Grade Nine

Measuring up

It’s the fall of nineteen-seventy-five.  And like every fall our mother is measuring us up, probably to see if she needed to buy school clothes. There is a door frame next to the kitchen etched with our measurements. The door frame where our young lives are marked up with lines and names.  I’m looking at the measurements. Mine and my brothers. I am hopeful but I know they have hit my mark and are way past it. My mark is stalled. My mother tells me to straighten up and stand tall, but four feet six inches only goes so far.  She balances a ruler on my head, and with a pencil, marks the spot.  Next to the spot, she writes my name. Only she doesn’t have to because nothing has changed. Writing my name at this point is for lack of a better word, pointless. Everyone knows the lowest mark is mine.  She convinces me that my growth spurt will come. I, like I always do, shrug it off. I had another worry on my mind. High school. I was wondering about measuring up there too.

New school rule: Be cool.

It is the first day of high school.  Shawnee Secondary is a vocational school.  My grade six teacher, a man whose name I will not mention is involved in recruiting students for this new school. Apparently, I was on his list. I failed grade six and I guess it didn’t matter that I passed seven and eight.  Maybe it was payback because I hated him so much. The school is located on Empress Rd. Instead of walking west to grade school, I was now heading east to high school.  Both are a close walking distance from my home.   I’m wearing a Lee Jean jacket.  And although it wasn’t as cool as a Levi's jacket, it was still cool or at least affordably cool. My hair is parted in the middle and is at shoulder length. I look like a new girl rather than a new boy student.

Courage

The school looks like a jail. There are two huge glass doors. At least they looked that way to me. There is a cement walkway leading up to them. Beside the walkway, there are two flagpoles.  A Canadian and a Provincial flag hang motionless on this breezeless late summer morning.  The motion was left to me and when I say motion, I mean emotion. This was the entryway to a new life. I was expecting familiar things to happen. Grade school taught me that. I was freaking out. It didn’t take long. When I opened the doors, it happened. Some kid yelled out “Hey kid, grade school is across the street!” He was right. There was a grade school across the street. But I didn’t need the reminder that based on my size I belong there.  I enter and think. Here I go again….

Class

Rm 206 in my homeroom. This is the place where we meet before our first class and after our last class. I have enrolled in subjects that would complement my creative abilities. I choose Drama, Fine Arts and Drafting. Others include Machine Shop, Math, Science and Typing. Why typing was part of the curriculum, I'll never know. Qwerty what?  Physical education was mandatory I was just glad that showering with the other boys was not. I was embarrassed by my hairless small body. I took my shower at home.

A new song

I soon discover that the school has a band. Mr. Courtney is our music teacher. He looks more like a Shakespearean actor than a music teacher. His receding hairline is clinging to the long waves that have yet to surrender. He has a neatly kept beard. His dark eyes stare attentively at his students. His ear can pick up the slightest error in the wind or lack thereof in my case. He is wearing a black turtleneck and surprisingly he is the only person I have ever seen pull off the look. He asks for my name “Dennis Deschamps” I say.  “What can you play?” I reluctantly replied, “recorder that I learned in grade school and a little guitar” Then he asked, “What would you like to play?” I thought it would be cool to play the sax, so I said, “How about the sax?” Luckily for him, the sax position is filled. The sax was bigger than I was. I wouldn’t have had enough air to make any noise. We decided that the clarinet was best. I was glad it wasn’t the flute. Still, I was trying to find something macho to play. Clarinet! Who plays clarinet? I’ll tell you who. The best-looking girls in school played clarinet that's who. I went from the back of the house to the front row. It was a pretty good first day. I made some friends; I didn’t get beat up and I had a new musical toy to play with. Tomorrow was going to be another day and for the first time, I looked forward to going to school.