We’re not socially stunted!

When people find out I went to an all girls school from grade one through grade 12, they often look at me with surprise.  

“REALLY???” they ask, their eyes wide. 

“Yeah, I did,” I say, matter-of-factly. “Why?” I ask.

But I already know the answer. I’ve heard it before. There are several variations on what’s ultimately, the same set of responses. When they find their words, I’m told that I don’t seem snobby, catty, or like that (whatever that is). In fact, they tell me, I seem normal, and my all-time favourite, that I’m not socially stunted. Reassuringly, they insist, “I never would have guessed it, Anna.”

I’m never quite sure how to take reactions like that. I’m relieved they don’t associate me with any of the negative characterizations mentioned above, but still the generalization about people who attend all girls schools leaves a bit of a sour taste in my mouth.

Sure, I may have met a handful (yup, about a handful) of snobby, catty, socially stunted girls at school but I encountered a handful more (this time, they were girls and boys) when I went to university at the other end of the country. Then I met another handful when I moved halfway back across the country, for grad school. These kinds of people exist regardless.

We can argue the ups and downs of coed versus single sex education until the school bell rings. I’m not here to do that. I believe they both have merits and drawbacks. I’m just here to tell you a bit about my experience. Take it for what you will. It’s the experience of one girl who had a great time, got a great education, and made lifelong friends. It’s just that this particular group of friends happen to be girls. Instead of meeting boys in class, we met them at dances, through other extracurricular activities, and through friends at other schools.

This year, one of the most legendary math teachers at my school, Mrs. Baillie, announced her retirement. Ever since I was in grade 10, each year she has said, “girls, next year is going to be my last year.” But it never was, until now. To celebrate her career, the school hosted a retirement party over the holidays.

The guests who came to thank her were from nearly every year  that she had taught since the ‘80s. We assembled in the theatre to watch a slide show with hilarious photos and to hear her speak about her own experiences teaching at the school.  She spoke about how special it was to teach us girls and shared memories about each of us sitting in the audience, and about some who weren’t able to make it. We were then invited up to the stage to share our own memories and stories that involved Mrs. Baillie.

I remember our homeroom class would be bustling with nervous chatter once the proofs of our school photos had arrived. The class president would distribute them to each girl and then we’d spend the remainder of the homeroom period fretting over our crooked smile, our closed eyes, or our flipped-out hair. Of course, we all wanted retakes, thinking we’d know how to pose just right for the second go-around. But Mrs. Baillie insisted that we only get retakes if there was something really wrong with the photo and our appearance. Not liking our hair was not a good enough reason for the photographer to re-shoot each of us. “Girls,” she’d say to us, “he’s a photographer, not a plastic surgeon!”

Walking through the hallways, seeing familiar faces, admiring the trophies on display, and peering into the windows of the uniform shop reminded me of my own days as a student at this school that is so rich with tradition and has such a strong sense of community.

For me, that’s what I remember most about going to an all girls school. Probably not all that different from your own coed high school experience. Except, there were no boys.

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