Hi, Reda here......

Unfortunately, every detail of my first day of Middle School is seared into my memory. I anticipated it on a level most people did not—but this experience led me to become a Middle School Teacher — and love every minute of it. Below is just the beginning of my tale.

Quirky? YEP! Awkward? Definitely! Relatable? You be the judge...

My philosophy is that if we don't remember what our experience was like, if we can't relate to adolescents, we won't be able to meet them where they're at. This is the most potent way to help young middle school students succeed.

Let's meet them in the Middle School, shall we?

Red-Carpet Reda

In the heart of a slowly evolving mountain town during the vibrant, early 1980s, kids were left to navigate the complexities of adolescence, each dreaming of a future filled with promise and possibility. Among them was me, Reda, a young girl fueled by high expectations and the unwavering belief that I could, and would, make my wildest dreams come true. However, the journey was far from straightforward. With a world of limitations defined by adults and society at large, and up against my own experiences and observations, I faced the daunting challenge of turning my aspirations into reality. With patience as my number-one weakness, I expected glory in my first year of middle school. Why not me? Someone would rise to the top. I knew nothing else of middle school culture. I only knew of social structures such as “being popular.”

It's a familiar narrative: many children harbor grand dreams yet grapple with an unclear path to achieve them. Family structures often impose rigid expectations, while societal institutions like schools can inadvertently stifle ambition. In American culture, coming-of-age stories frequently portray awkwardness and struggle, leaving one to question: Why does this happen? Are we too cautious, akin to the analogy of the butterfly, where intervention might hinder rather than help?

I believe there are concrete steps we can take to support young dreamers while allowing them to embrace the necessary struggles that foster growth. It’s time to rethink how we nurture potential, ensuring that the next generation not only survives but thrives.

As a middle school teacher for nearly twenty years, I believe that, to best serve their academic needs, we must fully immerse ourselves in their psyches. How can we do that? Though much has changed in our culture since we, ourselves, were in this phase of life, I say we start with our own memories. Some of the issues facing pre-teens are timeless. Let’s journey through some crazy scenarios in order to fully consider our approach in the classroom. If there’s one thing I could’ve said, had I been given the opportunity to, it would have been

“Listen to me. Take me seriously. I believe I matter, but I sense that you don’t think I do.”

Me, the Middle School Student- Observations & Inferences

For years, I’d admired the stylish teens at church, which was the only place where I had access to real teenagers. I was just a small child and could really only look up and observe them. The two I remember were Missy and Gayle. Missy rocked a sleek white-and-blue wrap-around skirt, complete with nude nylons and fancy shoes that looked like they belonged on a runway. Gayle, on the other hand, wore a long prairie dress with lace trim; the lace that looked like a mini hole puncher had gone to town on it. These girls were the epitome of cool, with hair curled and feathered rather than tied up in pigtails with cotton ribbons like my peers and my sisters. My hair was so thick that my mom gave in and cut it into a short boy cut. I would watch Missy and Gayle hanging out with tall, mysterious boys who seemed to know how to talk like actual grown-ups. I was in awe.

Someday, I thought, I’d be just like them. I’d have a leather saddlebag purse, high-heeled shoes with nylons, and most importantly, talk to boys! I was still unaware that styles would differ by the time I reached this phase, but these were the specifics of my dream. I envisioned a handsome guy picking me up in his Z-28 or Trans-Am, taking me on a date where we’d laugh and flirt as a couple would. I didn’t really know what a date entailed, but I was convinced it would involve a kiss on the lips! In my mind, I was a kissable star in the making, just waiting for my moment to shine.

Finally, I turned 12.

I was about to embark on the most monumental journey of my life: Junior High. At least, that’s how I saw it. My parents had their sights set on me working hard and getting good grades, but I had two very important goals of my own: Getting pretty and getting popular.

At 12 years old, I believed that all I needed was a little fashion upgrade and some confidence to launch me into a world of teenage fame. I could practically see the spotlight shining down on me as I stepped onto the figurative stage of Junior High School, with its accompanying spotlight ready to show the world what I was made of. Little did I know that the reality of middle school would be a violent roller coaster of awkwardness, but hey, at least I had my dreams, a newish hairstyle, and a shiny new outfit!

My plan involved acquiring a wardrobe that screamed high fashion, which I assumed would instantly translate to beauty and popularity. I was determined to find the ever-elusive and currently trending item in fashion: knickerbocker pants. Yes, those buckle-at-the-knee-length pants that looked like they were designed for 1800s poverty-stricken English children begging for food, and also the poofy pants worn by old men golfers. In 1982, these were the hottest trends… for about two weeks, and it goes without saying that the two-week period had likely passed.

