Dear Middle School Me


Anyone who says they don’t have regrets is a stone cold liar. Everyone has them. I look back at one of the most frustrating times of my life and where the most concentrated amounts of my regrets lie; middle school. I regret not studying more, choosing the wrong friends, liking the wrong guys and so on. Twelve-year-old Cidney will never read these letters but to know that I have grown away from past choices will always be enough for me.

Dear Middle School Me,

The boy…a wonderful and useful invention God created for our pleasure. Unfortunately, all inventions have their flaws. Some more than others, some being boys. The simplicity of a boy is what makes him so complex. Females tend to look into things, analyze them, and break them down to try and find the true meaning behind their existence. Boys have no such desire in the world.  They live only to breathe, to eat, to sleep, and to bask in life’s simple satisfactions, but never to think. That is a woman’s job. You as a young girl have to understand there is no such beast as a “mature boy”. There can be a boy who has unintentionally stumbled upon a thought but trust me when I say he didn’t stick around long enough to see it through. When a young girl finds herself moving on to each next level in her education, such as middle school, high school, or college, she inevitably makes the mistake of thinking that the boys moving along with her will suddenly mature to a level that will equal her own and allow them to have a decent conversation concerning life and it’s many wonders. This is a mistake. This mistake has caused many young women to find themselves scurrying home in a fit of frustration, fling themselves to their bed, and cry as they wonder why their sweetheart doesn’t seem to understand their current problem. This problem can range from a seemingly innocent joke he made about your new outfit to why they can’t seem to have a conversation that doesn’t venture back to something stupid he and his friends did this past weekend. Go to your mother and ask her, “Why does he always (fill in annoying habit)?” Undoubtedly your mother will reply,”Because he’s a boy!”

*Personal Story Break*

It was sixth grade and sometime during the first week of school, my eyes had landed on a boy who was simply gorgeous. He was the epitome of every middle school girl’s fantasy man. Keep in mind that around twelve years old I didn’t have a lot to compare a “man” to other than my father. I didn’t know his name so my best friend and I called him “White t-shirt boy” since that was usually his clothing of choice. Later in the next few weeks, we found out what his actual name was but for this story, we will call him “P”. He was the dreamboat of the sixth grade.  Every girl had a crush on him, including me and my best friend. Within the first half of the year, I found that my grades were not quite up to par so my mother enrolled me in the after-school tutoring program. On the very first day, I found myself face-to-face, or rather side-by-side to my object of love and over the next few weeks, we found ourselves flirting. I had pretty much convinced myself that he liked me. On one day in particular, P and I excused ourselves from the classroom (our teacher never paid much attention).

We were walking down one of the 6th grade hallways when he asked me in his sultry pre-pubescent voice, “Do you like me?”

I lit up at his question; we were bound to be boyfriend and girlfriend by the end of the day!

“Yes.” I replied as coolly as I could manage.

He leaned forward with a dreamy look on his face and I felt my eyes begin to flutter close in anticipation of what was inevitably coming, and then he responded, “Well then can I see your boobs?”

My eyes shot open and I stared blankly at him, he had to be kidding. Unfortunately, he wasn’t.

I went from zero to 60 in .2 seconds. “You want to see my boobs but you can’t even have the decency to kiss me first?!?”

I turned to storm off and was about halfway down the hall when I felt a hand on my arm spin me around and before I could quite make sense of it I felt lips pressed against mine, it felt like a Julia Roberts movie, except I was twelve and he was lame. He let go of me and I leaned back to view the look of satisfaction on his now stupidly grinning face. Before either one of us could say anything I turn to continue my walk out of the door, I remember taking a step towards the water fountain but changed my mind when I realized he might think I was trying to rinse his kiss away, so I side stepped the other way. I realized that this might have looked like I was stumbling on myself as I took two quick steps in completely opposite directions, I felt like a fool. I thought to myself maybe, just maybe he had corrected his mistake and decided to take his feelings for me seriously. Well for twelve years old, P could only take his feelings for me as seriously as he took his feelings for any other girl, which was not at all.

Alas, we did not talk much after that. He pretty much ignored me and I got over my crush surprisingly quickly and moved on to an 8th grader who starred in most of the school plays.

Give me a break, I’ve always been fickle.

Bottom line, you are young, there is time, and all broken hearts heal. Study dumbass.

Sincerely and with love,

The You Who Knows Better at 28

P.S. I checked P’s Facebook, he looks terrible.

1 thought on “Dear Middle School Me”

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