Devastation and Reform

“There’s not going to be a Ridgeville next year.”

When I heard those words on May 14, 2007,  my universe imploded.  I was completely floored.  Not have a Ridgeville?  That wasn’t possible.  As long as I could remember, my school had always been there.

I first went to Ridgeville in third grade, in Mrs. Merrill’s class.  This was back when we actually had two classes per grade.  I remember walking in there and immediately knowing that this was different from the public schools.  For one thing, there was more than one pledge.  We said the pledge of allegiance, and I went to sit down, and they went on with the pledge to the Christian flag and the pledge to the Bible.  I, of course, had no idea what to say.  Quite a learning experience.

Third grade was also where I met my best friend, Ashley.  We were both new kids and had the same Winnie-the-Pooh backpacks.  When we met, we noticed the backpacks and were immediately friends.  Our favorite time was recess, when we could run around that old wooden playset, race each other down the slides, and try and make it all the way across the monkey bars.  (I was never very good at that.)  I also recall getting in trouble for drawing on the desks – my first road bump on the path of being an artist.

In fourth grade, they somehow split Ashley and me up.  We were furious – how dare the teachers try to break up our friendship?!  It survived, despite my trying times in Ms. Purkey’s class.  That was my first intro to Ohio History, and boy, did I hate it.  One of my favorite pastimes was propping the desk open on my head and pretending to look for something while I read a good book.

Fifth grade put us back together in Mrs. Benton’s class, except for math.  That was the first year I had an “advanced” math class, which made me feel pretty special.  This was also the first time I read the Dragonriders of Pern series and fell in love with dragons.  During recess, I remember Missy Tenney and her friends flipping about the bars on the playground and seeing who could do it the most times.  It was also my intro to volleyball – though none of us were very good.

The next year, Ashley had to leave.  Her family could no longer afford tuition, so she went off to a public school.  I lost my only friend – and entered a living hell.

Sixth grade was the beginning of middle school: the worst years of my life.  I had cut off my hair to my chin for Locks of Love, which gave me a sort of afro, considering my curly hair.  I also had glasses, braces, and pretty bad acne.  Needless to say, I got picked on a lot.

In seventh grade, I did make one friend – John Morgan.  He and I played air hockey at the retreat for like an hour and a half, and we were friends from then on.  That year also included the first time I straightened my hair.  John left after that year; when he came back to visit a few years later, he didn’t even remember me.

In eighth grade, the only things I remember distinctly are the two group projects I had in science.  One was the Future City project.  In this one, my group (all girls) let me do all the work, then criticized me and tried to kick me off the team.  The other was the Rollercoaster contest.  My group (all guys, barring me) let me do all the work and then blamed me for everything that went wrong.  This, I believe, is where I developed my deep and abiding hatred of group projects.  Middle school was really just a string of unpleasant memories, and I’ve tried to block it out as much as possible.

The next year was ninth grade.  Most people hate being a freshman, but I reveled in it.   I relished my first year of Project Lead the Way, a pre-engineering class, and the English class with Mrs. Conway.  (Yes, I mean it.)  I did spotlights for Seussical and loved every minute of it.  At the end of the year, I met Carly for the first time, and we became good friends.  I made varsity team on volleyball and played fastpitch softball for the first time.  During J-term, I met Mr. Crow (*shudders*) and had History Through the Movies.

Then came sophomore year.  I wasn’t on varsity for volleyball, but I was captain of the JV team.  I had Lauver for English for the first time (and loved it) and became an expert in the 5-paragraph essay.  Carly, Sami, Caroline and I became fast friends and were pretty much inseparable.  Carly and I also did Battlebots with a senior named Jill and had the only all-girls team in the league with Ed the Barbie Dreambot.  Later, I had Life Skills and Knitting as my J-term classes.  (Knitting was my second choice, but Battlebots was full up.)  Carly and I did spots for Cinderella together, and I went on the Washington, D.C. Sophomore-Junior trip.  Then the two of us went to Battle Cry with my youth group and also joined the softball team.

On Monday, May 14, there was a town meeting with a staff meeting beforehand.  We weren’t too concerned; we were more worried about our double-header against Xenia after school.  As we were coming up from the field, I met Brittany in the parking lot.  She and her mom (who worked in the cafeteria) were crying, and it scared me.  I laughed nervously and asked, “What, you were that worried about us winning?”

She looked at me and choked out, “There’s not going to be a Ridgeville next year.”

The next few moments were blurry.  My head was spinning.  I didn’t even realize that I was running for the school or that I was crying until I had reached the glass doors and I saw tears on my reflection’s cheeks.  All I could think about was: I have to find Carly.  She’s heading for the town meeting.  I have to find her.  By the time I did, I was nearly hysterical.

