7.16.09

I like to Google old schools occasionally. I don’t know why, really, but I do. I like to see how the buildings have changed or if the grounds have been altered.

I always start with Roydvale Primary school which was the first school I went to when I moved to New Zealand. I loved it there, though the other kids weren’t always the friendliest. I understand though. I’m not your average bear in any way so I could see how I didn’t fit in exactly with the other kids. I’m not worried about that, and it doesn’t hinder the fact that the kids and staff were amazingly nice for the most part and that New Zealand is the most beautiful place in the world.

It is.

I’ve checked.

They have new pictures up and the buildings are the same, they still have the same tree standing that I used to eat under. They changed the park and added a new one for the smaller kids. The uniform is the same.

The staff doesn’t look familiar at all, but why would they? I went there about fifteen years ago, so why anyone would still be kicking around would be beyond me.

It’s bittersweet in ways that I can’t really describe. Not that I’m holding back or anything, I’m not. I don’t like the idea of putting out less than everything (that’s the extremist in me). I really can’t describe it. Maybe I ache for the days when there was so little to worry about and I know those days will never be back again.

Maybe I just miss the surroundings and nice folks.

Maybe I miss reading during lunch.

I don’t know. I just look at these pictures and think of the times I had.

And before anyone starts thinking bad about me, this isn’t really different than dragging out a dusty photo album to stroll down memory lane.

I really wish I could put Annie and the baby in that school. It’s a good one. I learned a ton from that school and did a LOT of things under adult supervision that most American parents would flip out about.

We read a book for three hours straight and took care of math the next day.

We make miniature hot air balloons and filled the basket with ethanol spirits as fuel. Let me repeat: we were in fourth grade.

Ah, youth. I miss it.

Sometimes I’m tempted to email back and see if someone can get me a phone number or email (preferably email) for one of the teachers from there that taught me, but I don’t. I’m not kidding, I didn’t fit in as a kid. I don’t even know what made me so weird, but I was nonetheless. I don’t think anyone really liked me.

Oh well. There are still some memories from there that I really liked. Going to the parks, going to movies, playing cricket. I definitely miss playing cricket.

-Russ