Thanks for the Memories

My grade school closed, and life went on.

Originally published on June 12, 2017

Last Thursday was the last day my grade school was open. I met up with some of my closest friends and we hung out for four hours, glad to be spending time together since we don’t see each other very often. We waited an hour for food, we unsuccessfully walked half of the old cross country trail, and we successfully snuck into the middle school and walked those halls one last time, pointing out the classrooms and the teachers, reminiscing and cringing. I enjoyed the company and the evening, but as I quickly realized, it was mostly just the company I enjoyed.

My grade school closed, and life goes on.

It’s strange. I thought I would be sad, or even nostalgic, laughing to the point of tears. I cried all the way through my eighth grade graduation, not a big one for change. But looking at our graduating class photo, all of us dressed up for May Crowning, it hit me that I haven’t seen half those people since we graduated six years ago. I don’t even know where all of them are, if they’re still in this town, if they’re in school, what their jobs and dreams are. And I didn’t care as much as I thought I would. We walked around a bit, stalking out teachers, and when we finally managed to get a couple in conversation and went down the line and said our majors and colleges, there was still something in the back of my mind that made me think, “Do they even remember us?”

Life definitely went on.

My grade school closed, but it was for the better. It’s all strategy, people say. There’s a grand plan for the Diocese and the school building will still be put to good use. Some people might be up in arms about it. Maybe I would be too, if my family was affected. But we aren’t. The church is still open. My brothers are in high school and college. Change is good, and change at the right time for the right reasons is almost always good.

My future definitely began there. I made some of my best friends, discovered how much I love music (and nearly lost my passion), wrote my first stories and received encouragement, and miserably failed at three sports. I realized how the right worship song can make you excited even years later, first heard the word “harambe”, and found a group of awkwardly creative individuals who are still creating things today. I figured out our mascot was an angry pirate, and was delightfully excited when my high school and college mascots were the same. I may not have come into my own by the time I graduated, but I spent about half my life in that building. I would be surprised if I wasn’t affected by it in some way.   

So thanks, Mount Carmel. It’s been real.