Growing Up

I've been thinking a lot recently about growing up and revisiting my past.

Last week, through work, I ended up visiting two of my old education establishments. I started thinking about how the buildings have changed since I was there and how I have changed since I was there.

It has been ten years since I left Kings and eight since I left Sixth Form College. The buildings are very different with new libraries and learning centres, full of computers and interactive whiteboards. There's state of the art technology, new ways of teaching and new ways of learning. But what about the pupils? Are they still the same as I was? Are they going through the same things that we all went through in our school days, whatever that might mean to an individual.

Then last night I went to watch King's take on the Royal Grammar School in what was always one of the biggest events in the school year. When I was at school, it was held on a Saturday afternoon at the games pitches of one of the schools and there were a couple of hundred people who turned up to support, standing behind a bit of rope at the side of the pitch. Lots of OVs (Old Vigornians - ex King's pupils) came back to worcester from wherever they were living to support the boys. People cheered and shouted and hurled abuse at the other team and their supporter. I remember very clearly that it was 1995 when I was just thirteen that I went to my first Grammar match and in fact, my first rugby match. I remember standing next to my sister and my dad, watching the match and singing songs far too rude for a thirteen year old to really be singing.

This year the match was held on a Wednesday night at Sixways, home of the Worcester Warriors, in front of a crowd of around 3,800. The supporters were seperated on each side of the pitch, no alcohol was allowed out of the bar and everyone was under strict instructions not to boo the other team and be all sporting and generally polite. It was odd.

what was even odder was looking at this pitch of eighteen year old boys. The first team. When I was at school, the upper sixth (and particularly the first IV) were the heroes of the school. They were the one that we lusted after, the ones we fancied, the ones whose names we wrote in little hearts all over our note books. They were big and strong and so mature. But looking at these fifteen skinny, spotty teenagers, I wondered if the girls in the stands felt the same about them that I did when I was that age. Guessing by the screams not disimilar to a Take That concert and the 'Go Kings' banners that had been lovingly made for the occasions, I think that they do.

It got me thinking about my school days. It wasn't a happy time in my life and I wondered that if I went back, would things be any different? If I went back to school knowing everything I know now, would it be a happier time? Would I be more popular, would I fit in? When I went to visit last week, as I was leaving, I saw a girl standing out the Winslow Block (science) crying. She had a friend with her who gave her a hug but she looked so lonely. It made me sad to see her. I could see myself in her and I wanted to get out my car and give her a hug, to tell her that whatever is making her feel so bad now, won't always be that way.

I think that if I could go back and talk to my twelve year old self, I'd tell her not to worry. I wouldn't change anything. What I went through at school made me who I am today. It shaped me and gave me the confidence to go out and do different things, make new friends and made me into me. I don't think I'd want to change that.