A risk taken

I took a risk a few days ago. OK, not a big risk, and most people wouldn’t think of it as a risk at all I’m sure. But for me, it felt emotionally risky, and gave me butterflies in my stomach.

I became a member of my high school graduating class’ facebook page.

My parents did not feel the Philadelphia public schools were any good, so they sent us to private schools – Quaker schools to start with. From 7th to 12th grades I attended a small private girls’ school in Chestnut Hill. Our graduating class had around 50 girls, so you did know everyone at least by name. Of course you knew some kids better than others, because some subjects (like math and science) were divided by ability, and students tended to clump together. Cliques of friends developed that were often hard to break into or apart. Many students had been at the same school since kindergarten or at least elementary school, so they knew each other well.

I started in 7th grade, and didn’t want to attend there in the first place. I had liked the last school I was in, and my parents pushed me into the switch. It probably influenced how well I adjusted, and though I made friends I didn’t feel like I fit in well there. In 10th grade things got better. 2 new batches of kids came in that year – some were from the inner city in Philadelphia who took the train home like I did. The others came from another smaller girls’ school that had closed the year before. Class work was more interesting then too, higher level math and science. And so by 10th grade I really did like the school.

But, 10th grade, in February, was the year I was shot. And in the end, I missed all of the rest of that year of school. My mother pushed hard for me to return to the same school for 11th grade, and the school was really very accommodating about it – being an all girls’ school they were committed to helping people achieve who might not ordinarily get a chance. Classrooms were in a split level building with no elevator, and 2 men on the grounds crew would meet me between classes to get me up the stairs from one level to the other when I needed a hand. They put me in a homeroom on the lower level, so that in the morning my father got me up the 4 steps to that classroom. I’m sure they arranged my schedule so that I had as few moves up and down steps as possible. The middle level was for the library, lunchroom, artroom and offices, and there was one meeting room that once in a while they would put my English classes so that I didn’t have to get moved up stairs.

I had been in an accelerated math class, taking Algebra II in 10th grade, and an earlier track of science as well, so that I was taking Chemistry in 10th grade when typically students took Biology first.

The school and my parents decided that I could return to my class level and not have to repeat 10th grade if I could finish up my English and History requirements that summer. The Spanish they would excuse, since between the Latin and Spanish I had taken I had satisfied all the state language requirements. Math and Science, I was going to have to repeat. That was a mistake, but at the time, who knew? Perhaps, because of labs it was the right decision for Chemistry, but the math I could have taught myself 3 times over, and still been top of the class. In the end it meant I didn’t have Calculus in high school, which really hurt me later in college. But, water under the bridge and all that….

Where I’m headed with all this, is that it was really hard to go back to the same school. It was really good that I did, don’t misunderstand me. But it was NOT easy. I was never outgoing, never popular. I didn’t do the kinds of things teenage girls tend to do. I didn’t chatter, or join drama, or chase boys. I wasn’t the kind of girl that others wanted to invite along on an outing. Not that I didn’t do some of those, with the right friends. But I wasn’t at all outgoing. And after I came back from the hospital, I did all of those even less. I invited a neighborhood boy to be my date at the Junior Prom, so that he could meet other girls, telling him that I knew he wasn’t interested in me. I didn’t bother going to the Senior Prom.

But it WAS good for me to go back to the same school. The meaning in my life, was that I was still the same inside, and could keep going despite my disability. The message for others was equally profound, that someone else can continue despite adversity. It was healing for many of us, students and teachers alike.

But for all these years, since 1975, I’ve avoided contact with my old school. For me, those years are more pain than pleasure. I still harbor some feelings that I attended there not by my choice, so they should appeal to my mother for donations not me. And so much of the school correspondence is asking for money. I remember not liking many of the girls there, but honestly, how would a teenage girl like other teenagers when she felt excluded? Or if not excluded, at least apart?

I’ve kept in contact with just a few of my old classmates – one who lives now in PA, and another who coincidentally lives here in San Diego. While living in MD, my friend in PA invited me to a dinner where another classmate who lives in Philadelphia was there, and I was happy to see her, so that made 3 to keep in touch with. I have since had a falling out with the woman in San Diego, we not longer talk to each other, which even 4 years later is causing me a lot of pain, but not under my control.

A few months ago, one of my classmates invited me to be her friend on facebook, and I accepted. She was one of those I took the train with. And I accepted her offer to be friends, and we exchanged emails. It didn’t cause a cascade of long letters and introspection. It was good, actually. I could handle it.

This week, as facebook will do, facebook suggested I look at the school “class of 1975” page, which someone had set up just in January. To my surprise 22 people were members! This includes a couple that didn’t actually graduate, but did attend high school there, so if you count all those people too the pool of candidates is closer to 60 than 50, but 22 is still a pretty high percentage. And they were talking about a recent reunion and an award for one of our classmates, and the photos look so happy. Girls that never would have been friends in 1975 were together, posting comments on how they had had a good time. And perhaps for the first time, I wished I were part of the group. So, I added my name as a member. There’s no escaping it really, I am a member, it’s only that by adding my name to the group I’m acknowledging it.

