Haunting My High School
Haunting My High School
Wishing I wasn't in an "incredibly weird club"
Mostly, I use The Field Trip to go someplace I barely know. This week I went somewhere I once knew very well, my high school. By returning deliberately, I aimed to both see the campus as it exists today and reflect on what I had experienced and learned there more than three decades ago. As a wall there says, History Matters. Read on!
[Warning: By the end of this post, there is a discussion of gun-related violence. Please skip if you need to.]
Setting
When I was a kid, I remember being told that my high school, Marysville-Pilchuck, had the largest campus by acreage in the state. I don’t know if that is true, but it covers a lot of space. As a student-athlete, I ran around the campus more times than I can count, and it seemed big. With much less speed but a good deal more stamina, I circled the campus several times last weekend, considering the campus now and then.
The buildings — built from uninspired concrete blocks, looking even less inspired today than in the late 1980s and early 1990s — cluster in the middle surrounded by athletic fields in three directions and a patch of woods in the fourth. The majority of the core buildings remain familiar, but I noticed several new buildings too.
Along three edges of campus housing developments have metastasized, perhaps doubling since I graduated. To the east, however, farmland continues to hang on. Beyond it are hills, still covered in trees, mostly, with the Cascade Mountains keeping watch in the distance on clear days. When I visited, clouds covered them.
It may have been the weather, gray and threatening to drizzle, but the campus and adjacent area seemed more unkempt than I recall. The effect of all this is the blend of familiarity and disorientation common when you revisit a place from your past. Older eyes see new things; they remember old things, too.
Places of Importance
The truth is I visited my school to get in my daily run, but I could not resist ducking into the center part of the campus, winding my way through buildings, old and new. I found the doors to the classrooms that, considered from today, were most relevant to the life I’ve made: US History, Journalism, and English. I remembered routine assignments, classmates who helped me, teachers who guided me.
I took a lap on the track as girls soccer teams warmed up. Probably nowhere on campus did I spend more time. (More about this part of my history here.) Not only were there four years of track and cross-country practices but offseason workouts and watching both of my brothers competing there, too. I paused on the north curve, remembering the work (and play) that made those hours so memorable. This was the place where I felt most nostalgic.
Jogging along the sidewalks between buildings, I passed where my locker was shared with the person I described here. I passed where I asked a girl to the all-important winter dance. I passed the library where my mom volunteered weekly. I passed the theater where I struggled to be uninhibited in a drama class. I passed the softball fields, the soccer pitch, the football practice field, the tennis courts, the baseball diamond, the gym.
But I didn’t pass the cafeteria. The one I used no longer stands.
10 Years After
Last week marked 10 years since the tragedy of a school shooting in that cafeteria. Now, there is an empty spot on campus, like the empty spots at several families’ dinner tables and in their hearts.
This isn’t the place to describe details. You can find those if you want.
Facebook reminded me of this anniversary. One of friends had written 10 years ago: “You have joined an incredibly weird club: alums of high school shootings.” I don’t have a particularly large group of friends on Facebook, but two of them belonged to that club. How could my couple hundred friends include alumni from, now, three different high schools where such a tragedy happened?
We know why: these are increasingly common. In fact, it seems likely that today I may have more friends who belong to this club.
I wish this club in which I have been forced to join had zero members.
Reflecting (and Voting)
I finished my run with a mix of memories. So many friendships and laughs defined my years at MPHS. High school was a good time for me. The years were not perfect, but I enjoyed them. I knew few social or academic or athletic struggles that felt insurmountable. I realize I am lucky and an exception, because I can think of my years walking those grounds as happy.
Not everyone can.
On those few occasions when I have visited the campus in the last decade, a pall hovers. I cannot just remember those friends, those dates, those games. A tragedy sits squarely in this place.
In that Facebook post where my friend informed me of the “weird club” I was now unwillingly part of, I wrote: “Whatever it is you do — pray, meditate, think — I hope you can lessen some suffering for yourself and others.” I still hope this.
Given what week this is, I hope you will vote with this in mind, too.
Closing Words
Relevant Reruns
Once before I wrote about my high school time in Taking Bearings. The idiosyncratic nature of this week’s newsletter means I don’t have other relevant writing to share. As close as I can come is the opening scene of this essay which takes place during those same high school years.
New Writing
I’ve been working on some items that I’ll share when they are available.
As always, you can find my books, and books where some of my work is included, at my Bookshop affiliate page (where, if you order, I get a small benefit).
Taking Bearings Next Week
We’re back to The Library next week. It may be election-themed. Stay tuned!
Thanks for this visit to where history does indeed matter! We went about a week after the tragedy and I think about it when in the neighborhood. So sad, thanks also for the pictures…