There is something about this time of year that inspires nostalgia. It's February: it's cloudy more often than not, so a lot of time is spent indoors, reading or clicking through old photos on Facebook. February means Valentine's Day. It's the time that people (soon to be college grads, for example, or, well, people like me) start looking for the Next Big Opportunity. This, in turn, inspires a lot of personal reflection. How did I get here? What made me the way I am? etc.
I promise this isn't going to be your typical emo/existential blogpost. Despite the two glasses of wine that I have already downed. And despite the Fleet Foxes genius mix and tea lights that are currently happening chez moi. No. This is not Xanga.
So. I've been doing a lot of reminiscing lately. A lot of reminiscing, and a lot of reflecting. A lot of daydreaming. Working in schools with hundreds of hormonal, overemotional teenagers isn't helping. In my attempt to understand what sorts of things they would like to learn about, what sorts of activities they would find fun, if anything, I've had to put myself in their shoes.
That being said, there are a lot of directions in which I could now take this post, but what I really want to talk about are lockers. Yes. You read that correctly. Lockers.
The French don't have lockers. Perhaps this is meant to reduce the type of kissing that the French are so well known for from going down. (If that was the goal, I can tell you it has failed spectacularly. Those kids have no qualms about shoving their tongues down each other's throats and will do it anywhere and everywhere. Pretty sure they get more action in one five-minute break between classes than I have in the past three years. Combined.) Perhaps the no-locker phenomenon was also to prevent vandalism and graffiti. (This has also failed. You'd think by now someone would have figured out that "fuck" is not spelled "fuk," but I guess that's not what the English language assistant is there for, right?)
By now you're probably thinking, what's she on about? What the fuk is so special about lockers? They're kind of ugly. Nerds get shoved in them. It's a pain learning (and remembering) a new combination every year. They can get really messy, and often really smelly. They can cause traffic jams. And how often did you walk down the halls of your high school and have a locker door fly open into your face?
But remember how exciting it was to have birthdays in middle and high school, because you knew that your best friends would, every year, without fail, decorate your locker? Remember how, before a big game, athletes would have their lockers inundated with good luck wishes and green and gold streamers? Remember decorating your locker with photos of friends, posters of Orlando Bloom, and those silly magnetic dry-erase boards? Remember how people would slip notes on lined 5-star paper into your locker, probably folded up like little triangles? Remember how, when you had a crush on someone, you would plan out your route to class and make a detour just to pass by his locker, on the off-chance that he'd be there and you two could exchange a shy smile? Remember how he'd come to your locker after school and try to lean casually while talking to you, but fail miserably because, well, it's entirely impossible to act casual when your entire being is focused on making this other person like you back?
Remember?
I think the French are missing out. There's something to be said for the anticipation, drama, and excitement--the butterflies--of lockers and everything that happens near them. Lockers are, I think, one of those strange identity-forming social rituals/experiences. Strange, yes, but also beautiful.
Remember?
