Being the new kid at a school can be an exciting change, but at the same time it can be nerve wracking. Now, imagine your first day at this school full of strangers is actually your first time at a public school altogether. Sounds pretty terrifying I know, but it wasn’t as bad as you’d think.
Back in the year 2006, my family moved to the outskirts of Belle Missouri. It wasn’t a huge move, just about thirty minutes away from the only home I’d ever known. One thing was for sure; the scenery was entirely different from what I was familiar with. I had come from a small neighborhood where I was a few feet from other people’s homes and small businesses. Now I was surrounded by blue skies, wooded areas full of creatures, and of course the empty road that lead us there. I didn’t even care that my family of six had to cram into a doublewide trailer, that’s how much the new area interested me. Too bad I didn’t share the same enthusiasm for public school.
I was home schooled my first three years of education, because certain Linn teachers were unethical. It wasn’t so bad, I got to stay home in my Batman pjś and go on “field trips” with my mom and brother to the grocery store. I even got social interaction during swim class with my best friend from my pre-school days. However, I was still neurotic about public school. I was a short and stout eight-year-old boy with thick glasses that made my eyes look like tiny hazel planets, so I was a dorky looking kid. What countless movies and TV shows had taught me to believe about school was that kids like me got bullied. Of course in all of these shows and flicks, the nerd ultimately wins in the end and everything works out. Being the pessimistic eight-year- old I was for some reason, I was sure that I would get beat up and someone would take my lunch money and I wouldn’t win in the end.
Unfortunately for me, the time had come. I had rushed my porky little self to get ready; because there was no way I’d miss the bus on the first day. If that had happened surely word would spread and I’d be labeled “The Bus Misser,” or so my eight-year-old brain thought. My big brother, Braxton, and I scampered out into the dew-covered grass of the dim gray morning. Braxton didn’t seem even a fraction as terrified as I was, and he was going to the middle school! Everyone knows middle school is three times as dreadful as elementary. Again, I was eight. Anyway, the enormous bus pulled up and opened up to reveal a rather pleasant older lady named Susan. She smiled warmly at us and invited us on her bus. As we sat down no one threw trash at us or called us names. Maybe the day wasn’t going to be as bad as I had thought.
The day went by fairly quickly after the long bus ride. My teacher was very pleasant and all the other kids greeted me with smiles. At this point, I was starting to believe the events of movies were greatly exaggerated. The only real downside was my classroom smelled of skunk. I kid you not there was this foul odor of what I could only assume was a rotting animal. I couldn’t theorize about how a classmate must bring road kill for lunch all day though, I had to actually pay attention in class. Everything was going fine too until I accidentally called the teacher “mom”. This caused some “cute” girls to giggle quietly and my face to light up like a red sun. The teacher just smiled and carried on with the lesson.
By the end of the day, I had done a complete emotional 180. No longer was I stressing over the dangers of TV show bullies, instead I was enthusiastic about all the new people I’d met and the magic that was recess. I’d even made my first new school friend and he rode the same bus as me. Even more importantly though, I had actually talked to girls, real girls that I was not related to! I was having the time of my pudgy eight-year-old life and the happy train didn’t stop there. When we got home we were greeted by the wonderful smell of delicious fudge brownies. What a pleasant first day.
Apparently being the new kid isn’t always as bad as Hollywood thinks. There were no wedgies or humiliations, just new people to meet and experiences to be had. Of course this was only the third grade, a whole new set of fears would be invented when middle school reared its hideous face. That’s a story for another day though. Just kidding, that’s a story that won’t be told.
My name is Garrett Bledsoe, I’m eighteen, and recently graduated.I wrote this reflection piece for my Creative Writing class. In that class I’ve grown as a writer to the point of being confident enough to share some stories. Thank you for reading.