Sitting around reminising is not one of my pastimes. Earlier today, I was reminded about my ninth grade school which was Hockaday in Dallas, Texas. I was there as a boarding student and my memories are not so fond. I had a boyfriend at home and a car and a life. In the midst of all of my fun, I was thrust into uncertainty. I wore a horrendous uniform, roomed with a girl I was not crazy about, and was very homesick. My grades were horrible. I was terribly unhappy. I remember girls making themselves vomit. Back then it wasn't called anorexia, it was just called vomiting. I remember one girl did it so much her eyeballs turned blood red.
On PE days we wore something called a 'combination.' On the top of our uniform, it looked like a starched white shirt but it continued underneath our crotch and snapped like a toddler with elastic around the legs. The entire thing was made of the white shirt material and was bulky. We wore it under this long hot green pleated skirt. Not very cute.
The "day students", those girls who were from the Dallas area had it much better than the boarders since they escaped the school everyday after classes and went home. We, however, were stuck with these very harsh rules. I never knew what I had done to deserve it.
Regrettably, my dad died before I ever got to ask him. My mother's answer would never be good enough for me.
This was also where I learned to smoke cigarettes...a habit I would not be able to kick until I was 32 years old. Teresa someone gave me my first drag on a cigarette in a bathroom there. I know some people probably did great things after Hockaday. My best thing was leaving it. I should have never been sent off to any school.