Today I walked back into my old high school. Not only were my memories bitter, they were sweet. Lots people say memories are bittersweet and now I think I know why. My school has totally changed. Not only are all of the walls painted, the classrooms have been changed, too. The place where my fondest memories took place has gone under the most dramatic transformation.
The dimensions of the gym are the same and the funky playground hoops on the sidelines are still there but that is just about it. Everything else has totally changed. The kelly green court has changed to a rich forest green. The faded wood basketball court that saw performances of all kinds and thousands of feet from P.E., volleyball and countless other sports has been replaced. The court has even been named. Some of the banners that my teams earned (which was supposed to be our lasting legacy) have been removed and put into a storage room where lots and lots of shenanigans took place. My memories have been whitewashed and green washed and updated and replaced. That’s the bitter part.
The sweet was seeing a new batch of kids all over the school. Walking through the hallway to the gym, I overheard so many of the old conversations I had so many years ago. I knew then that the students were busy creating their own memories that are just as sweet as mine were: sneaking out of the cafe to get shots up in the gym, throwing tin foil balls at your friends in the hallway, or even trying to get away with wearing Tim’s because they weren’t in the dress code.
Wow, now that I think about it, I was a hooligan.
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