As I write this, someone I know and care about is going through that particular rite of passage — that institutionalized hell we call Grade Nine. 

Ah… the memories…

My expectations of high school had been high. I had looked forward to starting grade nine with enthusiasm. After all, I had an older sister who (through my eyes) made high school look like a blast. I was expecting fun. An adventure.

I had a fine start. My grade nine occurred back in the days of sanctioned hazing. As part of the initiation rites I was made to stand in a garbage pail and sing something about being right where I belonged. For my efforts, I won the ‘Squirt Queen’ title. Surely winning that honour meant I was going to be the most popular kid and the rest of grade nine would be like a fairy tale come true.

Oh. So wrong. I did not even realize how much I didn’t fit in. For example, a boy I thought was cool asked me, “How old are you anyway? Eight?” I was fourteen. When I look back at my grade nine pictures I have to acknowledge that the cool kid was right. I did look about eight. 

Flat chested and skinny beyond description, (‘Chicken Legs’), I was mostly still a kid. I wasn’t playing with toys or sucking my thumb, but I had not yet figured out how to be a teenager. Once I realized that all the other kids were into this thing called adolescence I was lost.

When I talk with other adults about their grade nine experience, everyone describes having felt like a loser. Bad hair, bad style, no friends, teasing, bullying, not making the team, the stupidest-worst parents on the planet, and so on. Even the kids who seemed so perfect at the time describe having struggled to fit in.

Life is funny. The most comforting thing about being in grade nine is there are other grade niners who are feeling just as awkward, who are looking at you and wishing they had your hair, your style, your coolness. Or, there are other grade niners of equivalent dorkiness and immaturity. High schools are big places. The tribe is there. 

Acknowledge you are scared silly and show up anyway. It’s a practice run for the rest of your life. Take the age old advice of ‘just be yourself’ and things will start to happen. One foot in front of the other.

You got this. We got you.

For me, a combination of my immature half-child demeanour and my terrible math abilities (27% was my final mark) meant I had to repeat grade nine. Yes, as if it wasn’t bad enough the first time, they made me do it again. But really it turned out for the best. I finally caught up to my peers. 

It’s not like I sailed through the remainder of high school. There were unrequited crushes, I tried out for the school play and bombed, I never went to prom and wah-wah-wah, but truth be told… once I got into the swing of high school and made a few friends, I had my share of the fun and adventure I’d been expecting.

And that’s the thing. The payoff for surviving the awkwardness of grade nine means you get to become one of the seniors the grade niners wish they were. 

Grade nine might be a sort of practice run, but it is not a reliable indicator for the rest of your life, or even the rest of high school. Thank the great goddess above for that. 

One final note… most adults know someone who peaked in high school. You don’t want to be that guy. Seriously. If those are your glory years, it’s gonna be a long life. 

And one more final note, I wish there had been less emphasis on “What do you want to do?” and more emphasis on “Who do you want to be?” Those are very different questions.

If any readers have a grade nine story they’d like to share, please comment.

Enjoy the holiday season! I will take a break now until Sunday January 7th.

Stay safe everyone.

Anne Milne is an every Sunday blogger.  Facebook or email.