Back up the Hill

In just a week's time, my high school class will hold our 13 year reunion. Even with Facebook and all the other social networking machinations over the years, meeting up in person will always trump cyber contact. Some of the stories that I have already been reminded of have made me snicker. The infamous "ass of 1995" sign. I cannot believe I forgot about that. Of course you know the sign originally said Class of 1995 but somehow the letters "c" and "l" wanted to go party, and in the middle of a sober moment, because we attended a school where girls were quiet and prim, when the letters slowly slid down the curtain, leaving just "ass of 1995", I really think it was too much for our conservative pretence. I still cannot remember in great detail the food fight which followed but it apparently happened, but thinking about how simple life was back then makes me want to go back there for a minute.

Now so many years later, with some of the girls from that moment, laughing their heads off at a sliding sign now being wives and mothers, and entrepreneurs and career divas, it's awesome to know that we all did alright. That we turned out pretty damn good and that the 5, 7 or 2 year experience shaped who we are - the years of scolding from our teachers, of being told ladies should only cross their legs at their ankles and not their knees, of running half dressed from the gym to science or history class, or eating each other's sandwiches cross legged near the dorm or in the auditorium, or facing the embarassment of being sent under the tamarind tree for all the school to see that we were miscreants. The lunchtime rush to the cafe to buy slices of nasty pizza from Lue-Shue or cherry slushies, forging notes so we could go down High Street at lunchtime to lime, or for the CXC Info Tech class, before Birbal drove up the hill in his green Sunny (saw him at Miami International in December by the way...he has not changed a bit). The retarded way we used to act when we had a lunchtime function and we invited the boys as guests because we were so starved of testosterone that our estrogen levels were off the charts. The silent and sometimes not so silent war we had with that "other girls school down the hill". Through Chaucer, Shakespeare, hydrochloric acid, sin and cosine (yuck), Amerindians and Inquisition, ser and etre - we still managed to find moments to laugh, to be mean and nasty little creatures (leaving soiled items on teachers' chairs) and to make friendships that have lasted longer than we expected.

And now as some of us are at crossroads of our lives, we meet again. It should be a great evening and I cannot wait to see you all. After my football. (I just had to say it). Don't forget your photos and stories, ladies.
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Photo credits: Therese C-T.

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