When I was a Kid

I think about my childhood a lot - I always have. I don't know why. I wonder if it is because I'm getting older, or I can't believe I'm as old as I am (although 43 is no great tragedy!), or if, in general, I just like those memories.

With the help of the internet, I Google-search for friends from the past, and usually see a name or two, but not much else. I'm not yet on Facebook (although Tom is), so I have only utilized that resource a little bit. But the memories are always there, and the photos are still in my albums, and my hopes are always that my old friends are alive and well and propsering somewhere.

I attended Nazareth School in San Diego, California, from the first to the eighth grade. It was, and still is, a private, Catholic school, and most of my memories from that time in my life are good ones. My longest friends and my first crushes are all centered around that setting, so in my childhood, the school was it's own character, supporting the endeavor's of this story's hero (me!).

My first and longest-lasting friendship was with Gina DiVeroli. We met in the first grade, and quickly became the "Giggle Box Twins" because we apparently were always giggling. I don't remember the giggling so much, although I do remember that she was my best friend for much of my eight years at Nazareth. Slumber parties, Halloween contests, and suffering through some difficult school work gave us the bonds of friendship and the many memories I find to be still prevalent. The only reason I went to Our Lady of Peace Academy High School was because Gina didn't want to take the entrance exam alone. Can't think of a better reason to go anywhere!

Gene John Villagrana was my first crush, the first boy I ever thought about in a romantic way (I suspect I was not alone in this yearning). He also attended Nazareth for eight years, and in our eighth year, I finally got to kiss him. I've always kicked myself for how that event played out, because I ABSOLUTELY blew the chance to really get a good kiss - I was so niave at 14 years old. He went to kiss me with a gently opened mouth, and I was overwhelmed with fear, making some ludicrous statement about how I'd never french kissed before. Seconds later, I hear my mother calling (Gene and I were hosting the eighth grade graduation party at my house, and mom realized quickly that we had both disappeared - that woman didn't miss a THING!) and we had to emerge innocently from our private room, never to resume the kiss I so desperately wanted then, and for years after. What a shame!

Debbie McCutcheon was a friend from our earliest years, as her parents and my parents were friends before our births. My older brother and her older sister were born two days apart. As I grew older, I grew to dislike her because I thought she was "stuck up" and "she thought she was so big." Strange how our little minds work. . . What I realized as an adult amounted to my acceptance of my insecurity and intimidatability (still checking to see if that is a real word), and my view of Debbie was really about my own lack of confidence. Debbie just came across as so self-assured, and I was intimidated by that.

Jorge Carillo also attended Nazareth for eight years, if I remember correctly. Over time, I developed a dislike for him. He had a sharp tongue and teased people relentlessly. Again, as an adult, I can see that he may have behaved that way because he was insecure, or rebelling, or actually liked the girls he teased. I never assumed he liked me - I was sure, in fact, that he at most times disliked me. But my fixation on my dislike for him is now very clearly about the intense crush I had on him from about the fifth grade to the eighth grade. One of my most mortifying moments (believe me, I've had many!) was in our eighth grade year, as I walked up the steps to get to our classroom, he was walking toward the classroom from the other direction and I tripped on the steps in front of him. Oh, he saw it all right! Joked about it. It was worse than those dreams people talk about in which they go to school naked. And all I wanted to do was kiss him.

Darcy Hammons was a friend who arrived at Nazareth during our fifth or sixth grade year. She was from a far away land - Wyoming. Jorge and the other boys used to tease frequently - "This is Darcy" and do the woman's curvy outline with their hands; "This is Debbie" and do two straight lines with little "boobie bumps" at the top; and "This is Kathy" and do two straight lines all the way down. As I've said before, I was a late bloomer (Thanks, God, for that really funny joke!), and everybody noticed. For anyone who didn't notice, Jorge and the boys pointed it out. Darcy was great fun, smart, and interesting to be around with her stories of Wyoming. I always thought it was weird that a non-Catholic person would attend a Catholic school. We were close friends for a long time, and I used to spend the night at her house. My parents were out of town one week, and Darcy and her mom had me stay at their home. We decided to play "hookey" one day, and I lied about being sick, because Darcy said her mother would never believe her. And so I pretended to be sick, and her mother gave me Pepto-Bismol. I was none-too-happy with Darcy that day.

The teachers remain emblazoned on my memory. Sr. Thomas was my first grade teacher, so gentle and charming to a bunch of six and seven year olds. Sr. Anscar was my second grade teacher, and about as short as we were. She was the classic singing nun, and everyone looked forward to her Shadow Passion Play every year at Easter. Sr. Bridget was our fourth grade teacher, and everyone thought she was goofy, and for the life of me now, I have no idea why. Mrs. Neville was our fifth grade teacher, and that woman was ancient at the time, and had no business teaching. Kevin Hatfield, a fellow fifth grader, received regular palm-beatings with her ruler, and one day she assulted his palm with a yardstick that broke during the whacking. I found Kevin annoying (as an adult in the mental health field now, I can say with much confidence that he was definitely ADHD) but it broke my heart watching him constantly under physical attack by that old woman. Strange how some of my teachers' names and faces have escaped my memory - I'll have to look them up in my photo albums after I unpack them.

I liked those school years. I have a lot of good memories. I'd love to have an elementary school reunion, but that seems unlikely, since that is not something people really do. I'll have to enlist my husband to start searching Facebook, to see how many of these old friends I can find. Maybe I should get my own Facebook.