Last night my teenage daughter and I were having a light-hearted conversation about middle school "crushes"...crushes on famous boys, older boys, etc. ( I must admit that after seeing the Justin Bieber movie earlier this year...I was even crushing on JB a little...in a motherly way :))
The conversation took me back to those years in my life -- and my own first "crushes". I had a thing for the actor, Andrew McCarthy. I don't know why except that the movie "Pretty in Pink" did me in. He was just so sweet and willing to cross over to the "other side" of the tracks for Molly Ringwold who seriously made the ugliest prom dress ever. Oh, to have a guy so crazy for you like that and to look at you with those eyes. Pitter patter went my heart.
And then I remembered my innocent crush on some high school boy when I was probably in the 4th grade, and that took me back to a whole set of memories about being a teacher's kid.
You see, as the daughter of a High School English teacher, every day after school, I would walk across the street from the elementary school to the high school and wait for my dad to finish up whatever he was doing. So most of my afternoons were spent sitting in the hallway of the high school outside of the teacher's lounge under the drinking fountain. I would just watch the students and dream about the day I would be that cool. And there was this one boy -- I don't even remember his name...maybe Baker...who I had a secret crush on. He was so cute with his feathered blond hair and tight bell bottom jeans. He was a basketball star, and, of course, he had a beautiful girlfriend. I remember sitting in the hallway one afternoon watching him and his girlfriend flirt and suddenly becoming aware of the fact that I must look like a dorky little kid to them. Here I was sitting under the drinking fountain in my steamed-up, crooked glasses with bi-focals, all bundled up for winter in my snowpants and boots, waiting for my daddy. I never wore my snowpants and boots after school again.
That memory led me to many other vivid scenes of waiting for my dad. Sometimes I would join the teachers in their classic 1970's teacher's lounge with it's brown formica topped conference table and orange wing-back swivel chairs and listen to their conversations. But it was crowded in there and the smell of cigarette and pipe smoke mixed with burnt coffee wasn't so pleasing. I remember most of the teachers by name because they were still around when I became a highschool student, but there is one young lady teacher, who I can't really place, perhaps she taught home-ec which was no longer available when I got there, but I do remember thinking she was beautiful with hair that curled perfectly away from her face. She could somehow button her trench coat with a single hand which I never could figure out. I practiced doing that for years without success.
Other days I would follow my dad into the mimeograph room and watch him copy off tests on those huge machines pumping out purple ink..I can still remember the smell. Or I would hang out in his classroom and draw on the chalk board with real chalk...complete with white dust covering everything.
I don't think I enjoyed waiting around after school, but when I think back to those times what I remember most is feeling proud of my dad. I liked that he was a teacher and I liked how the students looked up to him.
Well...there's my trip down memory lane. Odd random memories clear as can be. Last night I lay awake thinking about them and started wondering if there is a sitcom about life in a teacher's lounge in the 1970's. I might be on to something!
