Family Ties: The New Town, Road Trips, & The Eldest Hits Middle School

Fifth grade started in a new town. I went from being outgoing, well-liked, and generally very bubbly to quiet, timid, and shy to the point of awkwardness. I was not excited to be starting over with new friends and new teachers.

The summer had gone fairly well. We had moved in during a snow storm the previous spring. While painting the house, we met one neighbor kid, a boy who was between my sister and I in age. When he felt like it, the three of us could entertain ourselves for hours, running around playing our own versions of cops and robbers. When he didn't, Mia Sorella and I would play Sam and the War, an inexplicably complicated game that required more imagination than I can fathom now. If we weren't doing that, we were pretending to be rock stars and putting together huge music sets with the CDs that were just then becoming commonplace.

I liked the house and I loved the space, but I had no idea what to actually expect from these "country kids," and I wasn't excited at all about riding the bus to school every morning.

The trials of the new became commonplace rather quickly. Our bus driver was generally cranky but tolerable. My teacher was notoriously unfriendly but liked me. The kids in my class seemed to like me but mostly lumped me in with the other "smart kids" -- even though I was behind them all in several subjects. Seemed my new town had an edge on the bigger school I had been attending.

But I was a pretty bright kid and I caught up quickly. Soon, I was even making friends again, although it would be several years before I shook my newly acquired fear of boys. A couple of boys were okay -- the others scared the dickens out of me.

Sixth grade marked my transition from awkward elementary school kid to awkward, acne-prone middle school kid. It also marked the first time I would ever talk to a guidance counselor. Unfortunately, I was at a time in my life where I was fearful of change -- and there were a lot of things changing.

I made my first lasting friendships that year, too; two other girls and I would become basically inseparable for most of middle school.

Things were going well at home. I didn’t understand what all of my friends were talking about when they described arguments with their mothers. My mom and I got along wonderfully, almost unrealistically well.

Mia Sorella had started playing club soccer. With that came the first of dozens of family weekend trips. Now, March through October were almost wholly devoted to soccer -- either all three of us were playing in the area rec league, or she was playing for the weekend somewhere in Minnesota.

I don't remember when we started singing in the car, but it had something to do with these frequent trips. It wasn't normal singing, however. It was "The Simpsons."

---

(To the tune of "Be My Guest" from Disney's "Beauty and the Beast")

Mr. Burns:
You see, some men hunt for sport
Others hunt for food.
The only thing I'm hunting for (*ding*)
Is an outfit that looks good ...

See my vest, see my vest
Made from real gorilla chest
See this sweater, there's no better
Than authentic Irish Setter
See this hat -- 'twas my cat
My evening wear, vampire bat
These white slippers are albino
African endangered rhino
Grizzly bear underwear
Turtles' necks I've got my share
Pray a poodle on my noodle it shall rest
Try my red robin suit; it comes one breast or two
See my vest, see my vest, see my vest!

Like my loafers? Former gophers
It was that or skin my chauffeurs
But a greyhound for tuxedo would be best
So let's prepare these dogs
(Kill two for matching clogs!)
See my vest
See my vest
Oh please, won't you see my vest!

I really like the vest!
Smithers: I gathered that, sir

Lisa: Ahh! He's gonna make a tuxedo out of our puppies!
Bart: Na na na, na na na, na na naaaaa!
Lisa: Bart!!
Bart: Sorry. You gotta admit -- it's catchy.

---

Oh yeah. Terrible, hm? I typed all of that from memory. And we can still sing that one. In three-part harmony. Of sorts, because our family isn't exactly known for their musical abilities.

Road trips were completely different with us. I took on my role of team babysitter and pack mule surprisingly happily -- I was just thrilled to be useful. And I enjoyed hanging out with the soccer moms, although for the life of me I can't explain why.

Life was still idyllic. We had the house, the dog, the cats, the two and a half (because I refused to acknowledge my pipsqueak brother as a whole) kids, the mom and dad that were still together. We ate most dinners together, spent most weekends together, and we -- the kids -- came home with disgustingly good report cards every quarter.

It wasn't until I reached high school that things at home ever seemed to go wrong.