Sunday, August 23, 2015

Column: Growing Pains

Juliana Discher

I checked my Timehop app the other day and there was an acne ridden, brace-faced, peace sign bearing girl grinning up at me. Instantly, I was transported back to seventh grade. (Why I ever chose to post this picture on Facebook in the first place is beyond me.)

I’ll be blunt: middle school was a rough time for me.

But I don’t think anyone can willingly look back and say that middle school was their prime. It’s
two years of awkwardness, uncertainty, and attempting to find your place. Math review sheets and social studies tests would stress me out. Write-ups sent a shiver down my spine. The bus was a genuine zoo. High schoolers seemed so old...and hairy.

The people who did think that middle school was their prime, probably ended up flipping burgers for a living. Or perhaps they grew up to only relive their middle school glory days. As a minimum, I bet many never progressed past their 8th grade mental state.

While we have all survived and moved on, I think we should treat the memories of middle school like the popularity of Silly Bandz; let them slowly disappear.