Creating a new life on LI as a young teen

It wasn’t an unusual November day in my eighth-grade classroom in Boston until my father walked in. He had a hushed conversation with my teacher, and she handed him papers that turned out to be my school records. That was my last day at the school.

I had heard whispers at home about moving to New York, but I thought that can’t be real and had nothing to do with me. Well, a few days later, my family and I packed into our maroon Buick, and we were on our way to Long Island, wherever that was. How could I be moving at the age of 13 when my friends meant so much?

We were moving into a new life, and in just days, it was time to go to a new school, Freeport Junior High. Oh, that first day of walking into a "foreign” classroom and being stared at. It was November, and all the cliques had been established.

Somehow, I figured, I could do the work, but who would sit with me for lunch? Numb and nervous, I walked the halls to a room where students ate lunch. Suddenly, a girl asked me to sit with her. She became my first new friend on Long Island and a super rescuer even if she didn’t realize it. We started trading some desserts because I loved her mom’s moist cakes with thick frosting, and she accepted my healthy snack of an apple or banana.    

New friendships were formed, and I finally felt confident enough to try out for the school paper, perform ballet in a school variety show and even be the announcer at our weekly assemblies.

During summers, I took ballet lessons downtown at Miss Rita’s Dancing School on Church Street. Occasionally, my mom would take us to the community Casino Pool near our home.

My junior year at Freeport High School, I wanted to become a cheerleader. How alluring. The way those white, pleated skirts swayed back and forth when the girls walked, not to mention the red sweaters and big megaphones. Most of all, though, it was the amazing red winter jackets with fur-lined hoods. It would be great to be one of the elite and popular. I went to practices, and then came tryouts. I carried my cheerleader shorts and blouse in a bag while other girls had their outfits on hangers, starched and ironed to perfection.

When the moment arrived, my face froze and my legs wobbled. It was impossible to force any kind of smile. I knew they wouldn’t call my name for the squad. On the bus ride home, though, I sat next to another girl who also had tried out, and we both pretended we could accept being rejected.

After opening my front door, my mother’s query sent me sobbing onto the floor. It was difficult to recover because I had wanted so badly to be a cheerleader.

I didn’t know that three years later, I would make my college cheerleading squad at SUNY New Paltz. The next day, I ran to the town jeweler to finally buy that megaphone necklace that remains on my charm bracelet to this day. If only we could peer into the future to see that some of our yearnings would be fulfilled.

Reader Sylvia Essman lives in Plainview.