They year was 1977. It was my senior year in high school. Classes had finally gotten to the point where everything was pretty easy and all one was expected to do was continue to show up, put in a modicum of effort and at the end of the school year graduation would happen and that would be the end of one’s days in public school.
I was looking forward to that because I’ve always hated school. Mind you I didn’t mind learning in the least. In fact I’ve always enjoyed learning new stuff. I just didn’t like the setting, the crowds of people and the fact that no matter how hard I tried to fit in, I was always kind of an outsider.
Then a counselor pulled me in for a talk. Somehow I was half a credit short and because of this I would not be able to graduate with the rest of the class of ’77. Instead I was going to have to take one semester of classes the next year.
I didn’t mind that everybody else was checking out all of the best high school class rings or deciding on what the formal wear for the senior prom, heck, I didn’t ever expect to go in the first place. One doesn’t go to such things alone after all.
What I minded the most is the fact that I had to do another half year and that nobody seemed to be able to explain to me just exactly where that half credit went.
Then again, It shouldn’t have surprised me. That kind of thing had been happening to me all my life… and has continued to happen since then too.