Hmmmmm
So I went to pick up my brother at band camp today (his last "first day" of band camp...jeeez do I feel old), and while I was walking through to the field, I got almost sappily reminiscent about my days in high school...
Until I hit the field.
There were maybe about 5 kids that I knew on my own accord. Most of the kids I saw I had no idea who they were. The instructors were now people that I had marched with. The few people I did know were mostly only known through my brother.
It was such a weird concept to me...and the way they looked!!!! I showed up in fairly normal clothing for myself (white Roxy flipflops, O'Neill jeans,a black Converse fitted T-shirt, and my black Roxy trucker hat, no makeup), and I felt so out of PLACE against these tiny little girls who were strutting around with tight short-shorts and shirts rolled up to bare their stomachs, or bikini tops. And girls wearing MAKEUP!!!! to BAND CAMP!!!!!
I sat there and watched, and talked to Dane (he had shown up too), and GOD what a weird feeling I got. This wasn't a part of my world anymore....I wasn't standing on the field, my tank top rolled up, visor and sunglasses in place, talking about how no one paid any attention to the colorguard, or just running my mouth to whomever I was next to. I wasn't a fairly new alumni, still missed, still mobbed by masses of people. Most of these kids didn't know, and couldn't give less of a damn, who I was. They didn't know that I had solo-ed my senior year, that most of my junior year I spent marching with a black aircast strapped up almost to my knee. They didn't know that I made an impact in band to the point where I was given a $500 anonymous grant. They didn't know about the times me and Liz fake-passed out, or the times me and Heather talked right through instructions, or me and Carrie creating new lyrics to "To Life!", or mine and Francesca's infamous TV breaking and cake fights. They didn't know the people I had dated and loved in the band, they don't know the friendships I made, they didn't know I was in their shoes just a mere four years ago.
It's sad to be forgotten.
PS-some woman came to the door to pick up candle orders today (because my mother STILL runs fundraisers), and she thought I was my mom. JEEEEEEEZ.
It's sad to be forgotton
Until I hit the field.
There were maybe about 5 kids that I knew on my own accord. Most of the kids I saw I had no idea who they were. The instructors were now people that I had marched with. The few people I did know were mostly only known through my brother.
It was such a weird concept to me...and the way they looked!!!! I showed up in fairly normal clothing for myself (white Roxy flipflops, O'Neill jeans,a black Converse fitted T-shirt, and my black Roxy trucker hat, no makeup), and I felt so out of PLACE against these tiny little girls who were strutting around with tight short-shorts and shirts rolled up to bare their stomachs, or bikini tops. And girls wearing MAKEUP!!!! to BAND CAMP!!!!!
I sat there and watched, and talked to Dane (he had shown up too), and GOD what a weird feeling I got. This wasn't a part of my world anymore....I wasn't standing on the field, my tank top rolled up, visor and sunglasses in place, talking about how no one paid any attention to the colorguard, or just running my mouth to whomever I was next to. I wasn't a fairly new alumni, still missed, still mobbed by masses of people. Most of these kids didn't know, and couldn't give less of a damn, who I was. They didn't know that I had solo-ed my senior year, that most of my junior year I spent marching with a black aircast strapped up almost to my knee. They didn't know that I made an impact in band to the point where I was given a $500 anonymous grant. They didn't know about the times me and Liz fake-passed out, or the times me and Heather talked right through instructions, or me and Carrie creating new lyrics to "To Life!", or mine and Francesca's infamous TV breaking and cake fights. They didn't know the people I had dated and loved in the band, they don't know the friendships I made, they didn't know I was in their shoes just a mere four years ago.
It's sad to be forgotten.
PS-some woman came to the door to pick up candle orders today (because my mother STILL runs fundraisers), and she thought I was my mom. JEEEEEEEZ.
It's sad to be forgotton