Only three years?
36 months? 26,280 hours? 1,577,000 minutes?
When you break it down into time increments, the middle school era looks and feels much longer.
That era (between ages 14 and 16) felt like a decade because so much changed!
What’s going on in a girl’s brain and body in that timeframe? According to the NIH:
“Her body finishes maturing physically with adult curves and regular menstrual cycles, while her brain undergoes massive neurological rewiring, especially in the emotional and planning centers, enabling complex decision-making and abstract thinking.”
Sounds pretty intense, right?
We left off Chapter 2 with boy/girl “socials” and spin-the-bottle. I was chubby, generally happy, and successful (according to grade-school standards).
In seventh grade, I left the safe, predictable womb of PS 26 for the giant, diverse ecosystem of Ryan Junior High 216 (and, subsequently, Kew Forest, a local prep school).
It was 94,620,000 seconds of learning, new experiences, and transformation.
Get on the Bus
MOMENT 1: The Great Melting Pot of Queens
Every time we go to an unknown place or start a fresh routine, it’s an opportunity to reinvent ourselves.
We (mostly our parents) got a choice between 2-year and 3-year “SP” (standing for Special Progress, reserved for good students). I could complete my next level of education in fewer years. My mother didn’t believe in “skipping grades,” so she picked the 3-year option. I get bored in classrooms, so I would have been fine with 2. As it turned out, I left after 8th grade. More on that to come….
I remember switching up my wardrobe for Junior High to reflect my elevated hippie persona. I always gravitated towards colorful, casual clothes, but I remember furiously beading necklaces to look even cooler.
I got my braces off and sported wire-rimmed glasses rather than those farty old black cat-eye frames (which are now, ironically, back in style).
The biggest change from grade school to what we now call “middle school” is that I was no longer just in a bubble of smart kids (as we called them).
Homeroom, Typing, Assembly, and Shop classes were diverse and, at times, scary. More on that in the next MOMENTS.
I learned a foreign language. I also took public transportation (a bus) to school, which was my first real break from the familiar neighborhood.
NERVE NOTE #23
Entering a new “community” (at 14 or 104) is a great time to re-evaluate who you want to be when you grow up. It’s more than changing up your hair or fashion; it’s also an opportunity to decide who (and what)to leave behind.
MOMENT 2: Comment Je Suis Devenue Une Dactylo Rapide
French or Spanish? I chose the former. Who knew that Spanish would be way more useful in my adult life? In fact, when my kids (who are both fluent) didn’t want me to know what they were saying, they spoke in that language. After five years of French, I can still say, “Where is the desk?” and “Oh, shit!” And I was able to order a crepe without getting laughed at when I visited Paris for all of an hour. But that’s a story for another chapter.
Unlike grade school, where we sat mostly in one classroom, escaping only for Music, Gym, and book fairs, middle school involved moving through hallways from room to room and keeping track of a class schedule. Although I still sometimes have dreams of not knowing my agenda in college, I suppose I navigated the halls of Ryan fairly well.
I remember very little of what I learned during those years…except for typing. It deserves its own paragraph.
“a;sldkfjgh,” our teacher chanted as we pecked away on those manual machines. I was a beast, eventually working my way up to 90wpm. That’s a skill that has proven useful even in today’s tech-powered ecosystem. But, alas, not everyone loved that class as much as I did. A boy ran by our typing class one day and bellowed, “F*ck you, Mrs. B.” (I am not revealing her full name, although I doubt she’s still alive.) A couple of weeks later, all the typewriters were vandalized. I think the keys were smashed. Someone must have REALLY hated typing! We had to have study hall instead of that period. And I never actually learned to type the top row on a keyboard, which I often regret. Well, it’s not on the list of top five regrets in life, but still….
I met a whole new range of kids. Most of my grade school classmates were not in my classes. Perhaps they were savvy enough to take Spanish. I sought out some of the more colorful (but harmless) delinquents in my non-academic classes, thinking they might up my cool factor. See MOMENTS 3 and 4.
NERVE NOTE #24
Learning how to navigate from place to place with time deadlines is not just a skill for reality TV game show competitions. I’m mostly never late to meetings and events as a result.
MOMENT 3: Stitch, Smoke, Bottle-Feed
“Shop” class was a standard part of middle school in that era. Boys made lamps with popsicle sticks and real wiring (sounds like a fire hazard). Electric Shop. Wood Shop, Metal Shop, and Print Shop were also in the lineup. Girls were only allowed to take Cooking, Sewing, and Childcare.
