I’ve been trying to get a bunch of things done today, so I’ve been ignoring my computer. When I finally took a few minutes to check my email, I noticed I had a new one from my aunt with some information about where I could view my cousin’s wedding pictures online (I posted a few of them back in July when I wrote about the wedding – you can read that post here).
I just finished looking at the pictures. They were awesome! Aaron Borchers did their wedding photography and he did an absolutely fabulous job. But that’s not what this post is about. As I was looking through the pictures, one member of the wedding party stood out to me (and no, I don’t mean the bride, though she was gorgeous, or the groom, who looked quite dashing in his tux).
One of the groomsmen was a boy my aunt used to babysit (not the previously mentioned Little D., in case you were wondering) and as I looked at him, looking very grown up in his tux, I couldn’t help feeling a little bit old. After all, I remember when he was Cricket’s age. This groomsman was born the year I turned twelve. Now he’s sixteen.
Thinking about this kid as a toddler got me thinking about other things that happened the year I turned twelve. I was in sixth grade when I turned twelve. Sixth grade was a rough year for me and probably the worst year of my academic career. I was still dealing with the aftermath of my mom’s death and moving from elementary school to middle school did little to help the situation.
But at the end of the year, we had sixth grade camp. Sixth grade camp was a ton of fun and we had been looking forward to it all year long. Unfortunately, as the appointed day drew near, the weather turned to crap and we had to postpone the trip. I remember everyone in our grade groaning in disappointment. One of the teachers later chastised my class during seventh hour math, telling us that we had behaved like a bunch of babies and that her daughter, who was then in kindergarten, was more mature than that. I don’t remember anyone liking that particular teacher. She still teaches there and, from what I’ve been told, she hasn’t changed much in the last sixteen years.
We eventually made it to camp and I shared a tent with five of my friends. Oh, we had fun! We cooked hobos (aka tin-foil dinners) for supper, we made pancakes for breakfast using old coffee cans for griddles (wait, maybe that was just a Girl Scout thing), I covered myself in love-me plant and dubbed myself Love-Me Plant Lady. Our guidance counselor had come with us, along with the three sixth grade teachers and several parents, and at one point during the trip, decided to try to take a nap in one of the vehicles we had driven to the campsite. Someone and their friends got the bright idea to start rocking said vehicle. When Mrs. Counselor woke up, she was none too happy.
When she discovered some time later that I caught her reaction on film and had duplicate prints, she demanded they be burned.
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