As I plan to move on from writing about the 1980s (at least as far as books are concerned), I’ve recently been haunted by a certain day of my past: my last day of elementary school. It was in late June of 1989, so we still had half a year left of the ‘80s, but somehow, deep down, I think I knew it was the end. The year before, as a Fifth Grader, I was jealous as I watched the Sixth Graders spend most of the day outside as a reward for completing the last grade of their first school. They played games like kickball and tag, and the nerdier ones brought their board games and toys. (These were obviously kids after my own heart.) I distinctly remember my attention being snapped from my teacher’s lesson plan—whatever it was—as the Sixth Grade boys and girls (mostly boys) banged on the windows outside my classroom, basically mocking us for their newfound freedom and our lack thereof. I thought to myself: Just wait until next year! That’ll be US banging on the classroom windows and terrorizing the lower classes!
Alas, that did not come to pass. It poured during our last full day of elementary school, so we were forced to spend our “day of freedom” inside the school gymnasium. Out of sympathy, the PTA created giant palm trees out of construction paper and taped them to the gym walls, as if that would fool us into thinking we were actually enjoying our last day in a tropical paradise, not the foul-smelling inside basketball court that served as my least favorite part of school. Hey, they tried.
But that isn’t what this blog is about. No, I wanted to write about the real last day of elementary school—the half-day where we basically just milled around in our classroom and BSed with each other as my teacher stole glimpses of pride while reading the newspaper. I made the mistake of thinking no one else in that class had already locked up their graduation party plans and proceeded to invite everyone not already invited to my best friend’s pool party later that week. They all politely declined, and I remember being surprised that people had a life outside school. That realization would be solidified as I bravely ventured junior high.
But that’s still not what this blog is about, despite being halfway over. I wanted to write about the expressions I witnessed on everyone’s faces that day. I, of course, was filled with a mixture of excitement (It’s the last day of school! Summer has officially begun!) with dread (Oh no, we’re going to junior high next year! What’s THAT gonna be like? I hate change!). I assumed that was exactly how everyone else was feeling, but as I glanced around the room, not counting a few of my friends, I realized I was completely wrong. Their faces were bursting with unbridled elation bordering on mania. (To say they were relieved would’ve been a massive understatement.) This feeling was especially evident with the girls, who, as far as I could tell, were “so over” elementary school. If they were cartoons, they would have little word balloons hovering over their heads reading, “Thank GOD this is over.”
I suppose they had a point. First of all, girls mature much faster than boys. (I remember one girl being told by our teacher to rub off her makeup one morning that year because she was “too young” for it.) But more importantly, we were at elementary school for seven long years: Kindergarten plus First through Sixth Grades. That’s a long time. Just how long? That’s longer than I attended junior high, high school, or college. That’s even longer than the time I attended junior high AND high school COMBINED (or junior high and college combined; take your pick). Maybe that’s why I’m so obsessed with my elementary school——simply because I spent so much time there. For the better part of a decade (the sweet, sweet ‘80s), it was quite literally my second home. Outside my house, I didn’t spend as much time anywhere else as I did there throughout the 1980s.
So yes, it was the end of an era: The end of elementary school. The end of the ‘80s. The end of my childhood. I just didn’t realize how significant of a fulcrum in my life it was at the time. Here I am, middle-aged and literally almost 35 years later to the day I graduated, and I’m still writing about it. Hell, I wrote two novels about my childhood in the ‘80s. As my wife would more than subtly suggest: I think it’s time to move on. If you write one novel about your childhood, it’s celebrated. If you write two novels about your childhood, it’s a cause for concern. If you write three novels about your childhood, it’s time to bring out the men in the white coats. So there will be no more.
I will still write. (My collection of short stories is coming out later this year, kids!) I have my blogs, and I’m sure I’ll also write stuff that will never see the light of day (or a computer screen). But I need to alter my perspective. As Long Island patron saint Billy Joel memorably sang in his classic tune, “Keeping the Faith”: “You know the good ol’ days weren’t always good/and tomorrow ain’t as bad as it seems.” (Incidentally, this would’ve been my senior year high-school yearbook quote if we were allowed to include one.) The future can be an exciting place. After all, that’s what those 12-year-old girls already knew that late June afternoon in 1989.
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In other Déjà View news, my Kindle promotion went so well that I’m doing it again, which, if you think about it, is appropriate for a book named Déjà View. For this Saturday only, you can download Déjà View on Amazon Kindle for FREE! (Looks like I buried the lede in this blog.) Here is the link:
As always, happy reading!
MTP
P.S.: Next week’s blog: Fudge Today’s Music
P.P.S.: Déjà View is now available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble:
Michael Thomas Perone 