Carly didn’t want to believe me when I told her.  I think we were both in shock and denial.  After I calmed down a little, we went into the gym with the team and sat down front with other students.  The girls in my class were also crying – Alana, Grace, and Brianna.  When the guy from the board stood up and made the announcement, there was a collective gasp in the audience.  I was still weepy, but anger was starting to take over.  Hadn’t they just announced in December that we were fine financially, that there was no problem, that nobody was buying us out?  When they opened up the floor for comments, I let the adults go first, but then I stood up and gave them a piece of my mind, unrehearsed and uncensored.  This is kinda how it came out:

“I’ve been going to Ridgeville practically my whole life, and this is the only home I know.  I grew up with these kids.  I’ve seen most of these people sitting here since I was nine years old.  And now this home, this place that I love, is being taken away.  I’m not just going to sit here and do nothing.  I may only be a sophomore, but I’m still a sophomore.  I can still do something.  I have an obligation, I think, to do something.  I don’t care what it takes; I will do everything in my power to keep this school open, because I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

That night, Carly and I made a vow.  We promised each other that no matter where we were – that no matter what happened – we would always be friends, and we would never forget each other.  We still hold each other to that promise.

The next day was sheer hell.  Mr. Retzer had to make the announcement to the rest of the school in an impromptu chapel, and there was much weeping among everyone.  We really didn’t accomplish much that day in any of our classes, except maybe Project Lead the Way.  (But then, I was the only girl, so I was having the worst emotional reaction.)  In the three weeks following that, we all fought to keep the school open.  We elected a temporary board, held a big festival as a fundraiser, and got over $7,000 just from that festival, not including other donations and fundraising.  That was enough to pay the teachers’ salaries through the summer and keep the school open.

Everything was going great until early July.  The meeting that week had been moved from Tuesday to Monday, so we couldn’t go.  I got a call from Carly’s mom telling me what had happened.  The church had rejected both mortgage plans we presented to the bank, so the temporary board decided we were done.  That was it.  All our dreams and planning, up in smoke.  I didn’t sleep that night; I just lay there, numb.  There were no tears left to cry.

I am now at Dayton Christian and still coping with the loss.  I have accepted that my school is gone and that it will not be coming back – at least, not when it would affect me.  However, I am still very angry at the people that I felt were responsible for this heartache.  This does not include Dayton Christian.  Yes, we lost enrollment, but to public and charter schools too, not just DC when they moved down here.  I don’t blame them for Ridgeville’s closing.  I blame the school board that didn’t tell us until it was too late to do anything and the church that didn’t give a crap about what happened to us.  Honestly, I really don’t blame Mr. Retzer, though I did feel it was suspicious that he had a job secured at least a week before he made the announcement to us.  (But then, the board knew back in October and didn’t tell him until January.)

To whoevever it was in DC’s administration that wrote the email to us: I feel you are wrong.  I cannot in good conscience say that it was God’s will for Ridgeville to close.  Not after all the good things that had come out of it and how close we were to succeeding.  I believe that man thwarted the will of God, as happens in our world.  It was not a good thing, but good things came out of it.  I still wish it was open, I really do.  I don’t know if I’ll ever stop wishing, honestly.

If Ridgeville hadn’t closed, I wouldn’t have cried so much.  I wouldn’t miss my teachers and classmates because they would still be there.  I wouldn’t have to face ostracization and hypocrisy from my peers.  I wouldn’t have to struggle just to contact my best friend.  (Email me, by the way.)

But…

If Ridgeville hadn’t closed, I would never have come out of my shell.  I would never have met my group of friends and grown like I have.  I would never have met my wonderful boyfriend.  I wouldn’t be forced to make an effort in my relationships and use discernment in my classes.

Was the closing a good thing?  I cannot say yes.  Good things came out of it, but it was still a chapter of sorrow and pain.  I remember watching We Are Marshall on New Year’s Eve with my family and wanting to get up and leave.  I can’t watch that movie.  They went through something similar.  They lost something important to them, and they fought for it.  The difference is, they got it back.  We tried, honest to God we did.  We did our damndest… and it just wasn’t enough.  I still feel like a lion in warrior territory.  I still cry about it at night and get up in people’s faces when they diss the fact that it’s gone.  (Oh yes, it happens.)  I feel a lot of bitterness and anguish, and I don’t know if it will ever go away.

Thanks for letting me vent.  I really wanted to get this all out at once so I wouldn’t bring it up in bits and pieces.  And I apologize to everyone for being really weepy on Wednesday.