Sage Advice from High School

I jumped at the chance to follow Mama Kat's instructions in writing prompt #4 this week:  Dig out your high school yearbook and share a message a friend wrote that stands out to you.

Once I finally found my yearbooks (upstairs office, bottom shelf, dusty!), I had a great time flipping through them and reading the comments and quips from almost twenty years a few years ago.

I had the expected "it was fun being with you in class" notes, the gushing "I am so glad we're friends!" sentiments, the overused "stay sweet!", and the occasional expression of undying, forever love from the boyfriend of the season. All of whom, it turns out, did not love me forever.

But my favorites? The sage advice from teens. The sarcastic comments that made me laugh out loud (LOL... we didn't even know what that meant back then!).

So, from the class of 1996, er, I mean the class of "not really that long ago"...

Sage Advice from a High School Yearbook

• "Quit hitting me" -- from a good guy friend whom, apparently, I liked to hit
• "Don't eat any dynamite" -- from someone with a completely illegible signature
• "If you find a lump, consult a doctor" -- from an anonymous health safety expert
• "Remember, don't eat yellow snow" -- not what I was hoping for, from a guy I adored
• "Don't cross your legs, it's a bad habit" -- from fellow flute player, who also crossed her legs
• "Uh, check out my butt or something" -- from a kid who liked Beavis & Butthead too much 
• "When you get to my planet, be careful. You'll cause a riot" -- I don't even know how to explain this one

                                                                                   See me?

  

Je parle le français... sort of

She lumbered into room 203, in the section of the school we called the "language pod". We momentarily paused from our high school gossip and giggles and cast our eyes upward to check out our new French teacher. There she stood, no more than five-foot-one, plump, and with a glowing grin across her face.

"BAHWN-JOW-UR, class! Bahwn-jow-ur!"

Eighteen young faces stared back at her and every mouth remained silent. This was our French teacher? Her name was Dawnella, and she had the thickest Southern drawl I had ever heard.

"Ah said BAHWN-JOW-UR, class! That means hello." Again, she smiled at us broadly with white gleaming teeth. Her expectant gaze swept across each of our faces; her eyes pleaded for a response.

A couple students dared to giggle. The rest of us attempted to mimic the French greeting.

"Bonjour?", we repeated, more a question than a reply.

Dawnella clapped her hands and bobbed her fleshy head up and down, praising our efforts. I shuffled a bit in my desk seat, picked at some initials carved in the surface, glanced sideways at my friend. She peeked over at me. We stifled our laughter. This was going to be an interesting semester.

We learned the basics of the French language that year, but in a truly unique Tennesseean way. The teacher ended up being a lot of fun, and I remember her fondly. But our French accents? Were nothing short of horrific. No native Frenchman would ever understand our ramblings.

So yes, Je parle le français.... sort of.


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Write a piece of creative non-fiction in which turns of phrase, dialect, slang, or colloquialisms feature prominently.

WW: Senior Hottie Link-Up

I was going to skip Wordless Wednesday this week.

Thanks to A Belle, A Bean, A Chicago Dog, I have to join in! Welcome to my submission for the "I Was A Senior Hottie" (um... not) link-up:

  

Honestly? I don't think I look drastically different these days. I have new crinkles around my eyes, some gray hairs here and there, and a few (ahem) extra pounds. But thankfully, I've learned how to tame my hair (it has "horizontal tendencies"). It is much less poofy these days... whew.

I wish I could find my photo where I'm wearing a very short dress and holding my flute. Because, you know, nothing is cooler than a senior photo with a band instrument.

Got a blog and some guts? Link up your photos through May 30th!