That Brick in the Wall

When I start to think of this segment of my life, the one thing that comes to mind is “Another Brick in the Wall Pt. 2” by Pink Floyd and the new school that I would attend: Chase Elementary. I didn’t understand why I had to switch schools, and it came down to zones that mapped where each child belonged. This made the transition confusing and daunting for me. I remember Trevon was in my class, which made the first day not as stressful, as I felt a sense of familiarity in the midst of change. Also, my brother Kennith attended the same school, just in a different grade, which provided an extra layer of comfort since I knew I’d have someone to lean on if I felt overwhelmed. Chase would become my school from this point on, shaping my early experiences and friendships. As any kid, I made my way through grade school, and I was a big fan of the rectangle pizza served in the cafeteria, a highlight that I always looked forward to during lunch hour. There was this school janitor named Mr. Fred, who had white hair and a kind smile, and he would often greet us with a joke or a compliment. He would also tell me I looked like Alfalfa from the movie “Little Rascals,” which made me laugh despite my initial embarrassment. I remember at one point I had a pimple on my nose, and kids would call me Red Nose, but those small moments of teasing barely bothered me, as I was surrounded by friends who encouraged me to embrace my quirks. Ultimately, those experiences at Chase Elementary laid the foundation for cherished memories that would last a lifetime.

I remember one day at school we had a fire drill. I thought it was exciting to see the fire doors close on their own, and as a unit, we all gathered outside and faced the building from a safe distance, chatting anxiously about what we would do if it were a real fire. I thought this was interesting because I guess if there was a fire, they would have us all watch the place burn, witnessing the memories of our childhood turn to ashes. I didn’t understand the reasoning behind this self-inflicted trauma, but can you imagine? Watching your school burn as the memories fade away in smoke and flames, the laughter of friends mingling with the crackling of fire, a surreal and heart-wrenching scene. I am sure there would be some kids happy, perhaps viewing it as something great; however, some would be traumatized, I’m sure, left with haunting visions of lost classrooms and childhood. Anyway, this particular day there was no fire, just a drill, thankfully. We returned back to our classrooms and finished out the day, discussing among ourselves what we would have done if it had been real. The school bell would ring, and we all headed to our school buses, relieved that everything had gone smoothly. Finally, the day was over and the school bus had finally made it to my stop. I noticed something different; Kennith was not on the bus, which struck me as odd. I ran inside to alert my family of Kennith being missing, only to find them in the house and my dad yelling at him, a puzzling scene that made me wonder just what had happened.

I remember learning that the fire drill that day wasn’t a drill at all but a different kind of emergency. The school was evacuated because of my brother, who had found himself in a precarious situation that no one, least of all my parents, had anticipated. This was the argument that my parents were having with my brother in the middle of it, voices raised in a mix of concern and frustration as they tried to understand his decisions. I didn’t understand the situation because I was young, my mind filled with confusion as I watched the adults around me react with urgency. However, my brother was no longer a classmate at my school, having moved on to a different chapter in his life, but the memories of that chaotic day still lingered in my mind.

The next day, things seemed normal and my days would continue as if they were part of a well-rehearsed play. Lost in the life of childhood, time was nonexistent, a mere illusion we danced with day after day. The days seemed short, and the years seemed shorter, as if the universe conspired to make them fly by in a whirlwind of laughter and joy. Being thirty-six, writing this now, it almost seems like it was yesterday when I think on this memory; the vivid colors of that time are etched in my mind like a beautiful painting. During the May Day parade, I was a skipper, someone who would skip around the pole, bedazzling those who watched with my carefree spirit and unbridled enthusiasm. I had classmates as friends, companions in exploration, and each day we waved goodbye as we would go home on our buses, eagerly sharing stories and secrets of our adventures with one another. And each day we would repeat the process as if we had all the time in the world, blissfully unaware of how quickly each moment was passing. The only thing that could help us remember that we were growing was the classes that we would progress to, each new grade a gentle reminder that childhood would eventually fade into adulthood. Birthdays didn’t matter because it was the same every year; they passed like gentle waves lapping at the shore of our lives. It wasn’t about the gifts and the cake and the experience; it was about going to the next day for that great adventure, where each sunrise held the promise of new memories waiting to be made and cherished.

Finally, I felt like a kid, and well, I had friends who truly understood me. I was learning from everyone around me, absorbing their kindness and laughter, and everyone seemed okay with me as a person; I don’t remember any complaints to taint those joyful memories. I only remember compliments about how nice I was and how cute I was as a kid, which filled me with a sense of belonging and happiness. As I progressed in grade school, I remember the 5th grade and the uncertainty of middle school looming ahead, a time that felt both exciting and daunting. Each year, I felt the sadness overcome me as I said goodbye to my friends, who had been such a significant part of my childhood since before I felt so lonely only connecting with nature. We can only hope to see each other next year, clinging to the dreams of reunions, and we even knew as kids that it’s not always the case, but there was a comforting relief in the bonds we had formed that would forever be a part of us, no matter where life took us.

Another school year is over and summer vacation has started. We wave goodbye to our friends, some crying, me being one of them; we looked forward to our future of classes together, reminiscing about the countless memories we created throughout the year. We shared a positive outlook and asked what schools we would attend next year, eagerly discussing the new adventures that awaited us. We would exchange phone numbers and write notes to each other, promising to stay connected despite the changes looming ahead.

We were so innocent then, unknowing of what lay ahead, blissfully unaware of the challenges and responsibilities that came with growing up. For now, it was summer vacation and it was time for unlimited playdates filled with laughter, ice cream, and carefree days spent under the sun. We didn’t know what the future held, but as kids, it didn’t really matter; our biggest worry was which park to visit first. We were safe and we had each other, forging bonds that felt unbreakable in that fleeting moment of childhood freedom, where every day felt like a new adventure waiting to unfold.