Many years ago on a mildly dim day, where the clouds gathered overhead and blocked out the faint, shimmering beams of sunlight and the caws of the birds were too distant to be heard, when the doors first opened to what seems an inconsequential building. There was no great shout, no big headliner story bustling presses of New York City and Chicago. In fact, when compared with the rest of the world, almost nobody knew about it, and it was instead warmly greeted by a small community of only a few, normal everyday children. That was the day when the little Greater Nanticoke Area High School was born, starting afresh into the bright, strange new world. And, that was also the day when our own long and tumultuous history began.

Though this is true, it must be said that we all started off our lives in the arms of our mothers, safely cradled from all the dangers of the big bad world. We ran, and jumped, and sometimes fell to our own agitation, and we all cried tears of frustration into the damp ground.

Yet, there then came the day when we were pulled, scared and anxious, from the safety of our parents’ home, led by warm, clammy hands, excited eyes and soft assuring words toward a bright yellow monster spouting off exhaust and screaming with the minuscule voices of other children all tumbling over each other to create an avalanche of noise. That, though scarcely remembered, was the first day of kindergarten and along with that the first day of the rest of our lives.

It only took a few weeks for us to adjust to the change, to transition. K.M. Smith was big and new, full of vast new rooms and countless amounts of children dashing through the hallways like marbles in a race. We met new people and made new red-cheeked and bright-eyed friends, then suddenly, like a prankster sneaking up behind us, that strange new transition became something wonderful, something magical. Change maybe wasn’t so bad after all.

But, as we continued to grow (sprouting like a ‘weed’ that’s what our relatives would say), we soon realize that the world did not revolve around our kindergarten. There was a whole other universe outside playgrounds and vivid neon chairs that only we seemed to fit in. Once we came to that realization, through, it was too late. Our vision was now flooded with caps, and cakes, and graduation balloons, and what had become normal and safe was dashed away, leaving us once again to be thrown into the transitional gyre. And, as we were whisked away toward an even more towering building, we acknowledged for the second time the fact that change did indeed suck.

The new big kid school was intimidating and colossally daunting, to say the least. We were in elementary now, and along with that, a part of the newfound world of head-scratching homework problems, endless multiplication tables, and hands of clocks ticking back and forth across our suddenly important grades. No longer were the days of snoozing during afternoon naps, snacking in the morning, and learning “Mary Had a Little Lamb” during song time. Instead, we were “big girls” and “big boys”, and suddenly, without any warning, we were expected to act as such, through we had little knowledge of what those words even really meant.

Yet, so much was our awe and adoration for the prospect of growing up and our soon-at-hand middle school years that we somehow overlooked what truly lay beside the joys of sixth and seventh grade: our previously negligible attire, the red and angry pimples which we swear populated our faces overnight, and our now scrutinized bodies. Were we too short, or too tall, or too fat, or too bony, or too dumb, or maybe too much of a nerd to be liked now?

And still, even though all these minuscule details seemed to drown us in the usually overlooked teenage bouts of anxiety and depression, middle school might be said to have been the place where the true miracles occurred. Then, more than ever, was when our true friends surfaced, brought in by the bullies who announced our faults like a broadcasting system, and the lowly whispered rumors which wafted through the hallways and made us crinkle our own overbearingly powerful self-doubt, to stand loyally by our side. Middle School was a time of compelling self-realization, of friendship, both good and bad, of sickeningly overwhelming depression, and, most importantly, of radical changes that would stick with us for the rest of our lives.

But, middle school was not the end of what GNA had to offer us. Though she had seen us through the tumultuous years of our youth, watching over us as a vigilant mother bird would over her chicks, the last transition of our adolescent life still awaited us. That tiny, seemingly inconsequential building which had been born anew many years ago still stood, proudly anticipating the day that it would welcome us into the first day of our greatest memories, of our lowest faults, of our best friends, and of the most paramount moments of our lives. High school, the last and final transition, stood waiting with its arms open.

And through, yet at the time we didn’t know it, those four most anticipated years seemingly flew past in the blinking of an eye. The parades which wound through the square and up the hills of Kosciuszko, the chilly nights of cheering at the football games, the pep rallies during which people were lofted above the crowd and chanting resonated through the room like the echo of futures to come, the heat that clogged up the gym while basketball games ensued, the flashing lights and ensnaring music of semi, and the long Friday nights that we will remember with people we will never forget: these were our high school years, and these were the things that would shape us and prepare us for the years to come.

And still, in the end, only as we stood on the wide-spread stage of the auditorium, looking onto the hundreds of darkened faces peering at us with pride and expectation from the seats of the crowd, did we realize that GNA had given us a gift which was more valuable than anything our own money could buy. GNA had given us life-long friends, the ability to overcome hardships, and memories that nothing else which had come before could even slightly compare to. The walls upon which our backs had pressed, the desks which had tested our patience with their fickleness, the teachers who had greeted us with a smile, and on a few occasions, a scowl, were all behind us now. Kindergarten, Elementary, Middle School, and High School: it was, in fact, all over. And, as our name was called and we stepped tentatively up to take our diploma and our place beside the adults of the world, we understood that the last transition had finally taken place. GNA had given us a way, and now, we were ready to take our place in the world.