I barely graduated high school with my class in 1991. My senior year was well, a non-stop party of sorts, leaving me a credit short when it was all said and done.
Honestly, if I could do it all again, I wouldn’t change a thing about my senior year. I didn’t realize it then but that was as close to freedom and being on my own as I would ever get. That being said, I wouldn’t change a thing about the course of my life or decisions made after high school. Those decisions, as much as my high school years made me who I am today, the good the bad and the ugly.
The Pearland High School Class of ’91 was a rowdy bunch. I think some of us skipped more school than we were present for, thanks to the powers that be who thought an open campus was a good idea. They made it way too easy to not return. Can ya blame us?
The sea breeze of Galveston called often and we answered. The trails close to Independence Park were a favored spot by many. People in the nearby houses were sure to get a dose of Def Leppard or Metallica blaring from the speakers of a big red Ford Bronco on any given day. I can’t continue without giving a nod to the sand pit on county road something or other, down the street from Mr. O’s Ag Barn, that served as a refuge for us heathen high school kids.
The names of the “party-goers” will remain anonymous. We remember who was privy to these shenanigans and the memories that were made.
Times were so much simpler in ’91. School wasn’t at all like it is now. Maybe we should revisit some of those practices. I feel comfortable saying such because I’ve spent plenty of time in the trenches. I disagree with so much of what “public education” is shoving down kids throats. Probably best I’m out.
Society, in general seems to have been in a better place back then. Or maybe social media makes us more aware of what has been going on all along with an in your face approach. In the late 80’s and early 90’s, we got to be kids without worrying about too much. Social media hadn’t captivated hearts and souls. We respected authority for the most part but still pushed the envelope as far as we could. Most of our graduating class is doing quite well for themselves from what I can tell.
December rolled around and I was summoned to the counselors office. She informed me that unless I took a class in night school, I wouldn’t be gracing the football field in my maroon cap and gown come May. Of course, I played dumb. How could this be? There must be a clerical mistake. All the while I knew dadgum good and well what happened. I’d almost missed more school than I attended. Honestly, it was a miracle that I was only standing at a one class deficit.
I had not made the grade in, wait for it, my senior government class. I was far from alone, however, when I walked into that portable building for my first night class. One of the young ladies that sat in a desk beside me for six weeks did pretty good for herself. She’s a big wig in the medical field and was a flight nurse for some time. It’s been awhile since I talked to the guy I sat next to everynight. Pearland alum reading will recognize exactly who I’m talking about. Surfer. Board hit him in the head and knocked him out and he was found floating in the water. Spent some time in the hospital. Yep, you know who.
You’d think that skipping school would have been out of our system at this stage of the game but he and I missed as many nights as feasibly possible without suffering a penalty.
I don’t recollect the coursework being too rigorous. The class itself was a formality. Pay your money, show up, graduate.
I loathed history and government classes in high school. Coaches, overhead projectors and copious amounts of notes. I, like most of the girls, however, loved going to history class. Two words, Coach Workman. Enough said.
The paradox ensued in 2004 when I began my teaching career. Irony at its’ best folks. The majority of what I taught for 13 years was civics and government related. I bet you money, marbles and chalk my high school government teacher would get a kick of that tidbit of information.
The years I spent jacking around in class were some of the best education I could have received for the future ahead of me. Irony rearing its’ pretty little head again. The flunky student turned passionate history teacher.
I spent a lot of years doing my dadgumest to inspire a love and respect of country in the hearts and minds of 8th graders. Proud to say that most of those little heathens are productive members of society today!