I graduated from Father Lopez Catholic High School in Daytona Beach, Florida in 1991. I was, if I remember correctly, the Vice President of my Senior class. I was on the Model United Nations and in the drama club. I spent a few months on the swim team and on the track team. I was in and out of the French club. I was in and out of detention much, much more frequently. I loved my teachers. I loved my classmates. I had a great time in high school.
When I graduated they put a plaque with my photo on it on the wall of the cafeteria, the first “Crest of the Wave” award … er … awarded. I took all the honors classes offered. I had a stellar GPA and I produced, wrote, and starred in our Homecoming pep rally. I got suspended once for lighting the door to the teacher’s lounge on fire. I had — literally — the keys to the campus and would go on weekends to help teachers with projects. Over the course of one semester I managed to methodically and surreptitiously steal each and every one of the bathroom hall passes. I was voted “Most Intelligent” in my Senior yearbook. I was the DJ for our school dances. I was the star of the theater department.
We were the Fighting Green Waves and we had a ridiculous cheer about “rolling, rolling, rolling” over the competition:
Deep down in the ocean (Deep down in the ocean!)
I heard a great roar (I heard a great roar!)
Was a mighty mighty wave (Was a mighty mighty wave!)
And it went like this (And it went like this!)
Rolly-rolly-rolly roll! (Rolly-rolly-rolly roll!)
I didn’t just love my high school. I ruled my high school.
So it was with some sadness today that I read that they’re tearing down my old school. It will soon be replaced by a Super Wal-Mart. They’re building a new school way out on LPGA Blvd. It’s an odd feeling. I no longer keep in touch with any of my classmates and I haven’t visited the campus since about a year after I graduated. But it was my high school, dammit. My parents were divorced when I was very young so I don’t really have a “home” from my childhood. Both my maternal grandparents have died and their home is not in our family any more. My mom seems to move to a new house every four or five years. My paternal grandmother sold her house in Massachusetts a few years ago and moved to a new place in Rhode Island. My dad got divorced (from his second wife) so the house where I spent my summers is now owned by some randoms. I am very much a man without a past. Now that my high school will soon be gone, there is not a single physical location from my youth remaining. That’s kind of a bummer.
{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }
They are tearing it down? That is so sad……..you forgot the part in your write up about how when you were in High School, EVERY girl had a crush on you, including the female teachers
Yeah, David, I know how you feel. When Nana sold her house, it was like the very last place that I felt I called home for some point in my life was gone. I never felt that so much about Lopez, but I was disappointed to hear that it was going to become another vacuum for consumerism. I have come to realize that with the bouncing around from FL to RI the one constant throughout my childhood in actuality was YOU. You are the root to my childhood. I suppose that is why I enjoy sending you silly 80’s toys and thingamajigs so much. Thank you, David, for being my big brother. Love you!
I, too, feel like somewhat of a vagabond. I don’t expect to be in Gainesville for more than another year or two, and, then, I don’t know where I’ll land - possibly near you and Tricia if you manage to procreate.
The longest I ever lived in the same homes were in Warwick (10 yrs) and Daytona. We were there for about 20 years or so. But it’s still not home.
If Nana was alive, wherever she was would be my home. Jen says that home is where I am. So, maybe home is not a place at all, but the one place where you always know you’re loved without fail.
You and Jen are always in my heart and always loved beyond belief.
Mom
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