To be able to attend a reunion though, I have to get past a few things. The first one I’ve been working on, recognizing that that was a painful time in my life, and not seeing all those women through the lens of what happened to me. The other, is being able to accept that I didn’t become what they expected of me.

I have been anxious every time I’ve signed on facebook ever since I joined that group – worrying that someone will ask me to be a friend of theirs, or communicate with me directly, scared that no one will! I fear that the old “leave her alone” attitude will prevail. They were glad I was there, a reminder that the world heals even when hurt badly, but they didn’t approach me much, include me much either. I put them in a terrible “damned if they do, damned if they don’t” position, don’t I?! At the same time, I find myself drawn to that group, seeing what I can see of someone else’s profile and photos, even if we aren’t friends. And eventually, I’ll invite some to be my friends, I’m sure. I find I’m curious about how they are doing, which surprises me.

I’ve also reread all the comments people wrote in my yearbook. Being such a small school, each senior had their own page that they could design however they chose. This meant we also had a lot of space to write in if we chose to.

Here are some of the comments people wrote in my yearbook –and I recognize that they are words from 17-18 year olds, who are feeling particularly sentimental at the time, but the fact that so many of them say similar things, is meaningful:

“I’m quickly running out of things to say – but one thing I really have to say is that your strength in personality will always make others around you respect you and your opinions. Best wishes always”

“It’s hard for me to know how to sign this yearbook, it’s meant so much for me to know you. Aside from sentimentality, thanks for the geometry aid and everything. Good luck next year and always.”

“No, chemistry books can’t bring luck but they give one a sense of confidence. Time passes by so quickly. Do you feel as old, as I do? Have a super time at MIT next year – they need you”

“I really think that you’re one of the most outstanding people I’ve ever met. I can’t begin to tell you how much I admire you. I really don’t mean to be corny, but that’s how I feel. Lots of luck and keep the faith”

“We really got to be good friends in 7th grade when you first came. Unfortunately we chose separate roads academically and haven’t been in a lot of classes together, but we’ve still had fun. I’m so glad you came back to XXXX and I admire you for your courage and confidence. I know you’ll go far”

“Wow, you are one hell of a person! I can’t believe how far you’ve gotten with SO much will. Donna, I wish you the best of luck always”

“I’m SO glad you came back. You’ve given our class so much – I’ve learned a lot from knowing you, although I don’t know you as well as I would have liked to. You’re such a neat person Donna – I had fun in art with you – you’ve got talent! The best of luck and happiness be with you always – You certainly deserve it! Thanks for coming back. I’m going to miss you.”

“I never really did get to know you that well but have always respected and admired you from a distance. Take care and I know you have a fabulous future ahead”

“I’m glad you decided to rejoin our class – we need someone with your courage and someone whom we can all look up to and respect”

“Donna - quiet, yet always there – ready to say hi and pass the time of day. Truly we had a good year”

“I wish I could have gotten to know you better….”

“I really wish we had gotten to know each other better….”

“There is so much that I need to say but I just don’t know how to express myself. I admire you so much it’s incredible. I’m super glad that you pulled the girls into 2nd place in the yo-yo contest. I’ll never forget how you do a math problem. Your mind skips 8 steps. Wild! Look, Donna, take super care of yourself.”

“I’ll always remember you as being a genius. I’m expecting great things from you at MIT. You’re a great person and I’m glad we were in the same class of 1975 Good luck always”

My closest friends I did not quote. Some said things that were more personal and clearly heartfelt, as if you could tell they were crying. Others didn’t say much at all, knowing that we weren’t saying goodbye, we’d see each other the next week and never lose touch.

A couple of teachers said interesting things too:

From the art teacher – “For Donna, who daydreamed and worked, and made my year a lot richer for being in the studio”

From a science teacher – “Dear Donna, I expect to be hearing great things from you in the future. The best of everything. Affectionately,”

And from an English teacher – “To Donna: because she sees the joke….”

Our girls’ school had a brother school across the street, and in the last 2 years of school we had a lot of classes together, not to mention social events. We got to know the boys pretty well. So, I also got one of their yearbooks, and asked many of the seniors to sign their pages. Most of the boys’ comments were along the lines of – “have a great summer, enjoy MIT” line. In general the boys were rather succinct. But 2 stood out:

“In ten years time when your (sic) done all schooling and go out into the “stream of the world” I expect to hear of great things that you’ve accomplished”

“Thanks for being the silent wonder in all those classes we were in together.”


Maybe 35 years is long enough to heal. I hope so. I’m certainly trying now to heal. I didn’t become a science wizard. My name isn’t in the news. I’m still generally speaking, the quiet one in the room, though much less so than before, and it does depend on the setting.

Aside from my family, these women are the only ones who knew me both pre and post injury, and who remember personally what happened that year. For me, it was a life-changing year, but even for them it was traumatic. Am I really ready to hear about it from their side? And will I disappoint them when they know I haven’t turned into some wizard - more to the point, can I escape the feeling of being a failure myself?

All, of this stuff, is tied into my disability package. If I try to calculate the effect of becoming a paraplegic, I have to go way back. And though I may be happy now, feel in good shape, have plenty of friends – if I look backwards, so often I find there are questions about how things might have been different, and it started from the very first day.