Warm Snowfall

First Grade: My first day of my first year was essentially no different from the experiences of my soon to be acquaintances. I trudged ever so slowly to the bus stop, where I was about to be whisked away to a world unlike any I’ve been in before. The thought of being afraid of school was puzzling to me; on my maiden bus ride, it was not fear, but boredom who reared his head. I saw no reason at the time that I should be forced to learn about math and geography, especially when a brand new Nintendo 64 sat in my basement. Perhaps to overcome this boredom, I quickly took up an interest in baseball. Though my skill never reached that of the other children, I enjoyed the game immensely, whether watching it or playing it. It was a frequent occurrence in my house for my father to sneak me out of bed in the middle of the night to see the end of a game against the dreaded Yankees. My teacher was a woman approaching retirement who seemed to have lost her interest in education. Although her teaching was more than satisfactory, her bored demeanor rendered her unmemorable in my mind.

 

Second Grade: Early in second grade I met two friends. One, Eric, was a very strong-willed boy who embodied all the traits of the typical stubborn child. His intelligence was at a remarkable level that allowed him to correct his teacher’s mathematical errors. When we spent time with each other, we were typically making good use of his collection of video games, which made my Nintendo 64 look like a slinky. My other friend, Craig, was more of the athletic type. He excelled in basketball, baseball, soccer, and essentially everything else he participated in. Craig and I were comparable in the academic world, which lead to a healthy competition that never showed a clear winner. The three of us formed a very tight-knit group, despite our differences.

 

Third Grade: In third grade, my father lost his nearly four year battle against cancer. Luckily, my young age prevented it from shocking me too much (mainly because I didn’t truly understand death). At nine years old, I understood that people left when they “died”, but that was essentially all I understood. I did not know where they were going, or why, or for how long. This lack of comprehension mitigated my grief. In school, I was showered with silly gifts and extra at-bats in kickball, the latter of which I gladly accepted and made poor use of. My uncle Chris started commuting to our house at least once every week. On one day, I recall us playing a game of chess. To overcome the disadvantage (my uncle had a PhD and had been playing chess for thirty-five years; I was nine years old and had been playing chess for merely two years), I cheated shamelessly and excessively. After a few moves, he challenged my cheating and forced me to play by the rules. Oddly enough, he let me win the game anyway.

When the day of the funeral arrived- April 11^th- it unexpectedly snowed. We labeled this a late April fool’s Day gift.

 

Fourth Grade: My fourth grade teacher, Mr. Cooper, was a phenomenal one. Our classes were fun and thoroughly educational.  At one time, I recall my teacher saying in hushed tones to the principal, “Joe is brilliant; but he needs work”. This may have been intentional, but whether or not it was, it was effective; after hearing this, I started taking school seriously for the first time. My math grades were always A’s, but for the first time I got a couple A’s in other subjects too (although I remained a B-/C+ student). Perhaps that is what every person needs; simply to know that someone is thinking of them and wishing them well. Later in the year, I met a new friend, Jacob. Jacob resembled Craig in nearly all aspects, especially in his athletic prowess. My inclusion in the group was a bit nonsensical when one takes into account my poor athletic abilities, but we got along splendidly, which overshadowed this one contrast between us.

 

Fifth Grade: A few days before Christmas, my Uncle Chris passed away unexpectedly. Although I don’t truly remember it, my mother and extended family claim that this death affected me more than the one I experienced earlier. I was now old enough to understand what had happened, so it was as if I was experiencing my first death.

            I also developed my first crush at this time. I tried being friends with her, and it worked well at first; however, the socially inept 11 year old I was, I quickly managed to embarrass myself during a field trip. We were on a bus, and everyone was singing the song Play That Funky Music. Although my brain has partially blocked out this traumatic experience, I do somewhat remember screaming out “ow!” a little too loudly, leading the entire bus to stop singing. In my embarrassment, I stopped talking to the girl. I was very silent in school for a few months after this, and I have never again joined in on a bus sing-along.

 

Sixth Grade: At this age, I switched my sports focus to basketball. I was much better at basketball than I was at baseball (though I continued playing both sports). I spent hours practicing in my narrow driveway, foolishly- though not uncommonly- dreaming of a career in basketball. After a few beatings from Craig and Jacob, I realized that it would be nothing but recreation.

