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February 07, 2006
Thinking About the Past ... Again
I know exactly what I was doing fifteen years ago; I was writing. Not that that's saying much, because like now, I was always writing. But fifteen years ago I was writing four things: my college application essay, a scholarship application essay on why I wanted to be a journalist, my opening arguments for the upcoming district debate tournament, and my high school commencement address. I guess the hard work and the crazy-making stress I put on myself was worth it because I got into my choice college, won the scholarship, placed first in the debate tournament and won the schoolwide contest to give the speech at graduation.
Along with writing, I was also glued to CNN's Gulf War coverage, which provided much fodder for that journalism scholarship essay. when I wasn't glued to war coverage I was listening to the unlikely mix of R.E.M.'s Out of Time and lots of Atlantic Records' classic R&B. At the time I was pretty sure I was the only white teenager in Sedalia, Missouri listening to the likes of Ann Peebles, Otis Redding and Wilson Pickett. Actually, thinking about it, I was probably right in thinking that.
Awhile back, B., Miss Codependence, Mindy and that Greenlight boy and I were talking about our teenage behavior. Not the adolescent behavior we currently enjoy, but our behavior when we were actual teenagers. I was a good kid, avoiding the Three Horsemen of the Apocolypse: alcohol, sex and drugs. Not so much because I was a goody-two-shoes. Although I think the fact that I just said "goody-two-shoes" indicates that I probably was, at least a little. It was more because I wanted to get the hell out. I was ready to move on from my hometown and get on with my life early on, and I didn't want to do anything that would jeopardize my escape. There would be plenty of time for debauchery later, I thought. And I was right.
While I was giving that commencement address, extolling our shared history, I remember looking into the crowd and thinking, "Wow. I could happily live the rest of my life without ever laying eyes on 98% of you people ever again." I was quite proud of myself for keeping that little nugget of contempt hidden under my mortar board, especially since I had a stage in front of the 212 members of my graduating class, their families, and the entire school faculty. Although there would have been something to be said for getting up there and saying, "Holy fuck, I'm so glad to be done with all of you. Kiss my ass."
Even though I was only an hour from home when I went to college, I broke ties quickly, remaining friends with only four people from my high school. Two of them graduated the year after me and one the year before. Only one of them was from my class, and we didn't become friends until our senior year. I lived with her during my sophomore and junior years of college, along with one of my younger friends from "back home", which is a sure-fire way to kill just about any friendship. One of these days I'll have to share some of the roommate stories with you. There's a book in those two years, I'm sure of it.
For most of my adult life I've maintained few of my childhood friendships, and I've been fine with that. I haven't attended any of my high school reunions. I saw most of those people five days a week, nine months a year for twelve years; I've had my fill, thanks.I'm happy to say that I have gotten over my childhood. Was it good? Sure. Was it bad? Of course. Did it make me the adult I am? Absolutely. But the fact is, it was only 18 years of my life, what I hope to be a very small portion.
(Funny ... I'm shuffling through my MP3s and what just came on? "Low" from R.E.M.'s "Out of Time", preceeded a few minutes ago by Otis Redding's "(Sittin' On) The Dock of the Bay"). The shuffle, it is wise and it knows.)
Anyway ...
Without going into too much detail, B. and I had a rather large fight this weekend regarding the ability to let go of the past. At one point I snarked, "You're still letting a bunch of fucking nine-year-olds rule your life. And nine-year-olds are stupid and don't know how to act right."
Oh. Where did that come from?
How many people are limping around as adults because of the things we were teased about as children, by other children? I had a year where I underwent some pretty brutal teasing; life as an overdeveloped third grader with a bunch of grabby little boys ain't fun. I was talking to an older friend of mine about that experience about five years ago and she gasped, "You know, that's sexual assault. They just didn't call it that in 1982." I responded, "Yes, but they were just kids." In that simple exchange, it all made sense. All those years of hurting, hating my body, and being convinced I was a freak were suddenly wiped away by 1) having someone call it what it was, and 2) recognizing that they were kids who didn't know any better. Not that their behavior didn't merit correction and punishment; it certainly did, and I learned quickly that I couldn't count on the teachers, school administrators or their parents to divvy up justice for me.
I do occasionally wonder if any of those boys have experienced fertility problems as adults, what with the stomping I administered their testicles. Looking back, I'm more than a little surprised at my willingness to adminster my own justice. To kick, to claw, and to fight when I knew no one else would do it for me. So while that experience taught me to loathe my body, it also taught me to be independent, to stand up for myself, and gave me confidence in my ability to fend for myself; the very traits that I eventually used to get over the body hatred.
In the past year I've made contact with several people from my high school. In one of those instance, I thought, "Shit, she hasn't changed at all. I could have gone at least another fifteen years without that." But in all the other instances I've been surprised by my happiness at the contact, and the immediate feeling of relief. What I'm relieved for, I'm not sure. Maybe that others made it out, grew, and have turned into good, interesting people.
