The stay-at-home dad: Sticky lockers and middle school nerves

My oldest daughter couldn’t figure out how to use her new locker at middle school.

She remembered the combination numbers, but the precise back and forth on the dial became a crisis.

Luckily this happened on a “preview day” before the start of the year, and my wife was there to talk her through the process. I heard it took 12 tries to open.

I’m glad I wasn’t there, honestly, because I distinctly remember the same crisis back when I started the sixth grade years ago.

I wondered then why the lockers even had to lock. Who steals textbooks? Nobody wants one to begin with, let alone extras.

In all honesty, I hated middle school and especially the sixth grade. I didn’t have classes with any of my elementary school friends, and even when I saw them, they started acting weird. One best friend of mine bleached his hair and started wearing all black clothes. So, what, guy, does that mean we’re not playing Ninja Turtles after school anymore?

This past summer, I stopped myself from telling my daughter too many stories from my experience in middle school. I don’t want to shade her experience before she even gets a chance to experience it herself.

Unfortunately, she keeps saying things I remember thinking back then. Mostly normal fears, I think, but she complains about it with the gusto of a certain Tyler Wilson, circa 1995.

“I only get a 15-minute break in the morning, and they don’t even call it recess!”

“I only get 30 minutes to eat lunch! I can’t eat food in 30 minutes!”

“Why do I have to go to other classrooms? Can’t the teachers move around to where I am?”

“All the other kids are so tall!”

It’s like going back in time listening to her. You can see the genetic lineage of complaining.

Back when I went to school, my parents didn’t care much about me participating in extracurricular activities. So I didn’t, opting instead to get home as fast as I could to watch reruns of “Saved by the Bell” on TBS. That continued through middle and high school, and well, I’ve spent my entire life trying to be as antisocial as possible.

My daughter, however, will try to be a little more like her mother (we hope) by joining band and playing the clarinet. My wife played clarinet all through school and maintained some of her best friendships in band. My daughter definitely chose the clarinet so she could be more like her mom. OK, maybe also because her parents “encouraged” her to play an instrument we already owned. I don’t want to be on the market for a kid-sized tuba!

I’m writing this just a couple days before she officially starts middle school, and I’m terrified for her. She’s even going to ride a bus (!), something I did in elementary school but wouldn’t have dreamed of doing in middle school alongside the neighborhood eighth-graders who were already growing their own pencil-thin mustaches. I remember riding my bike to middle school before and after Ice Storm 1996, in part because I didn’t want to ride the bus home with those hulking, puberty-riddled bullies.

I’m worried for her, but I’m more feeling sorry for myself. My oldest is a middle schooler, which means I’m not just a parent to little kids anymore. My babies keep growing up, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

Maybe if her locker keeps sticking, she’ll quit and hang out with me instead. Is that a bad thing to hope for?

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Tyler Wilson is a freelance writer and parent to four kids, ages 5-11. He is tired. He can be reached at twilson@cdapress.com.