At what point does a person begin to have all the answers? I remember spending my final days of high school being utterly confused and always confounded. I was never prepared for anything. "Are you ready to go to college?" I dunno. "Are you going to miss high school?" I dunno. "Did you remember to take out the trash?" I dunno. I wasn't exactly a prodigy. But then again, what senior in high school is? Peering through the chain-link fence at Arlington Sam Houston High School, which is a testament to the 1960s Attica-style of school construction, I transformed from a self-assured college student nearing graduation into a nervous high school neophyte. Again. Although I spent my final three years of high school at an all-boys Catholic school, I must admit, there will always be a soft spot in my heart for Bellaire High School, the school I departed from after my ninth-grade year. Bellaire was a school of more than 3,000 students, a disjointed bunch of teen-agers flung together because of the high school's foreign language "magnet" program, which drew students from all over the greater Houston area. The school was a maze of halls, with bunches of students hastily scrambling among each other on the way to class. As a 5-foot-6-inch, 150-pound weakling, it was easy to get lost in the crowd of upperclassmen, who were known for taking pleasure in confusing fresh-meat freshmen. Like myself.
Brandon Hassell, starting quarterback of Sam Houston High and future TCU student, was selected by Principal Ricky Kempe as my guide for the day. I was to meet Brandon before first period at 7:35 a.m. (I was rudely reminded of one of the things I hated about high school - waking up at 6 a.m.) Walking into the school of about 2,600 students, I noticed the groups of students waiting in the front. Buses pulled in front of Sam Houston, dropping off students who looked as if they were entering boot camp. At private schools, buses were unheard of. Didn't everyone have the use of daddy's Benz? Well, surely you must have an Explorer? Or you could have been me and cruised the streets of southwest Houston in my 1987 Honda Civic CRX, which was known to the other students as the "red roller skate." Walking through the darkened halls of the school, I could hear students chattering about last night's party, last night's game or who was bothering them. Everything was so ... informal. People who were presumably students stalked around campus without bookbags. As a 21-year-old college senior, I have always had a backpack stuffed full of books I never read. In fact, I've spent nearly $200 on backpacks because they inevitably break. One glance at my transcript would assure you that I'm no scholar, though. For one of the few times in my life, I visited the principal's office without being in some sort of trouble. It was 7:35 a.m., but there was no sign of Brandon. What else could I expect? I'm sure the star high school quarterback had more important things on his mind than escorting some inquisitive college student around for the day. I sat in the principal's office for nearly an hour before the principal's assistant rescued me. Students passed in and out of the office without giving me a glance. Going to school with so many students, I'm sure they probably didn't recognize anyone outside of their normal circle of friends. It reminded me of the reason I left Bellaire. Large public schools have an impersonal, detached air about them. You never really know your classmates or your teachers. People pass by each other without acknowledging one another, day after day. It's kind of like trying to get paid in the business world - if you don't have answers or something of value to offer, then you get lost in the crowd.
Brandon doesn't have that demanding of a class schedule. The reason for his forgetfulness that morning may have been the baseball game the night before (he pitched 13 strikeouts, gave up only three hits, yet his team still lost to DeSoto, 1-0) or the physics test he was taking in his first-period class. He was the first person to turn in the test, then he came to the back of the room to ask me questions. "So what's this article all about?" I dunno. We'll have to see. "Why did you pick me?" I dunno. Aren't you supposed to be popular? I'll answer that one: Yes. Brandon is very popular, like you would expect the school's star quarterback and pitcher to be. He's 6-feet-2-inches, blessed with a high school athlete's slender build, soft-spoken and is not arrogant about his stature on campus. On the way to his second class - baseball - he received more pats on the back, compliments and gazes of affection than a runway model. The halls, which were filled with students yelling at no one in particular and sluggishly moving about, naturally parted when Brandon walked through them. In fact, the only person on campus who didn't defer to Brandon was his baseball coach. But it's been my experience that coaches don't have to defer to anyone often, so it wasn't much of a surprise. The rest of the day was seemingly uneventful. The following reflects the highlights: n 10 a.m. - Study Hall. Brandon and friends slapped each other on the back of the head and ran around for most of the time. It was then that I realized how much high school kids, boys in particular, like horseplay. Then I wondered: When did that ever get old to me? Geez, I sound like a ... senior in college. n 11 a.m. - Food Technology, which consisted of us watching parts of the "Soul Train Music Awards" and "The Mummy." Not much learning about food was going on, but the teacher took most of the students to the grocery store to buy food for their next cooking assignments. Brandon and I fell asleep. n Noon - Lunch at Wendy's, the end of the day for Brandon. He had to hurry home to rest before his 3 p.m. baseball practice. Can it be that high school was all so simple back then? To the naked eye it appears that way. But was it really? "Man, I dunno know that much about college," admitted Brandon, who will come to TCU on a football scholarship in the fall, between bites of his hamburger. "Whenever you do good at sports, things come easy for you. But in college, it's totally different. I'm sure it's going to be much harder, but who can really tell, you know? I ... I dunno, man."
Future, answers still uncertain Nothing stays the same. Next year, Brandon will be back as a freshman. He'll be starting all over again. Me? I can't begin to say I have the answers to anything. I've experienced much more in four years than I could have ever expected, but it hasn't exactly made me that much wiser. I didn't develop better study habits. I still procrastinate. I still don't know how to fill out tax forms. I never learned how to develop a taste for vegetables. And I'm still not prepared to be a freshman all over again. But, like most graduating seniors, I'm still looking for answers. I dunno. When do you stop being fresh meat? "It hits people at different levels of life," Principal Kempe said. "You don't get spoon-fed anymore, whether it's a senior in high school to freshman in college or senior in college to the work force. You either get it, or you don't." Do I get it? I dunno.
Joel Anderson |
Revisiting hassles in high school
High school's simple appearance| The TCU Daily Skiff © 1998, 1999 Credits |