This month in my saga about places I lived growing up, and more specifically, at this stage, my school impressions and experiences, I have now arrived at the 7th grade. When I was at that age, they called it "junior high." It comprised the 7th, 8th and 9th grades, which then left three years for high school, instead of four. I suspect that felt awkward to a lot of people for a lot of reasons, so it's not surprising to me that the concept morphed to "middle school" instead, with 6th, 7th & 8th grades, and 9th being returned to high school.
The transition to adolescence is awkward and painful enough, and having to start in an entirely new school, with entirely new people in an entirely new and much bigger place than I'd ever lived before that point, made it truly awful. But if I say too much more here, I'll be stealing from the poem material. So, look below the orange squiggly dingbat, if you want to know more about how that experience was, for me anyway. (Interestingly, when I checked back, I discovered that it was on last October's 3rd Tuesday that I'd previously written about this period in my life, though I came at it in a bit different way. So if some of it seems a little familiar, that's probably why.)
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Kalliope
Means "beautiful voice" from Greek καλλος (kallos) "beauty" and οψ (ops) "voice". In Greek mythology she was a goddess of epic poetry and eloquence, one of the nine Muses.
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Seventh Grade Blues
Although every move to a new town
Was a mini-culture shock,
Always having to navigate
Being the "new girl"
None was harder
(Except perhaps starting college)
Than the start of seventh grade.
Going from a village
To a medium-sized city
Social stuff going on
About which I was clueless.
Put in the "wrong" room first
(According to "ability grouping"
And owing to a registration error)
I had to shift, after sort of settling
In, and got a home room
Teacher who really wasn't
Good with that age group.
I was making her look bad,
And she wanted to know
Why I was making her life
More difficult? What about mine?
No clue had she to the pain
Inside me; the depression
Which had descended;
Claimed me for its own;
Threatened to sweep me under.
No one really understood.
No one saw me.
I longed for death
But couldn't come up
With a painless way
To end the pain.
So I just endured.
Perfect spelling tests
Saved me from complete
Failure, in academics
At least; no comment
On the social ones.
The only bright spots
Were my science teacher
And my band teacher.
Music, a few friends and curiosity
Were the only things
That kept me alive.
Through the tidal
Wave of misery
Comprising my seventh grade year.
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