New kid at school

When I was growing up, there were always two nights when I had an especially difficult time going to sleep.

The first, of course, was Christmas Eve. You know, the visions of sugarplums dancing in my head kind of restlessness. Santa Claus due on the roof at any moment.

The other fitful night always came before the first day of school. Not only was it tough to get out of the summer mode – sleeping late and freedom from the burden of homework – but I was always a bit nervous, too.

Come to think of it, I was always nervous. It was extra hard on me because I forever the “new kid at school.’’ My family was constantly moving around because my father was in the military. I once counted we moved nine times in 13 years.

The words “New Kid” might as well have been tattooed on my forehead. My childhood was marked by a revolving set of challenges. Make new friends. Try to fit in.

I went back and pulled a column I wrote in August 2000 about being the new kid at school.

Since today is the first day of school in Bibb County – and many surrounding counties started classes last week – I offer it today as advice for new kids and old kids alike.

When he was 9 years old, his father appeared in his room one morning, sat on the edge of the bed and announced that the family was moving to Virginia.

The young boy felt the rush of butterflies inside. Except for the first few months of his life, he had never lived anywhere but LaGrange.

Life was comfortable in the mill town near the Georgia-Alabama border. He walked to school every morning. He knew everybody from Mr. Bill at the service station to Mr. Bittick at the hardware store. He had been carrying a crush on a girl named Phoebe since the third grade.

Now that this young boy's family was moving out of the radar range of familiarity, his sheltered lifestyle was over. He wondered if he would find another creek where he could catch salamanders. In this strange new place, would he be able to look across a vacant sandlot and hit imaginary home runs into the tall pine trees?

And so it began. Six different addresses over the next six years. His family owned the kind of furniture that jumped into moving vans at the snap of a finger. The toughest part, however, came at the end of every summer.

He was forever the "new kid" at school.

It's easy for me to remember that young boy. Especially this time of year, when the school bells are ringing again. My emotions are resurrected when I think of those children who must pack an extra measure of courage with their school supplies on the first day of class.

I have seen that look on their faces. I have felt that lump in their throats. I know what it's like to have other kids sizing you up and shutting you out. I know how it is to eat alone in the school cafeteria.

That's why I have a soft spot in my heart for every new kid at school. If you haven't figured it out by now, I was the uprooted little boy described above. I was the new kid who had no choice but to interpret new faces, learn new locker combinations and, in some cases, re-invent ways to act and talk just to fit in.

I don't intend to paint a depressing past. The damage was not irreparable. I turned out OK. Except for those years when my father was a Navy physician, my childhood was stable. My parents have now lived in the same house for 30 years.

If anything, those nomadic years toughened my skin. I learned other children can be cruel. As an outsider, I had to work hard to be accepted. I didn't always succeed. I survived on a cold island of insecurity.

When we moved to a very aristocratic section of Virginia, some of my classmates teased me unmercifully about my deep Southern drawl. By the time I made the conversational conversion, and started pronouncing "awnt" instead of "aunt" and "hoose" instead of "house," it was time to break the vernacular again and move away.

In Jacksonville, Fla., I had to adjust to being the new kid at school twice in 15 months. Because of the climate and the dress code, most boys wore white socks.

When we moved to Atlanta for my eighth-grade year, and I showed up for the first day of school in white socks, I immediately was branded as a redneck. It took a year to shake that reputation.

In the past few days, I've observed "new" kids being led into classrooms, many still clinging to their mothers and fathers. My lips start to quiver, and I'm 9 years old again.

My 600 words this morning are devoted to young people. I hope their parents and teachers will make sure all eyes are open and all ears are clean.

There are new kids at your school who sure could use a friend. Why not be one?

One day, you might need one, too.