            Though I remained good friends with Craig and Jacob, Eric and I drifted apart, as childhood best friends often do. I now started expanding my circle of friends, meeting Drake and Josh. We were linked by our love of chess, children’s card games, and other activities associated with stereotypical nerds. Between them, Craig, and Jacob, I now had a bit more of a diverse social group.

 

Seventh Grade: In my seventh year of school, something inexplicable happened. I somehow switched from a B-/C+ student to a straight A student. The work was more difficult, yet my work ethic did not improve. I could not explain it, but I happily accepted the rewards. Looking back now, I realize that it was the subject matter that was responsible for this change. In seventh grade, math became algebra, social studies became history, reading became language arts, and foreign language was introduced. Whether or not other people felt this way, it felt to me as though school had finally become interesting. I was no longer the boy grudgingly trudging to the bus stop. As a result of this, my final grade in a class never again crept below 89.

 

Eighth Grade: This was absolutely the most fun year I’ve had to date. My circle of friends handily expanded, my grades remained high, and I adored my teachers. This was the first year I recall thinking of school as enjoyable. One Friday in French class, the teacher played dance music for the last few minutes of class; the boys did not miss their opportunity. Approximately ten of them formed a ring and started circling around the room, destroying anything in their path. At one point, I found myself in a situation in which I was running from this violent engine of destruction. They eventually caught up to me, knocked me over a desk headfirst, and promptly danced away. To this day, I become twitchy whenever I hear a French pop song.

 

Ninth Grade: At this time, I was moved from the public school system into a private school called Saint Theresa’s. At this all-boy school, I felt out of place much of the time, even though Craig followed me there. The classes felt incredibly easy, leading boredom to once again rear his ugly head, this time asking “what are you doing here?” I sensed that I was falling behind academically, so I sought out a guidance counselor to talk, where she assured me that my classes would in fact become more challenging. She was wrong. Due to my boredom, the difficulty of the commute, and sheer dislike of the school, I came to the epiphany that my family could find a better way to spend 10,000 dollars; therefore, I chose to return to public school.

 

Tenth Grade: Though I was in a few ninth grade classes to catch up, I immediately saw the difference in difficulty between the schools. The classes were intellectually challenging and stimulating on a consistent basis. I quickly was accepted back into my old group of friends, and I started making new friends as well. The bullying from freshmen that my mother was worried about did not happen; in fact, I was more or less now a part of their grade as well as mine. Her concern was rooted in her time spent with the freshmen as a substitute teacher, where she noted the quantity of “sketchy” children. This wasn’t why I went to private school in ninth grade, but it almost kept me from leaving it in tenth grade.

            At this time, I turned my hobby of chess into a serious part of my life. I began playing with friends on a regular basis. In between games with friends, I played online to perfect my moves. In the annual chess tournament, I somehow pulled off a victory over my highly skilled friend, Drake, to become champion.

 

Eleventh Grade: With college around the corner, I recognized that it was time to let slip the dogs of war and give everything I had academically. I took classes that were more challenging than I had ever experienced. Sometimes I slipped and fell; at other times, I soared beyond my wildest expectations. Academically, it was a year I could be proud of, and I saw the fruits of my labor when my class rank rose at the end of the year.

 

Twelfth Grade: My final year of school was a remarkable one. I kept my grades up and was accepted into the college of my choice. Afterwards, I went on my first ever date, which led to my first ever relationship. This did not last long, but similar to my athletic pursuits, it was enjoyable nonetheless. Drake chose the same college that I did, allowing our chess rivalry to continue. The rest of my friends opted for other universities.

            I recall one day in which I was sitting at home alone, pondering how different my life would be in a few months. I would be going to college, meeting new people, and facing new challenges. I had a book to read and a history paper to write, but I could not bring myself to complete these assignments. With these experiences ahead of me, I was excited and nervous at the same time, and I was far too overwhelmed by the latter to even consider working. The date was May 10^th.

            As I was having these thoughts, I looked outside the window and noticed a small layer of snow accumulating on the ground. It was light at first, but it soon became a steady snowfall. I watched as the snow built up, growing inch by inch. An overwhelming warmth suddenly came over me, and I smiled, forgetting for a moment the nervousness I was experiencing. With this newfound confidence, I started in on the book, never once taking my eyes off the snow.