It probably began with “No Balls Allowed.”
It was the moment when I truly felt like this class and this group of individuals would be who I would associate myself with for the rest of high school.
What happened upon entering secondary school was a sense of isolation and a distance from the closely woven net of a middle school campus. Everyone seemed to just…split. Nobody truly cared who you were (unless you did something to stand out) or who you made friends with because it was high school and we were all beginning to mature into respectable young adults who looked past the kiddy drama and the cheesy idea of “cliques,” despite some special cases.
Why would we care in the first place? We were about to graduate in a matter of four years and never see each other, apart from close friends, ever again.
The sad thing is, we also found out who our true friends were. In the course of experiencing a life as a teenager, we’ve created bonds and broken them. Other times, we just simply drifted apart without a clear reason.
Regretfully, there was nothing we could do about it because friends find other friends and try different hobbies, and, all of a sudden, they rarely have conversation, with the exception of the occasional “hey” when passing each other in the hallways. Some friends just move away and there is never any form of contact again.
I was hesitant to join the Farmers’ Harvest Newspaper staff, solely because I never truly expected to find a family.
There were laughs and instances of staff bonding at the beginning, typically from the infrequent “staff nights” we held at inexpensive food destinations, but nothing close to the familiarity I’ve gained towards the end where I found that this was the right decision.
It wasn’t until a sudden UIL practice session where we received a prompt that featured the banning of male students from the volleyball team. Naturally, the headline that came to mind was “No Balls Allowed.” It was the perfect fit for the several character limit that was required for the prompt and it just so happened to hold a double meaning.
The incident created the first of many inside jokes that I shared with these people that I could now comfortably call a family.
My senior year began with a different school, but the same faces coupled with a handful of new ones.
Although majorly uneventful, most of my time was spent either on the internet, skateboarding, or scratching my head over calculus, which really put into perspective about the idea of ‘where do I belong?’
What was the whole point of spending four years with these same faces when graduation brought about a completely new slate? Do I completely cut ties with these people?
Whatever I decide won’t matter, because I won’t forget. The memories are imprinted in me whether I want them or not. There’s no denying that I’ll experience the blunt force of nostalgia some time down the road, but it will be a bittersweet feeling that I look forward to.
All that’s left is to wait and ride the flow.
