Dear Dad

September 2nd

September 2nd,

            It’s strange when you think about it, life.  You work hard in school to get good grades so that you’ll be accepted into a good college which will result in you getting a good job.  After that you’re almost expected to get married and have kids.  Then grow old, retire, and one day, although I’ve never known anyone who’s looked forward to it, you’ll die.  That’s it. Good.  But, what about if you don’t follow the rules and expectations, what if you actually be your own person instead of following the cookie cutter, average Joe image?  I don’t want to be a cookie cutter average Joe!  I want to be me, Rhyder Jonesave.

             A unique name for unique person, that’s how my parents always explained it to me.  Now that name was printed in bold black letters on a “Hi, my name is…” sticker stuck to my chest.  Our school forces all freshmen to wear name tags against their will for the entire first week of school.  Something about getting to know each other and recognizing new faces, to me it’s just a bunch of stupid people with power telling you what to do.  I’m the new kid in town.  Everyone else has known each other since their first day of preschool.  They’re all around me hugging and asking how each other’s summers were as I walk down the brightly lit hallway searching for locker 218.  I walk up a red staircase (red is the school color so almost the entire school looks like a tomato) and take a right.  215, 216, 217, 218…it must have been the crappiest locker in the school.  It was worn, beat up, and looked like someone had punched it.  The paint was chipping off and there was graffiti all over it.  Things like “K+M 4ever” and “hey slut call me” were written across the door.  I pulled at the latch and the door opened with a loud creek.  Yup, I’m telling you now, that’s going to drive me crazy.  I shoved my backpack inside and slammed the door.  It flung back open.  I slammed it again.  It opened again.  I slowly closed it and pressed it as hard as I could with both of my hands.  I held it for a few seconds and let go.  It stayed.  Yah, that’s going to drive me crazy too.  The school’s going have to send me to an insane asylum after just the first day.

            I walk into my homeroom.  Room 224, it’s dull and boring.  It has white walls, white floors, desks that looked like they had seen the end back in the 70s, and a wipe board that although hadn’t been used the entire summer was dirty with marker smudges and who knows what else that black stuff was.  The teacher, Mr. Trell, had a personality that matched his classroom.  He was plain, boring, and looked like he was about to fall asleep listening to himself talk.  Poor guy was dozing off while informing every one of the schools “strict” dress code.  The group of girls behind me spent the entire time giggling about whether or not his moustache was real.  I do have to agree that it was crooked and looked like it was about to fall off at any given moment but, I was pretty sure it was real.

            We were given our class schedules in homeroom.  To me it looks like some kind of foreign code.  En 139 1B.  What’s that even supposed to mean? I turned around to the group of girls sitting behind me.  They were all wearing really low cut shirts and sort shorts.  Their hair was perfectly straight and their makeup was so heavy that they looked like hookers.  I timidly asked, “Could any of you tell me what the heck this means?”  One of the girls snatched the paper from my hand and read it.  In a whiney voice she replied, “You have history in room 109 every other day in block A, English block B, science block C, and writing D.  That’s what you have today. Tomorrow you have gym block E, algebra F, Spanish G , and study hall in the library block H.” she twisted her face as she looked at the paper again.   “Why did you take writing, that’s like the stupidest and hardest class ever!”  She shouted at me.  I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I don’t know.  I’m new and didn’t get to choose my schedule.”  She looked at me as if I had just insulted her and threw the paper at me.  Well, she’s pleasant.