Digging up the Bones

The final day of school was fast approaching I began to dust off the artifacts of my past in order to  piece together the essence of the "me" before I chose teaching as a career. While digging up these old bones, I uncovered a relic that reflected the crescendo of my teenage life as a dork. That's right dork, one who experiences uneasiness living in one’s flesh. A person who doesn’t beat to one’s own drum but can’t even find a drum to beat...

It was the last day of my junior year of high school, I sat in choir waiting for class to begin. A voice rang out over the loudspeaker.

It was rare to be interrupted during instructional time. It sounded official, but not familiar. The voice started by congratulating the senior class for its academic excellence and outstanding citizenship. Other accolades were mentioned of which I can’t remember. Then it exclaimed that, as a reward, the entire student body was dismissed. At first, an eerie hush swept over the class. Then a deafening cheer rang through out the school. Students bolted from their chairs. I watched familiar bodies pressing to squeeze through the door frame. Some carried expressions of disbelief while others looked as though the just pressed off on a descent down a Raging Water slide. But a few of us lingered. Dutifully we sat in our chairs and looked up at our teacher. He was stunned. “That wasn’t official,” he announced. Then he reached for the intercom phone and called the office. "Uh huh. Yes. Really, who was it? A student! Unbelievable.” When he hung up, he turned to us and said, “You need to stay here. Go to your classes as usual.” A military brat, it never occurred for me to do anything but what I was told. The dork in me stayed. Yet as I eyed the other students back sides racing through the door and out into a world of freedom, another part of me wished I had joined them.