SANDS OF TIME PASSING BELOW MY FEET

In my senior year, the only core classes required were Language Arts and Government/Economics and the remainder were electives. I opted to take British Literature to fulfill my Language Arts requirement. I, probably the only one, to my knowledge, truly looked forward to having this class first period and even can empathetically say I liked the teacher. Mrs. Schott was one of those teachers who rarely cracked a smile but cracked nothing more than her whip and worked you to earn your grade. Her mighty red pen, much like a sharp sword, slashed apart my writings with a barrage of comments. From suggestions, lessons, corrections, queries, expand upon and with the grand finale – rewrite. More often, I saw more red ink than my own blue ink on my paper conveying my interpretation of an assignment. Little did I know is she was preparing me with the right tools to tackle college writing.

In class we studied the structure of a Shakespearean sonnet. It had to have 14 lines and is written in iambic pentameter or 3 quatrains (4 line sections) and one heroic couplet. The rhyme scheme followed ABAB (quatrain 1), CDCD (quatrain 2), EFEF (quatrain 3), and GG (heroic couplet) or some close variation of it. As a part of the lesson was for us to write our own Shakespearean sonnet, following the aforementioned guidelines with an added theme or problem and which in the final two lines is resolved. Challenge accepted and with my favorite blue pen, I began to compose my draft and eventually produced the final written sonnet. I ended up writing about my high school as if it were one of my closest friends. This was the first time I submitted an assignment to Mrs. Schott which was returned to me with more blue ink than the expected red ink and with the comments, “Well done!” and with very few staggered queries why I opted to write something a certain way or chose the less simplified word to express my thoughts.

In my best Sofia from “Golden Girls” voice, picture it, South Broward High School, somewhere in before graduation in 1988… what was then…


GOOD-BYE SO LONG CLASS OF ‘88
Its time to move past the alma mater
Of South Broward High School and go our ways.
Once we walked the halls with Bulldog spirit –
Now we walk horizons to the future.
No time in life again will be greater
Than the cheerful, fearful and tearful days.
Left behind are memories and that’s it.
The time I met you I knew the future,
Would bring us a new forever friendship
That won’t be forgotten too easily.
In the course of life’s pleasure or hardship,
Your friendship with me will be missed deeply.
Good-bye and so long South Broward High School,
The class of ’88 will forever rule.


At the blink of an eye, it seems like only yesterday, when I was in the last days of aimlessly wandering the halls of South Broward High School. Here I am, 30 years later, it puzzles me how the many years escaped me as vivid memories still play in my mind like an endless video loop or binge marathon of my favorite television series. I attempted to write another Shakespearean sonnet to not only as a comparison but what the present day brought us and as a tribute to Mrs. Schott who drilled proper form, technique and voice while allowing to develop my own unique writing style. Her determination and patience, successfully rewarded me in my undergraduate and graduate courses where writing was the primary focus to earn a grade and eventually played a pivotal role in a portion of my career, when I was a grant writer. This position provided me opportunities to story tell on how funders partnering with my non profit organization can have an advantageous relationship when they join together to rally for the same causes and desired outcomes.

This time, my deep radio voice narrates as I share the passing of years… as this, is now…


SANDS OF TIME PASSING BELOW MY FEET
Standing in the sand as each passing wave comes in,
I feel each year passing by quicker than the last.
Names can no longer can be put on a friend’s face,
Without help of a once shared high school memory.
Quickly, reflection fades and the present is within,
Reminiscing the best of times from the years past.
Only to see what was once our friendship’s birthplace,
Nothing more than a milestone accessory.
As the waves wash away the sand below my feet,
I lose my balance as I gaze further outward.
Knowing very well, our paths will cross once again,
When it’s time to cross yet another milestone.
Cheers to those of us getting our feet wet again,
Allowing one more chance to celebrate years past.


There are hidden jewels amongst the words I write in which I still hear, Mrs. Schott’s writing lessons each time I take to my Macbook Air to post another entry into my blog. Her succinct reminders to write in active voice, use simpler words, find your inner voice to personify and convey your thoughts, lead the introduction and tie it all up in your final words.

Many of my classmates had known each other since middle school and for many elementary school, which afforded a nice niche of friendships to be formed. As the introverted, newbie and outsider, I was unable to build the closeness of friendships which many of as my classmates enjoyed. I also spent most of my after school time working a part-time job and rarely had a chance to participate in the diverse extra-curricular activities my high school offered. However; this never stopped me from building my own circle of friends, participating the best way I was able to and to still have a quality high school experience. I still keep in touch with most of my small circle of friends today and feel we became stronger friends with each passing year. There are times when I reflect back on those carefree years and remember watching at people my current age, wondering when I become old, will I look back with nostalgic memories of my high school years, as truly years I will always treasure. Without a doubt, my high school years defined who I was becoming without much fanfare to me.

As I write, my surreal thoughts take me back to what only seemed like yesterday. I question, how could 30 short years have passed since I last meandered by the 700 hallway at South Broward High School. Passing time altered my memories into nostalgic recollections, all taking me back to what it once was and not the present moment I am in today. In a few short days, the next generation of freshman are being welcomed and emotionally overwhelmed by their new experience, high school; while in a few short couple weeks, my class of 1988 will be preparing to attend our high school reunion. A weekend of celebrations, reminiscing and rekindling friendships lost, which too will fade away too soon. Just like our high school years, the time will slip by as we return to our balancing our own lives and the reunion becomes a distant memory of yet another milestone past. It appears to me the only remaining signs of graduating classes and faculty of those years past are the bygone generation’s yearbooks. The alma mater, bulldog mascot and the waving colors of red and gold will prevail, once more, welcoming another freshman class, as they too, will leave their footprint in the sand with hopes it won’t wash away and throw them off balance with each passing wave.