Cooking Shop felt dangerous…not just because we handled knives. The teacher was big and loud, and a legend in the school is that she once killed a boy in Assembly (to be explained soon) by yelling at him. We made yummy pastries called cinnamon twists, which were immediately confiscated. We were told that the teacher fed them to the male shop teachers. (I must have been permitted to taste them, because I do recall they were tasty. I may have even once attempted them at home.)
In Sewing Shop, I learned the “lazy daisy stitch” and made a shift dress. Still chubby, I needed to buy at least 3 times as much fabric as my svelte classmates. Childcare was, quite simply, a shitshow. The teacher had no control over the class, and one of my aforementioned delinquent buddies made out with her boyfriend on one of the beds in the classroom, while the truly “bad” girls smoked cigarettes. I suspect the teacher feared gang violence.
Although I didn’t grow up to become a trad wife, my domestic arts skills proved valuable. I still love handcrafts, especially now that I’ve heard they can extend life expectancy by up to eight years. I ultimately taught myself how to assemble a barbecue grill.
NERVE NOTE #25
Make sure you have a balance of trade skills along with academic education. You never know when you’ll need to diaper a baby, sew on a button, or build an electrical device…especially since your job may be eliminated due to AI.
MOMENT 4: Beware the Fashion Police
As previously mentioned, my wardrobe went from Chubette to oversized groovy style. Girls couldn’t wear pants to school. On freezing cold days, we were allowed to wear pants underneath our skirts. Quite the fashion statement, right? Talk about misogyny!
I remember a fashion accessory, unfortunately named the Dickey. Apparently, you can still buy one on Etsy for $10. It was like a bib, and you wore it under a button-down shirt or sweater so it looked like you were wearing a turtleneck without extra bulk. Pretty clever, right?
On “Assembly Day” (once a week), we were required to wear white shirts, blue skirts, and red ties. It was good preparation for my one year in private school. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I don’t remember what we actually did at those assemblies. I think there might have been coming attractions for the school play, mass announcements, and group singing.
But when you have so many rules, rebellion is bound to exist. Kids organized a walk-out in protest of the Vietnam War. I think I was probably afraid to participate, and it obviously didn’t end the war, but I thought it was kind of cool. So cool that I’m writing about it 50+ years later.
NERVE NOTE #26
Sometimes you just have to line up and follow the rules. But not all the time. And I think that maybe the Dickey should make a comeback at Fashion Week!
MOMENT 5: Family Feuds
When I wasn’t in school, I was still hanging out with my family…but as little as possible.
Before teenagers get driver’s licenses, we’re sort of stuck with relatives most of the time. Although I lived in an urban area with public transportation, I don’t have any memories of taking buses anywhere other than to school.
We walked a lot, and my family happened to live down the street from a park. The grade school playground was also about two blocks away, and it became a respectable “hang out” spot. The boys (who were becoming more important in my life) played handball against the wall there. More about that later.
I think my mother feared losing some control and prohibited me from going to co-ed parties on Friday nights, citing religious reasons. She was also opposed to sleepovers. That also resulted in pouting and dirty looks. And nasty things written in my diary, which had evolved from who was on Ed Sullivan and what I ate for dinner. The little pink locked book documented which boys I liked, middle school drama, and things that bothered me about my family. Mostly my mother. My father still worked a lot and, when he was around, seemed to condone virtually everything I did.
As for extended family…they were an ongoing part of my life. My favorite aunt had two kids, and I sort of enjoyed watching them do silly things. Relatives sometimes came over to visit (especially on holidays), and the gatherings could lead to verbal altercations that were both frightening and amusing.
My mother often defended her younger sister when she felt my uncle was bullying her. My grandfather brought over chocolate-covered marshmallows. My grandmother’s house smelled funny, and I was vaguely aware of drama involving her second husband. He was a golddigger who married her after my grandfather died and had to be paid off to move out of her house. The grandfather in the pic (Poppa Leo) was husband #3.
I was aware that these people were in our inner orbit. Our family dynamic was peculiar, however. My mother’s side of the family was what might be called “wholesome” (although I’m sure everyone had their dirty secrets). My dad’s side included the aunt, uncle, and cousins I mentioned earlier. They were “the colorful party people.” Booze, cigarettes, wild dancing at family gatherings. Now THOSE were my kind of family!
