The year was 1997. The internet was but a twinkle in Al Gore’s eye. And my senior year was underway at Suburbia’s John Glenn High School. If you were to ask me to describe my High School career in one word, it would be difficult. No, I mean, difficult would be the word.
It was difficult for many reasons, including the general adolescence factor and awkwardness of the teenage years. One thing I do remember, besides cardboard pizza, was the fact that the halls of the school were crowded. Very crowded. Crowded to the point that it was a good thing we were eating pizza, since the grease offered a sort-of lubricant that helped us squeeze through the hallways.
Today, pizza or not, the teachers are on strike in Wayne-Westland. Students showed up at 7:15, ready for Algebra and basic fence building classes, only to find that all the teachers were gone. The teachers claim (rightly so) that the classes are packed. Critics claim that the teachers just want more money. And students are, well, back to sleep. And I join them, vicariously, since a strike is like a snow day. My parent-life, though, makes me think that it would be best if this thing only lasted a few days, since no one wants to either 1)make up school in July or 2)lose an entire year and end up in 13th grade. That’s for Canadians.