This morning I had a message on MySpace from an old childhood friend of mine (hi K., if you're reading!). In her message she asked if I remembered the hours of listening to America's Top 40 on Sunday mornings when we were in fifth grade. Do I remember? I had completely forgotten, but it all came back with that one question. We used to spend Saturday night at each others' houses. We'd wake up Sunday morning and bounce around to whatever Casey Kasem was playing. It was 1983-4, which was such an important music year, and I know much of my music geek foundation was laid on those Sunday mornings. That was my church, and it still is. Not AT40, as the kids call it these days, but that church of music. I had forgotten that K. and I worshipped there together until this morning. How those hours of dancing to Michael Jackson and Madonna created a couple of Wilco fans, I'm not sure, but it makes me smile.
At the end of that school year there was a rift in our circle of friends. We were never close after that, but we always got along. But today, looking over her profile on MySpace, I realized that she's a lot like the people I've chosen as friends in my adulthood. It's further justification to that thought that slipped out of my mouth while arguing with B. on Saturday night, that it's stupid to hang on to the childhood hurts committed on us by other children. Just like it's stupid for me to nurse any contempt I held towards the kids in my childhood. Because we were that: kids. We were learning, and sometimes we didn't have the greatest of teachers teaching us. Just as none of us are probably the greatest of teachers to our own kids. But we're doing our best, just as our parents and teachers did their best. We not only have the shared history of graduating from the same school in the same year, but we also have the shared history of human fallability.
Fifteen years after I officially ended my childhood, I'd love to gather some of those old kids for a beer, where we can toast, and wipe our brow and say, "Whew! So glad we made it through that!" like old war buddies. As long as we can avoid falling into the big hair and pouf dress trap, we're gonna be just fine.
I know there are quite a few readers from my hometown. I know of at least two old high school friends who read (Yo! Julie Han and Big Daddy B! I'm buying your first rounds, and quite possibly the second one, too.) In an unpresidented show of school ... feeling the bile rise in my throat as I try to say it ... spirit, give me a hollar if we knew each other in those younger, dumber days. Or give a hollar with your own high school confidentials.
Posted by Robin at February 7, 2006 01:22 PM
Comments
Boy. That myspace "blast from the past" factor. It can blindside ya.
This post today has REALLY captured some stuff I've been knocking around in my own brain lately.
And that mantra, "We were only kids..." It's a powerful mantra, 15 years later, isn't it? It allows a lot of old scars on thick skin to take on a more cosmetically pleasing appearance, doesn't it?
Posted by: Julie at February 7, 2006 04:01 PM
BTW, Robin, check your email. I forwarded some RIVETING reading material to you.
Posted by: Julie at February 7, 2006 04:50 PM
It's good to know I'm not the only Wilco fan who made her beginings by dancing to Madonna and Michael Jackson ;)
Interesting post. I was always an outsider at school, and of course I was quiet. Got made fun of for being "fat" in junior high, for having bad glasses and braces. For being a bookworm. Did I mention I was a fashion disaster? But I was always open and accepting of others, and made friends with people that I was teased for even talking to. And I'm always still a bit surpised when one of the people who would never stoop down to my level to talk to me back then, runs into me now and asks how I'm going. It's strange, but I'm getting over that. Good to know that they've finally got over themselves and that other people exist in this world.
Posted by: Blossom's Dad's Ho at February 7, 2006 06:07 PM
Wow, you mentioned me in your entry! :-) Thanks for a refreshing and honest blast to the past. It's funny, I felt the same way when we were growing up--I felt out of place (being practically the ONLY Asian kid can do that to you). I think I've blocked out most of the teasing that was thrown my way, although I haven't forgotten the people who did it. And yet, after all those years of wanting to get out of Sedalia and never look back, it now feels like Sedalia is the only place in the world that still feels like home. I miss being there and have a craving every 5 years or so to go back and see how much has changed. The last time I went back was for a friend's wedding around 6 years ago and I loved how people still remembered my name, even people whom I didn't recognize anymore. People were so friendly compared to Chicago, where attitudes are as cold as the weather. I guess my mind has blocked out most of the bad memories and retained all the happy childhood memories instead. I'm glad we're still in touch... I look forward to reading your blog every day.
Posted by: Julie Han at February 8, 2006 12:13 AM
Ah, Kismet...I was listening to the Virgin Suicides soundtrack last night, and then saw my favorite nonverbal scene from Dazed & Confused last night (when the two freshmen are looking for their buddy at the YMCA make-out dance), and had spent the evening plotting the what-it-was-like-back-then mix for the Poppymatic (a necessity given that you say you've never heard of "Telephone Line" by ELO).
Then I see this entry today.
As I've shared elsewhere, I was lucky enough to be popular (in a culty, Ferris Beuhlery way) in high school. The mixture of cuteness, a pinch of athleticism (track and cross-country), and a don't-give-a-fuck factor of 9 helped me get laid and avoid beatings.
