I was going to write a post about how to make enchiladas, today, but I thought that instead, I'd keep ya guessing, and would pull a tale from my tickle trunk.
When I was 14, as I've shared before, I moved from a small town of 21,000 people, to a tri-city area with a way bigger population (k, so I never actually figured out what that population was, but that's irrelevant- and can we break for a second to talk about the word irrelevant? It's a real word, people - unlike irregardless!!! That's not a real world, friends, so stop using it! Who learned you how to spoke?).
Growing up in a small town, there were a lot of things that I was used to: kids being off for a few days or weeks in October to help their family at the farm, hicks being actual hicks, the boonies being.. boonies, and having the pleasure of shopping at the "New Mall", (built 9 years prior).
|Sing it, Mellencamp!|
When my parents shopped for the house, our real estate agent warned them to stay away from certain districts. The area was rough and there was a lot of gang violence; if the kids at the school discovered that our dad was a police officer, we'd make easy targets.
Oh yeah, and it was 2 weeks before I started grade 9.
On my first day in the new house, I was elated to find that there was a mall within two blocks of my house.
On my first night in the new house, something falling over in the hall had me absolutely convinced that the goths and gangs were coming to get the cop's daughter.
I was totally petrified.
Shortly after we moved into the house, my older sister and I were invited for orientation at what was going to be our NEW HIGH SCHOOL (no uniforms, DAD!). Upon our arrival, and already on edge (you could say hyper and nervous as eff), the school seemed absolutely enormous, and terrifying at the same time.
The guidance counselor led us in on the bottom floor, past an open door which lent glimpses into a concrete room covered in graffiti (I later learned this was the football locker room.. the rest of the school was graffiti free).
"Welcome."Said the guidance counsellor. "This is your new school. To start, I'd like to lay out the rules for you."
K, seems normal.
"We have a no tolerance policy for drug dealing - no pagers (for those under the age of 30 - pagers were inventions before cellphones, which beeped. You could put secret codes into them, and your parents could use them to tell you to call home) are allowed in these halls. There is zero tolerance for weapons, and we mean all weapons, on or off school property. In the past, we've had students hide weapons, such as chains, in the snowbanks to retrieve after school. This is absolutely unacceptable, and will meet with immediate expulsion."
Okay. That's like, totally terrifying.
"Furthermore, at this school, we absolutely forbid the wearing of bandannas and colours.. blahblahblah.."
WHAT THE? I can't wear colours? But I totally love colours. Rainbows are my favourite thing in the world. What was I going to do with my new "Foxy" t-shirt? Do blue jeans count as colours? Does this mean I can only wear black? WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME!? It's so unfair.
I later learned she meant gang colours. Meaning blue, green, red or black. My dad assured me that it was okay to wear these colours, just not only these colours and I couldn't wear bandannas, which were not cool anyway. He said I'd be fine.
I still haven't, to this very day (Okay, that's totally not true, but imagine it were? That would really show you how traumatizing it was).
Peace out, homies.