Tessa and I were talking about high school today, a subject that has come up a lot lately, but in all honesty, I didn’t mentally breach the subject of “high school” for about a decade. It is a place I had written off a long time ago, even though untold wonders were opened to me because of it.
To hear Tessa describe Choate, it sounds a little “Dead Poets Society” with some anorexia mixed in. The kids in her class, when they weren’t doing blow or getting drunk on stolen bourbon, actually lusted after literature and had impromptu gab sessions about Theodore Dreiser. She said she could actually feel her own mind expanding as she and her best friends became more culturally literate with each gasping paragraph.
It also helped they were an hour from New York City, so a quick trip with a borrowed car could be arranged, and days filled with museums and nights filled with underage debauchery would be pursued. The pace nearly killed her – she graduated a year early just to get out – but Choate (also the prep school of JFK) was an exercise in Anything Goes