The other day I was on the bus around three o’clock. And on my journey I noticed the mix of uniforms decorating the streets. The school term has started again.
And to be honest, I felt left out.
I left secondary school two years ago. I went to a boys school in East London, and while my school certainly wasn’t the best, we made the most of a bad situation. Though we had no facilities, some of the most inept teachers ever (I remember a supply teacher asking me how to control the class… I was fifteen…), and toward the end we all loathed the dump, I’d still pick the five years I spent there over the two years I spent at college (and probably the three years I’ll spend at university).
I remember during my days at secondary school (high school if you’re from across the pond), hanging around on street corners after school or during lunchtime, and anytime anyone else walked past in a different uniform, we would give them a nasty look. Just because they were from a different school. I used to argue with friends of mine whose school was more ‘ghetto’ or ‘gangster’ or simply whose school was the worse. I’d always win (I knew it wasn’t anything to brag over, but I certainly wasn’t going to win the ‘whose school is better’ argument).
I remember on school trips clambering onto public transport and throwing newspapers at each other, being loud and laughing at unfortunate commuters who unwittingly sat on the same carriage as us.
I remember we would only be well behaved if any decent-looking girls were nearby, walking past the local girls school meant putting on the pretence that we were hard, we were interested in them, but at the same time we weren’t bothered.
I remember sitting in classes, constantly being told off for ‘talking while the teacher is talking’… but still carrying on with my conversation. I relied a lot on my natural ability in lessons, and never worked too hard. Once a teacher said to another pupil I was talking to: ‘He can talk in lessons because he’ll pass, but you can’t!’
I remember, I remember… but memories are all I have.
How things change.
I remember on school trips clambering onto public transport and throwing newspapers at each other, being loud and laughing at unfortunate commuters who unwittingly sat on the same carriage as us.
I remember we would only be well behaved if any decent-looking girls were nearby, walking past the local girls school meant putting on the pretence that we were hard, we were interested in them, but at the same time we weren’t bothered.
I remember sitting in classes, constantly being told off for ‘talking while the teacher is talking’… but still carrying on with my conversation. I relied a lot on my natural ability in lessons, and never worked too hard. Once a teacher said to another pupil I was talking to: ‘He can talk in lessons because he’ll pass, but you can’t!’
I remember, I remember… but memories are all I have.
How things change.
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