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Hello, Neighbor.
If I Ran the Country For A Day
My brother graduated high school in 1985, a few years ahead of me. I still recall vividly that he was pretty irritated that he missed being class valedictorian or salutatorian by a fraction, thanks to stiff competition from his best friend, Eric. He was then also edged out by another kid, Randy, who was smart enough to have progressed through the Academic course of study but who, thanks to his parents’ financial situation, took the vocational track instead. My brother was not particularly quiet about his disdain for this situation, believing that he deserved higher status for having worked harder, having taken more difficult classes. But alas, our school did not weight the curricula differently. There were no AP classes, no differentials in GPA. So there he was, bitter about his standing and stewing in his own juice.
I never cared as much about my grades. I did well, but I was not at the top of the charts by a long shot. I was never in danger of failing a class, but I cared little about my overall GPA. I preferred to mix in a healthy social life and plenty of extra-curricular activities. I was in chorus. I was a cheerleader. I ran on the track team. I was involved in whatever social activities I could fit in, too. There were lots of things I wanted more than a race to the top of the class. When it came to my own graduation day, the photo I still love the…