Coming from a family of nine kids, new clothes were about as common as a solar eclipse, so how I planned on acquiring this new fashionable wardrobe would be as interesting as finding a unicorn in a haystack. As it turns out, I found a unicorn kernel at my grandma’s house. During my summer visit, my grandma kindly and surprisingly offered to take me shopping. This was a rare offer, and I was practically giddy with excitement as we arrived at the store. A real store that didn’t have the word “used,” “thrift,” or “salvation” in its title. A real, albeit discount store: Kmart.

I let the smell of popcorn dance on my nostril hairs for only seconds upon entering, with no intention of buying the 3-foot-long bag of buttery goodness as per usual. Then, making a beeline to the clothing section, I spotted something on the clearance rack. There it was. I had actually found the coveted symbol of my newfound celebrity. I viewed the whole ensemble, complete with the dark purple corduroy knee-buckle bottoms and a coordinating blouse that had a ruffled collar and poofy cap sleeves with, you guessed it, more ruffles. It was a striped masterpiece.

After a little "pretending to browse" act, because, of course, I had to lure Grandma back to the holy grail of clothing racks, I finally got my hands on the outfit. We checked out, and I salivated all the way home, so excited to try it on. With Grandma gone to work and Grandpa off on an errand, I seized the opportunity to see how fabulous I looked. I ripped off the tags and slipped into the knickerbockers, admiring the buckles and thinking, “Hmm… these are definitely poofier than Jackie’s and Dee Dee’s, the stylish duo from sixth-grade fashion fame, but this is probably even more fashionable!” I settled on the idea that they must be the next iteration of fashionable design. Knickerbockers Two Point O. “Oh” is right.

Ignoring this mild issue and forcing myself to feel like a superstar, I strutted out of Grandma’s house and headed toward the county fair just a block away. Sure, I usually wouldn’t go anywhere without my friends, but this was different. I was in a new state, far from my usual crowd, and I had a brand-new outfit that demanded to be shown off. With every step, I felt like I was walking the red carpet, a dress rehearsal for my first day at the big school called Junior High. My confidence soared as I imagined everyone’s eyes on me, obviously admiring my fabulousness.

I did not care that my corduroy knickerbockers made a “zip-whoosh” sound with every stride! I was an emerging fashion icon in my own mind, and the smell of starched cotton was intoxicating. Brand-new clothes were such a treat; I usually only smelled them at a clothing store. I could practically hear the applause as I walked past the carnival rides. Little did I know, I probably looked more like a hot-air balloon ready to take off. But hey, in that moment, I was living my best life, and nothing could burst my bubble of youthful naiveté!

As I strutted into my first day of middle school, I was rocking that purple hot air balloon ensemble. Seriously, these pants looked like they were designed for a circus clown. But wait, it got better! I paired them with blue-and-white striped tennis shoes—aka "Trax" from Kmart —knee-high cotton tube socks, and a Dorothy Hamill haircut, fitting only for the famous Olympic ice skater herself. Oh, and let’s not forget the blue eye shadow that was applied with all the precision of a toddler wielding a crayon, no doubt highlighting my crooked teeth and freckled face of desire.

I had all these lofty ideas about what I needed to succeed in middle school, but boy, was I in for a reality check! My priorities were definitely out of whack. Equations needed to be solved, and not just in my pre-algebra class, if you catch my drift. While I was busy obsessing over fashion and boys, academics barely registered on my radar. I mean, I thought that my smooth sailing through elementary school, reading and math, and playground antics would magically carry me through middle school. Not even balloon pants would do that as it turns out.

Never mind the fact that back in sixth grade, I had zero study skills or habits, rarely had to turn homework assignments in, let alone on time, and didn’t even bother to check what I needed to bring home each night. It’s like I thought school would just take care of itself while I focused on perfecting my eye shadow while walking my own imaginary red carpet in my neat-o outfits for the cute boys. I was presumptuous, optimistic to the max, and ignorantly ready to take on the world! Little did I know, the higher my knicker-bocker balloon pants lifted me, the harder I was going to fall when they inevitably popped. Spoiler alert: they popped on day one.

Welcome to the Roller Coaster of Middle School, where the only thing that deflated faster than my new outfit was my self-esteem - and my grades.