Sixth Grade

Sixth grade was my most memorable year in school. Not because of all the fun or because of how popular I was, but rather it were the lonely and isolated times that made it memorable. The times that I was walking around the playground by myself with nobody to talk to but my own feet.

I was the new kid. Transferring from a private academy to the public school system. This was a change I have long been petitioning my parent for. I hated the academy and my best friend attended this public school and we happened to reside in its district. After I finished my fifth grade year at the academy my parents agreed to enroll me in that public school. Dale High School. I never thought I would have had such a hard time fitting in.

At the academy, I was somewhat popular. I had plenty of friends and had no worries about being alone. I guess I really never knew what alone was. I wasn't at the top of the totem pole (so to speak) but I was far from the bottom. I assumed the transition would be easy. I assumed that friends would come naturally. I was wrong. 

My best friend, Brandon, was a grade younger than I was so we didn't have any classes together. We didn't even eat lunch at the same time. The only times we could hang out was during recess. But he had his network of friends, and I, well you know where I was. I was left kicking rocks in the front of the school yard. 

I always stayed at the front of the school yard, closest to the building. That way, when the bell rang I could hurry to class. Not that I loved learning (because I didn't) but because in the class room I had a place where I belonged. There was a desk especially for me. That was the only place in school where I knew where I was supposed to be. Everywhere else, I was lost.

I distinctly remember one day on the playground. I began playing this game with some of the other boys. The game was simple. We surrounded this pole that had a bucket on top of it. There were four holes on the side of the bucket so when we threw a basketball in it, it could come out of any one of the holes. Whoever rebounded the ball then threw the ball back in the bucket and we started again. But, more importantly, I remember thinking "Why are they letting me play with them?" I really wasn't sure. But for as long as they would let me, I would play. They seemed to tolerate me more than accept me. They still didn't talk to me but they didn't kick me out either. 

As far as I was concerned, it was a good day.