But my other memories outside of school are rather murky when it comes to my kin. Parents existed to pay for things and give you food. Brothers are annoying and smelly. Other random people with your gene pool come and go. Other than that, your world is comprised of your friends and your plans to flee one day.
NERVE NOTE #27:
Many of us go through phases when we think our families suck. And maybe they do at times. But you share genes. No way to get around that. You don’t get a do-over once family’s gone. So, unless they are physically abusive, try to be nice. Or at least try not to be a complete jerk.
MOMENT 6: Fiction, Baking & Crafting as Therapy
If I had technology back in this era, I would have been scrolling so much my fingers bled. FOMO was a real problem for me then too, so my mental health would have definitely suffered.
Instead, my after-school amusements included reading, handicrafts, and baking. (I guess those scary cooking classes paid off.) I still love all these analog hobbies today, and I read recently that they increase life expectancy and calm us down.
A voracious reader, I went to the local libraries and returned with eclectic stacks of books. They were mostly fiction, but I do remember going through a stage where I read every book about the film industry at the East Hampton Library. (My parents still took us to the East End every August.)
I tried every imaginable craft. My favorites were anything with yarn and glue. Not in combination. I knitted, crocheted, made hooked-yarn wall hangings and pillows, and macramed. (Is that a verb?) Decoupage was trending back then. We cut pictures from magazines and glued them to lunchboxes. I can still smell that toxic rubber cement.
Cookies and brownies were the specialties of this brooding teen chef. My mother would rage afterward that I didn’t thoroughly clean the kitchen, but I didn’t care. I sought out new recipes and loved mixing it up (literally).
My doll house murders and poison tea parties had finally been replaced by something more constructive. And that was a good thing.
NERVE NOTE #28
Get a hobby. Think about what you liked doing as a kid and try it again, or wander into classes in your community until something sticks. Libraries are free and full of illuminating things. Put down that device and go analog.
MOMENT 7: Chocolate Pudding & My New Identity
This may be one of the first huge transformational moments in my life.
So, why did you have to read all the stuff before this to get here? Cut me a break. I didn’t want to start my story at 14 years old. The stories and fears that came before it were super important to my “chubby girl” self-perception, which still lives on when I periodically lose my nerve.
I never imagined losing 25+ pounds would change my life so radically.
Andy refused to eat what my mother fed him. (You heard of Andy in previous chapters, but in case you forgot, he’s my older brother.) He trimmed down and no longer had to wear “Husky Boy” clothes.
If he could do it, I could do it too. I didn’t discuss it with anyone. I simply stopped eating. I didn’t completely starve myself, because I do love food. But I remember having a coffee, Dannon yogurt, and an apple for breakfast, and sugar-free chocolate pudding for a snack. I picked at the rest of my food at homemade dinners, focusing primarily on the iceberg lettuce and a few forks of protein. When we went out, I consulted my little paper calorie guide.
And miraculously, I dropped from 135 to 107. (We size-obsessed people always know our statistics.)
My father was a tennis fanatic, and he put me in tournaments with grown women. I was now fast AND strong. My mother cautioned me not to get “too skinny,” but I was reveling in my new body image and the perks that came with it.
I was invited to beach parties and sported a skimpy bikini. Boys thought I was hot. (More on that to come.)
Inside my head, I was still the little chubby girl. But the rest of the world saw me as the skinny, cool teen.
NERVE NOTE #29:
Body image and self-esteem could be a whole other book. And I’m certainly not a guru on diet and exercise. Looking different from the other kids (and now, adults) can have a huge impact on your world and behavior.
MOMENT 8: I Became a Preppy
School zoning and integration were major issues back in that era. Rather than going to the local high school (a 20-minute walk from our new home), I was supposed to be “bussed” to a school 45+ minutes away. My parents weren’t blatantly racist. As a parent now, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have loved the idea either.
My brother had been sent to a small private school in Queens, and he thrived there. I was ready for a change anyway. So, my parents decided that I should go there too. (Fun fact: Trump went to that school for a year. His father was on the Board. Enough said.)
I didn’t love the idea of wearing a uniform. Fashionista that I am, I bought the coolest grey cardigan I could find. It had tiny buttons and a V-neck, and the bottom almost hit the hem of my (rolled-up) plaid skirt.
The school ran from kindergarten through 12th grade, and many of the kids already knew each other from prior grades. I hung out mostly with the new kids.
We were a year behind in Math, but our Algebra teacher closed every class with the line, “Now take it and make it yours!” She was pretty dour, but I still use that line to this day.
