Standing in the middle of the junior high, with pubescent children launching at me like hand grenades in guerilla warfare, I feel sometimes like clicking my moccasin slippers together and stating three times “There’s no place like home.” The last time I was in this munchkin land, I was actually a middle-school munchkin.  While I know I’m still comparatively short, it’s heartening to see that I’m at least taller than someone—or a whole sea of full of someones—even if they are 13-years-old.

            I haven’t head the word “Sevie” in years, but there’s something charming about this colloquial degradation that makes me warm to these miniature humans in surprising ways. There’s something charming about walking into a classroom where all girls literally Tower over all the boys, & all of the boys who are still munchkin-sized start sounding like men as they read aloud in class. There’s something charming about the white eyeliner mistakes and the awkward hair decisions. It’s enough to render the whole experience vaguely charming in general.

      But you know what is not charming?  Going to the restroom (in a moment of sheer desperation, I assure you), and seeing unkind, unflattering words like  “Karly Winters* is a F-Ing B****” and the like, emblazoned across the walls of the stalls.

         I was just starting to forget how mean kids can be.

Though these students can be little charmers in the classroom, which I am sure is a more accurate depiction of their potential, I remember that special sort of meanness that is especially reserved for Junior High. I remember being that “sevie” that was so worried about seeing my own name on a bathroom stall. My heart aches for *Karly Winters, who can’t even pee without being reminded of her social status.

Who even brings pens to the bathroom anyways? Middle Schoolers, that’s who. 

*Name changed to protect the innocent.