This is Chapter 4 of a story about Reschool Yourself that I wrote for a GoodReads.com contest, which asked for a story written in a 24-hour period purely in status update form. Each line could be only up to 140 characters, though I’ve edited slightly here for readability. Chapter 3 told stories of my return to elementary school, and how I felt after completing it for the second time.

The rest of my journey was a whirlwind. Middle school in October, high school in November, and college in December. I blogged nearly every day about my experiences: going to a middle school dance, beating my sixth grade timed mile in P.E., and so on. I posted photos in a series called “Remember This?” — of Picture Day, Otter Pops, or lockers filled with books. Readers did remember, and they posted their memories to the blog alongside mine.

It was cleansing for me — and I hope for readers, too — to bring past events to the surface and let them go, even the good times. If you’re not clinging to the past, it doesn’t dictate your future. You can move forward, unencumbered by old habits and memories.

It was sometimes painful to dredge up memories. I spent a lot of my class time sitting in a desk and regretting all those years I felt that I’d wasted stressing out and memorizing information. There were also emotions that came up that I didn’t understand. For example, when I set foot into my middle school gym for the first time, tears welled up in my eyes. I still don’t know why, but there was clearly something painful below the surface. The point of coming back was to let that go.

In middle school, the students asked me what I was doing at school if I didn’t have to be there. They followed me around, asking to be in my book.

I had favorite moments in each grade. In sixth grade, a boy approached and said, “No offense, but are you a girl, a teenager, or a woman?” I was tempted to answer him by breaking into the Britney Spears ballad, “I’m Not a Girl…Not Yet a Woman.” I doubted that he would have gotten it.

At lunch one day, the friends of a 7th grader asked me out. I said, “Does he know that I’m 16 years older than he is?” Yes, he did.

“Well, I don’t know your friend,” I said. “So I guess I can’t go out with him.” I couldn’t help but be flattered, though.

In 8th grade, the girl I was shadowing took me trick-or-treating. I hadn’t gone in 14 years and dressed as a pirate. No one hassled me with “Aren’t you a little old to be trick-or-treating?”

In completing middle school, I felt cleansed of my tween demons. I realized that if I met any of the mean girls today, I could handle them, because I was cool now, too. Much cooler than when I gelled my hair every day and wore sweatpants to school.

I was glad to see that the kids at my middle school were nicer than they had been in my day. In fact, almost all the kids were nice. Did you hear what I said? The middle school kids were NICE. Not just to me, but also to each other. And the kids agreed: They were nice to each other. Weird, but wonderful. It was a lot easier to get through middle school the second time than it was the first.

To Be Continued…

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