Ah, high school. I remember starting grade nine as being so terrifying. I had been moved up two grades in school, so I was about two years younger than the other kids. My parents had talked about sending me to a Catholic high school, but I sat them down and outlined my reasons for wanting public school, including not wanting to wear a uniform, not wanting to go to a school without boys, and not wanting a school that would make me study religion every day. Surprisingly, they agreed.
Adding to the stress of being so young and starting high school, we had just moved from Quebec, where I had spent the last few years being educated at a French language school (talk about immersion!). Since we had moved without having a place of our own yet, my dad returned to Quebec to pack up the remainder of our stuff and get it into a truck to come to us in Ontario. My mother and us three kids lived in the basement of an old family friend, mom on a sofa, and us kids on the floor in sleeping bags. I walked 45 minutes to attend high school. I was the new kid struggling to adapt.
In the school system in that area back then, grade nine students didn't have a lot of choice on what classes to take, and one of the courses had to be Canadian history (plus math, English, French, science, music or art, and a couple of electives). A few weeks in I was kind of settling in when we moved to the basement of my uncle and his family. Not only did I have to change schools and be the new kid all over again, but in that school district, grade nine students had to take Canadian geography (and the Canadian history course in grade ten). That meant that I had to switch gears and pick up on a few weeks of geography lessons. It was a challenge. I also had to adapt to a new school, new routines, new people, and of course I was the new kid all over again. If you're keeping track, this was my second school.
Only a few weeks later my dad arrived from Quebec with our stuff and we moved into our own place, and you guessed it - another new school for me. Yes, my siblings were also going to new schools each time, but I was the continual grade nine newbie. I kind of liked this location and the school. I started making a few friends - a perpetual thing in my life. It was mid-October. In late November the boxes reappeared and we started packing up. We were moving. Again. I was not happy about moving yet again and, of course, starting yet another school. We moved anyway.
Let's turn it up a notch...not only did I not know a single person at the new school, but even though we'd lived in a city for a a few months now, the fact is we had moved from a tiny little town where my school had had only a couple hundred kids. Here I was now at a school that had about 2400 students. I settled in with some difficulty. Normally I was extremely adaptable, but at that moment I was an insignificant 1 in 2400 student; I still had language adjustments to make; and I was the new kid in every way again. At least at this school they had some sense. I had an interview with the head of the French department, conducted in French, and based on the interview, they started me in the grade 12 class. Now that was a culture shock! Oh, and just for fun, this school district had Canadian history in grade nine. Great! Now I was three months behind in learning on that subject because the previous two schools did the geography first.
My first day of French class, I remember walking in and having all these 17 and 18-year-olds looking at me as if I were something to be scraped off the bottom of a shoe. That was probably the most scary moment of all of high school for me. Fortunately the teacher was the department head who had placed me at that level. He introduced me and told me to take a seat, which it happened the only available one was at the back. So I sat down and quietly did the work assigned.
This particular school was on the term system, so you had eight subjects on a rotation schedule, over the course of three terms (Sept to Dec; Jan to April; April to June or something like that). As you may imagine, all the moving had completely messed me up. Needless to say, I failed every subject except French and music in the first term. My mid-term marks for the second term weren't much better. I made myself a promise and commitment that I was not going to fail the whole year. I buckled down, easy enough to do when you don't have any friends to distract you. By the time final exams were drawing near, I had marks good enough to gain exemptions from all my exams. The only fly in the ointment was the history teacher that decided since I had failed the first two terms, I must write the final exam. I did. I raised my mark as a result. I had also made some friends. This was the first school where I had made real friends. (And I still keep in touch with many of them.)
I made it through grade nine. I had some friends. There was a cute boy living next door that went to the same school. Life was good. Summer started, and...you guessed it. The boxes came out again. I couldn't believe it. I desperately didn't want to move again, but I didn't have a choice. We moved over the summer. This time, although I was technically now in the zone for a different school, we were still in the same city and there was public transit. I figured out which buses I needed and what time I had to leave at to catch the bus, including the 15-minute walk to the bus stop. Then I got a Saturday job so I would be have the money to pay for the bus.
So, yes, I survived grade nine and managed to pass with decent grades. I had friends. I had a plan.
Grade ten started the following September and I mention this for two reasons: (1) The first day of French class, those kids left over from the previous year who were attending grade 13 would not allow me to return to the back of the class. They wanted "maximum exposure" and I ended up sat in the middle. Grade 13 French was much like a regular English class in that we read books and discussed them, wrote book reports, etc. There was more focus on speaking, and not just conjugating verbs or learning grammar. It was more practical use; and (2) I met the girl who would become my best friend and sister until she passed away at age 39. It's been 21 years and it still wrenches my heart.
The best thing that came of moving so much was that peer pressure meant nothing to me. I had learned early on that most people in my life were transient, and so their opinions of me were meaningless. It was very liberating. But I sympathise with kids starting grade nine. But hang in there because it does get better.
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