Have you ever been insulted, but not cared about the content of the insult? When I was in high school it was an insult to tell a girl that she was flat-chested. I knew from the nasty energy around the words, both written and spoken, that the comment was meant as insult, but being flat-chested, or not, wasn’t something I cared about in 10th grade. Calling me stupid or thoughtless or a bad ball player might have hurt my feelings. Flat-chested only merited an eye roll.

The insults were triggered by my doing very well on a midterm test after we moved from Bovina Center to Binghamton, NY my sophomore year. My teacher was mad at the class for their lack of preparation and mentioned that the new kid got the highest mark after being there for three weeks. That sealed the new kid’s fate for the remainder of the term.

It was a hard move for me. My sister thrived. I got shoved into walls of lockers and punched in gym class.

The school I emigrated from was small. Fourth – twelfth grades were all in the same building, with Kindergarten – third up on the hill. I adored Delaware Academy and Central School. It was located in the county seat, Delhi, a town of 1,200. Kids from Delhi, Bovina Center, my tribe, and Treadwell, where the smartest girl in our class lived, mixed together. In retrospect it’s funny to think that we had a hierarchy when none of our towns were more than a speck on the map.

The basic division was town vs farm kids. The school had an active FFA (Future Farmers of America) chapter. Those kids got pummeled. I was secretly jealous of their way cool navy corduroy jackets with gold lettering. I would happily have raised a calf in my bedroom for one of those jackets. And, they had the boots I wanted, too. Sigh!

Dad was the minister at the only church in Bovina Center. Mom taught first grade in the K-3 building 100 yards up the hill from our 4-12. My sister was a sweet extrovert who was friends with everyone. Her happy wake provided shelter for her more reserved younger sister as I followed one grade behind, having many of the same teachers. I loved the community of my small pond. Why the heck would I want to move?

Binghamton high school was four times the size of Delhi. We walked the 1.8 miles to school, though our parents drove us if it was below zero.

We had excellent science and math teachers, with English teachers to be avoided. My English teacher that first semester was obnoxious, regularly putting kids down and ogling the girls. I once asked why I got a lower grade than a classmate. His response? “Because she wears tight sweaters.” Yep. Obnoxious.

He had us write a poem to be reviewed for possible inclusion in a school publication. This assignment happened at about the same time I was getting hate mail, “flat-chested” being the kindest term written on a magazine ad for Kotex pads and stuffed through the vents of my locker.

It might also have been basketball season in gym class. There were two girls I didn’t know who decided to punch me in the stomach each time I raised my hands to guard them.

Those were the days when you showered after gym class. I was incredibly modest and the two girls looked more threatening when I was wrapped in a towel. I learned to get dressed on the move, while hopping over the benches to avoid them.

By the time the poetry opportunity came along, I was ready. I wrote the schlockiest poem I could conjure, quadrupling the emotion. In my head, I thought, you want girly sappy ? Fine, here it is times four.

Except, it was the kind of teenage angst that the English teacher loved. The poem got published and copies sent to my relatives by my proud Mom. Oops! My relatives were likely as confused as my mom about my emotional state. “Honey, are you really so unhappy?” Umm…

Eventually I found my way. We had a vibrant church youth group and about half the kids went to the same school. Most weren’t in my classes, but I’d see them in the halls. Two neighbor girls became close friends. Our orchestra met before school and kids who get up an hour early to play music are pretty cool humans. My sister had a pod of really nice friends, so if the sharks were on my tail, I’d just slide in with her sunfish to recharge a bit.

Looking back, I would file my two and a half years at Binghamton under “excellent prep for college, interesting and confidence-building.” I would file Delhi and Bovina under Home.