My Senior Year at Curtis

     Another school is year is upon us and I ran into a fellow mom who I call my "bus stop friend" because I only see her at drop-off and pick-up.  Anyway, she was second-guessing her decision to transfer her daughter out of Catholic grammar school this year and into public school for the fifth grade, and asked my opinion on the matter.

     I reassured her that everything would be just fine. I am the middle child of three daughters in my family, and at the end of my junior year at an all-girls Catholic high school in the late 1980's, my parents got upset over something school administration-related, which escapes me at the moment but was pretty earth-shattering at the time, and -- whammo! -- I started my senior year, and my younger sister, her freshman, at Curtis High School.

     Make no mistake, I was a major dork at sixteen, but I was a straight-A student, Vice-President of the Student Council, and Editor of the school newspaper. It was quite a transition for me and I was understandably anxious to bid adieu to uniforms and my friends and hello to everything new.

Curtis High School, Staten Island, New York

     

     But the move proved to be a great one in that I was placed in the Scholarship Program at Curtis and took all college-level classes, including an AP English class taught by the excellent Mrs. Trefousse. She has since passed, but left an indelible mark in my unforgettable senior year in high school. Her teaching style was tough but elegant and I held her in high esteem.

     Mrs. Trefousse inspired creative writing in me like I'd never experienced before and I'm not lying when I tell you that I relished every moment in her class and pored over all her assignments endlessly into the wee hours. I had trouble falling asleep the nights I completed a story, in the hopes that in the morning she'd select my work to read aloud to our class of what I believed to be very talented writers.  And when she did, I basked in the glory of her approval, and this warm feeling of pride was one of the sweetest in the world, making all the writing and rewriting worthwhile. And it was all in long-hand back then.

     She was also one of the chaperones on Curtis' senior exchange student trip to France, where I had the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and privilege to live with a French high school senior, Arnaud, and his family.  Yes, I was assigned to a male student, since I was "subbing" for the boy who couldn't make the trip that year and there were no "girl families" left.  Looking back on this, I'm kind of surprised my parents allowed me to go. On the other hand, I had never given them one iota of a doubt to not be completely trustworthy in my youth (which really speaks to my aforementioned dorkiness).

     Arnaud is also now a dentist, and we have since lost touch, but I will never forget my time with him, his family, and my new-found Curtis friends, studying and enjoying ourselves in Paris and Montchenot, France. The culture shock and the laughs, the black turtlenecks and dark trench coats I picked up from Canal Jean Company in the Village to wear out on the town, "playing the part" to fit into my pre-conceived notions of the European fashion landscape... all delightful parts of an incredible experience.

     Incidentally, I'd been back to Paris in the late 90's with my husband, before the kids were born, and it was also great, but markedly different. Experiences in our youth will always be in a dreamy, unparalleled class of their own, right?

     My great Curtis memories are certainly the stuff to keep me company in old age. But above all, there is a singular person whose memory I'll cherish most of all: my best friend at the time, Daniel. We became fast, good friends, and he single-handedly gave me a social life that year, making sure to include me in his elite circle, comprised of the same kids with whom I took the AP classes, with whom I travelled to France, who I suspect were very ready, were it not for Daniel, to let me languish in my transfer-student awkwardness.

     Daniel was one of the funniest people I'd ever had privilege to know. He was smart. And kind. Once, there was a flower fundraiser on Valentine's Day at school, and he thoughtfully sent me a white carnation during homeroom, signifying our friendship, so that I wouldn't feel left out when the other girls in my class were delivered dozens.  He asked his friends to include me when they had parties. He accompanied me to senior prom. We'd take the ferry after school and explore Manhattan, visit museums. Were it not for him, I'd be telling a sadder, lonelier story right now. 

     The last time I saw Daniel was at graduation and we drifted apart as we headed to college, but not without appreciation in my heart for all he had done for me. Three years later, one of the most difficult days in my 20's, in my life really, was speaking at Daniel's memorial service. A junior at Vassar, he had perished on Pan Am Flight 103 in Lockerbie, Scotland. 

     So as the bus screeched to a halt to bring our children to school that morning, I reassured my bus stop friend that her decision to transfer her daughter to a different school would work out just fine. At the very least, I told her she could always change back. At the very best, her daughter will make some unforgettable memories.

Danny Rosenthal, my date for Senior Prom, Curtis High School, June 1986
 (Photo credit:  my dad, Jess Santos)