There were 60 students in my high school graduating class. They each knew my dog’s name, the sports I played and the fact that I was 11-and-a-half pounds when I was born. By senior year, I stopped caring about what clothes I wore or what inappropriate comments I made. People knew me by the distinct identity I possessed within the safe, comfortable, collaborative walls that coddled 240 accepting, growing, learning high schoolers. I had a specific place and I never had to work to show people who I was.