In the gloaming, oh my darling
When the lights are soft and low
And the quiet shadows falling
Softly come and softly go…
At the start of September, 1991, I was just beginning my seventh grade year in Lowell, Massachusetts. Lowell is a fairly typical city on the decline, and the schools are both overcrowded and underachieving. Which may help to explain how I managed to find myself one of the “best students” in my particular pond. Honestly, and I sound like a complete nerd for saying it, I loved learning. I lived for books and classes and computers – school, I suppose, was a welcome respite from the stresses of growing up in a fractured home. In any case, after a conversation with my new friend Diane, I decided that I should make an effort to get transferred to the nearby town of Chelmsford. The academic opportunities were said to be amazing (and they were, comparitively), and I positively drooled at the idea of taking advanced classes in a town full of kids who – I presumed – lived for the same thing. (How young and simple, eh?) I finally made my way there for October 28th. The decision, though it has brought me the friendships and relationships I treasure, was not without its share of hardships. { See also: “litotes.”}