School

I had a dream, the other night. I'm no longer sure of the details — days have passed, and the nature of my dreams is inevitably less than transparent, anyway — but I have this vague recollection of seeing people I used to go to school with.

I always felt somewhat isolated from my classmates — that's partly because of who I am, but this was a very small class in a private school, and most of the students had already spent years together there. And we didn't seem to have much in common. I was already beginning to lose interest in formal, structured learning, by that point, but I liked the environment there, especially the teachers. This is the sort of school I'd like to send my son to, one day.

I've been told that I made a very impressive pitch to the Headmaster to gain admission — I really don't remember, but the alternative was this enormous, intimidating public school in a backwards rural area, one that I was eager to avoid. So I must have been as convincing as I was desperate. (I was somehow able to skip the 11th grade in the process, the benefit of having moved from a state with the educational standards of New York to Kentucky.)

My diploma has long since been misplaced — but the each member of the graduating class was given a hand crafted mug from Louisville Stoneware, with the school logo and our names painted on them. Mine sits on a shelf near my desk. (The handle has broken and been reattached many times through the years.)