I walked into the building and the first thing that caught my eye were the lockers.
I was at a parent’s meeting for parents of incoming second graders. In our school district, kindergarten and first grade is in one building and second, third, fourth and fifth are in another. Next year, Hayden would be going to this school.
The principle began talking about the school. She was explaining the daily schedule and what we could expect but all I could think about were the lockers.
When I was in elementary school, only the fourth graders got to have lockers.
It was a huge deal.
Each year since third grade, the year when kids began to care about getting lockers, kids would long for a locker. I mean, who wouldn’t want a locker. It was a metal box with a door on it that you could put stuff in. It was so much better than some silly hook.
But the best part of a locker was that you could hang pictures and stuff up inside on the door.
Many of the girls in my class hung pictures of cute boys but not me.
When I was in fourth grade, I was all about being grown up. I was 11 years old, I was in the double digits and that meant that I needed to act like a grown up.
I took care of my baby doll, dressing her each day before school and giving her her bottle, I focused on my studies to make sure I could get a good job and I put a lot of effort into practicing for my chosen career… being a singer/actress/dancer girl.
My locker was full of pictures of me performing. There were pictures of me in church choir, acting in my after school performance classes and pictures from my dance recitals.
I was so proud of my locker.
One afternoon, I walked down the hall after recess and I noticed my locker open with a couple of boys staring at my pictures.
“What are you doing?” I screamed at them horrified.
My screaming startled them and the slammed my locker closed. They just stood there smirking at me.
“What?” I seethed at them, hands on my hips. I was an ‘adult’ I didn’t have time for these children.
The boys looked at each other and began to laugh.
“You are Jenny Jazz!” they giggled at me. “Jenny Jazz! Jenny Jazz!”
In that moment, if I could have shot daggers out of my eyes, I would have.
Then I realized they were talking about my dance recital pictures. Oh those silly boys, what did they know? I was thinking of my future. I was going to be famous and someday they would be begging for my picture.
“Oh yeah,” I said.
And with that I did a quick step ball change, step ball change, hip check, hip check, turn and pose, jazz hands!
The boys, looked at me shocked that I had just danced at him.
But soon they couldn’t contain their laughter anymore and ran off down the hall.
“Boys are dumb,” I said to myself as I opened my locker to put my coat away, “I am never going to like boys.”
I smiled as my day dream faded away.
Then I realized all the other parents was half way down the hall. I stopped staring at the lockers, tried to focus on the present and hurried to catch up with them.
As I walked, two things hit me, we are entering grade school territory, a whole new ball game, and maybe Jenny Jazz should make a come back.
This post is part of Writer’s Workshop
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