circle being the ones who are older than me and go to high school) and I write each other birthday cards reminding each other how old we are, and how we're going to go to college soon and then get married and have a midlife crisis and then die. Since they're older, it's always been me laughing at their reactions, and I've had the reassurance that they're still a year ahead in life, and can't really point fingers at me. Ever since the guidance counselor from the high school came to talk to us about course schedules last month, though, all I've been thinking about is how I might not get the best score on the SAT, or how I can't take the electives I want to take. And high school is only four years long. I can remember when my cousin was fourteen, clear as anything. She's a freshman in college now.


Am I ready for high school? No. Am I ready to leave my school? No. But you're only an eighth grader once, and I guess I should savor these last few weeks, and not worry about the future. Not yet.