I loved high school. I can say that unreservedly.
As a child, I was almost pathologically shy, so much so that the simple act of riding a crowded school bus sent me into hysterics. Phone calls were made to my parents on an almost daily basis from school because something as innocuous as a fire drill upset me.
By junior high, I had gotten over most of it, but by then I was a moderately overweight teenager with huge breasts, which made me a target. Certain members of the football team and a couple of cheerleaders made me their pet project. (I'm remembering YOU, former classmate who made it to the NFL and peaked early.) Lots of taunts and jeers in the cafeteria which I finally learned to ignore with the support of my small cache of friends, God bless 'em.
Then I made it to West Charlotte High School as a member of the Class of 1975 and found heaven. Learned to have fun and that it wasn't a sin to talk when the teacher left the room. I joined the choir, made it into the class with the gifted English students, and found my place. I loved it.
Its halls were also where I had my greatest embarrassment.
In the 9th grade at Eastway Junior High, I won a journalism award for my work on the paper, and there was to be a ceremony for all of the winners. My mother went to Julie's, THE place to buy cool clothes, and bought me a beautiful - for the early '70s, anyhow - dress. It was white with navy blue stars sprinkled on it, and it had a navy blue belted sleeveless sweater vest that went over it. I looked fabulous in it, so fabulous that if David Cassidy had met me back then he would have fallen in love right on the spot.
One morning in my first year at West Charlotte, I wore the dress to school, wanting to impress. I was also wearing panty hose with, for some reason, my underwear OVER them rather than under. I still don't know why unless I thought that was what one was supposed to do.
It was a cool fall morning. I got off Bus 191 with my friend Jan and headed up the main hall, where I was thrilled to see that the guy I had a crush on, Steve, was walking directly in front of me. Of course he already had a girlfriend - a cute little cheerleader who was really a nice girl - but I could dream, couldn't I?
About the time Jan and I came near the front office, I began to feel something strange around my knees, and a couple of girls giggling behind me. I looked down and promptly wanted to die.
The elastic in my underwear had broken and it was around my knees. And it wasn't a cute pair of bikini briefs. These were granny panties, the only ones that had been clean.
Kids all around me began to snicker. I did the only thing I knew to do - I made it into the girls' bathroom, Jan laughing madly all the way with me, took them off and shoved them into my navy blue purse, meant to match my outfit.
My biggest relief was that Steve had been ahead of me and never turned around.
However, the story made its way all over West Charlotte High School by the end of the day. When I walked into my late afternoon math class, a guy who thought he was being funny had written "Panties Dropper" on the blackboard and drawn a caricature. The teacher, normally a humorless woman, cracked a smile and asked if I'd had a tough day, and made him erase it. Great. Now even the teachers were laughing over it.
Nobody remembered the fab dress, but they sure remembered the underwear. (The least they could have said was, "yeah, she lost her underwear but she sure looked pretty!") I became legend, and it was still being brought up when yearbooks came out in the summer - several people either signed it "To Panties Dropper" or asked if the elastic in my underwear was still good.
And yes, on occasion it's still brought up.
I wish I could still fit into that dress.