I tried out for cheerleading, but knew my poor memory for steps and lack of talent would lead to an immediate fail. The bully gym teacher and the other girls made my life pretty miserable, especially during dodgeball and social activities. “The Queen Bee” called the black leotard and jeans I wore to a party “My Woolworth Outfit.” (Today’s equivalent would be Target or Kohl’s.) A few girls were really nice to me and kept me from completely losing my self-esteem.
I ended up as #2 in the girls’ class after just one year. My English teacher was amazing and helped improve my writing tremendously. I didn’t like living in my brother’s shadow. He was the editor of the school newspaper and controlled my writing assignments. I was “Andy’s little sister,” rather than my own person.
It was especially tough because I wanted to experiment with my new “persona.” The school didn’t have many creative electives. I felt stifled. And the jacket was itchy. (I wore jeans on the bus and changed in the bathroom, lest I run into public school friends en route.)
In short, it was a weird year. I had convenience and safety, but no creative inspiration.
NERVE NOTE #30:
Surviving being an outlier and dealing with “mean girls” builds character. Plus, it gives you great coping skills for any situation where you don’t quite fit. If you ever feel that as an adult, move on!
MOMENT 9: Going Public
“I’d rather be knifed in a school hallway than endure another year of prep school.” I brazenly announced to my parents. I was a total drama queen and, by that age, known for my one-line exaggerated statements.
But thankfully, the zoning was rolled back, and no shivs were involved. The bussing experiment had been a massive failure, as was my one year as a preppy.
Also, sometime during that era, my parents decided to trade up from my childhood home. I was so upset. I had my friends, neighbors, and familiar local hang-out spots. Plus, teens have to be upset about something at all times.
My family moved to the “other side of the Parkway” where each house was unique and where the “rich kids” lived. I didn’t want to be there. Especially after being pushed into the bushes for my perceived family wealth, I was pretty self-conscious about my father being a doctor. (See Chapter 2.)
But I had no choice. We moved to a house in the “Estates.” Andy got the big room, which had its own private bathroom and was decorated with a lime green shag rug.
I had a small bedroom upstairs, across from my parents’ room. I shared a bathroom with Abe. Our playroom was now a ping-pong and TV-watching area (and later a great private make-out spot). Moves DO have their benefits.
NERVE NOTE #31:
The size and culture of an ecosystem can make all the difference to how you grow and change as a person. Are you a small-community type or a giant anonymous-environment thriver? Do you revel in status, or do you mostly want to fit in? Only time will tell.
MOMENT 10: “She Has Hot Pants!”
The title doesn’t refer to the era’s fashion trend.
It was my mother’s unflattering assessment of any girl/teen/woman who she believed was “boy crazy.”
I thought that was somewhat hypocritical because I grew up believing I needed a boyfriend or a man in my life to be a whole person.
My mother was raised in a religious home, and I realize now that she had a ton of repressed feelings about sex, which of course had an impact on my view of boys, body parts, and sexual freedom and exploration. Meanwhile, my father (an OBGYN) talked openly about vaginas at dinner.
As a little girl, I played Barbie Queen of the Prom and lusted after Poindexter and Tom. Not necessarily in a sexual way. But we had to have a date for the big night, and I thought I had a better shot with a bookish geek (who likely grew up to be a tech billionaire). But I was always curious about what actually happened after the prom with a dude like Ken.
When my mother made disapproving comments about the bikini-clad hotties that hooked up with Sean Connery in James Bond movies, I felt admiration for these bold, badass women.
But let’s go beyond board games and the movie theater. I had my first kiss (other than a game of spin-the-bottle) at 14. An older boy took me for a walk in Cunningham Park, and we sat on a log in a clearing. “I guess I’m supposed to kiss you or something,” he announced. Then he did. It was sloppy and unromantic, and I cut the date short.
But I do know that the emphasis on having a boyfriend in order to be complete was reinforced from an early age. And my self-esteem was very tied to being coupled-up. So much so that I decided to give “Boy Crazy” its own chapter.
NERVE NOTE #32:
Dating, sex, and relationships are complex topics…even at 70. We shouldn’t be afraid to “get naked” and dig deep into where our biases, tastes, and habits came from…and what we want now.
P.S. The sex stuff is in Chapter 4. It may cost you an additional $7, but perhaps that’s an incentive to subscribe to the entire series, which includes my NERVY community, where we can compare notes on first kisses, first loves, and other questionable decisions.