Per your grad speech (?!?! Unpeeling the hidden secrets of the Popster...), I snuck up to the mike after our dreadful INDOOR thunderstorms-threatening-the-electricity, we-couldn't-hear-the-speaker-because-of-bad-PA commencement and did my best John Lennon:
"I'd like to thank you on behalf of the class and meself, and I hope we passed the audition"
to a mixture of applause and confusion. In a separated-by-time&fate nod to your own cautious impatience, I then wiggled out of my grad gown without unzipping it, whipped it to the ground to allow my favorite teacher's wife to step over a puddle, and metaphorically ran for the horizon.
Posted by: robert at February 8, 2006 10:17 AM
Very interesting post. I feel similar - I had good times, I had crappy times; I was 'an outsider' as were all my friends but was willing to get along with whoever wanted to enter the theater to see what the freaks were doing. I know A LOT of people who are really hung up about really stupid things from 15 years ago (kids being kids) and am amazed to hear that it affects them every day. I'm at the point now where FUCK IT is a very good attitude and if you're cool now and we're on the same wave-length - why not get along?
Posted by: carrster at February 8, 2006 11:33 AM
Dude, I am 20 years out of high school and I still wouldn't want to see my old crowd. One of my male friends (let's call him Neil) asked me to be his girlfriend during the summer between junior and senior year, after we had gone to junior prom together "as friends". I said I didn't think of him that way, and our entire circle of friends ostracized me for the rest of the year. So my senior year of high school was pretty miserable. Granted, it was only one year out of my life, but I know that Neil is still friends and actually business partners with one of the people who was particularly vicious to me. I am skeptical that they would be cool if we ran into each other at a reunion or something.
Neil is actually now a published author, too (unlike me). Oh, cry me a river!
Posted by: Lisa (Blah Blah) at February 8, 2006 04:02 PM
Just think how many kids today kill each other (and themselves) not knowing:
...that they're not expected to get it right
...time WILL change them and the people around them ...and that it does get better?
We didn't need all those goddamned John Hughes movies nearly as much as kids now do. Those kids were flawed to the bone. What do today's kids get? Other than Napoleon Dynamite, nothing.
Posted by: Joe Greenlight at February 8, 2006 04:54 PM
Jules, that's the most riviting thing I've ever read, and precisly the reason why I'll be paying you the big bucks to handle my legal affairs. :)
Julie H., anytime you want to pay a visit to Sedalia, let me know and I'll be there! You were always one of my favorite people back then, because you seemed to *get* it.
Robert, can't wait to hear that mix. I challenge/dare you to make me like ELO.
Lisa, I don't think I blame you one bit for not wanting to encounter that group. I'm a lot more willing to excuse crap people did when they were 8, as opposed to crap they did when they were 18 - old enough to know how to treat people right.
Greenlight, you nailed it. Completely fucking nailed it. There was pressure to get it right when we were kids, but it's gone absolutely nuts. I only hope that there's a huge backlash in action by the time Clara Jane's in her teens.
I remember talking to PKB and her then-15-year-old son about the appeal of Napoleon Dynamite last year. It's because they're imperfect, flawed and relatable, which is a little sad when you consider it's a bit of a farce.
Posted by: Poppy at February 8, 2006 05:47 PM
I was thinking about this post and the comments all night last night. I wanted to add a thought. I was probably one of those kids who looked like she fit in. I held a lot of the trappings of High School Status: pompoms, a megaphone, a car ('77 Monte Carlo thankyouverymuch), boobs, Various School Titles, and lest we forget... boobs. But I still FELT like an outsider. I still got hurt by friends and by boys. I still got teased by people who needed to get a life, and I probably did my own share of bitchassed teasing, too. I still got made fun of. That stuff is just a part of being young and immature. Isn't it? Or are there actually people out there who are perfect like the bitchy John Hughes Popular Girls?
Posted by: Julie at February 9, 2006 09:54 AM
Thought about this thread a lot yesterday, and determined that the most vivid memories of HS are in fact the ones where I was the asshole. Which I hope speaks of some emotional growth since then.
Popster, I can only put ELO in culinary terms--you will either love the extra-sugary cake icing or you will not. You're talking to a sugar junkie, however.
Couldn't agree more with Joe about the need for some earnest teen movies these days. Slickness and a preternatural worldliness rule the teen box office today--the "kids" in She's All That, etc are all unrealistic little adults, masters and mistresses of the universe already in complete command of their sexuality, their ambitions, etc. And that's just the movies where they're NOT being hacked to death.
Really, only "Friday Night Lights" has seemed at all genuine to me in the last five years, and it wasn't really a "teen movie." I remain, apparently, a caucus of one who believes that the "American Pie" movies were as wretched and unfunny as they were wholy unrealistic. A drinking game could be created around how many times Dawson "out-adults" teachers and parents alike in "Varsity Blues," and "Not Another Teen Movie" would suggest that the genre is beyond revitalizing, but I don't believe that. I've worked with kids since the 80's, and they're as stupid and awkward and uncertain as ever. Only the underwear has gotten more adult.
Have any of you ever seen the failed TV show "Freaks and Geeks?" THAT was the hands-down best depiction of kids I've ever seen. Painfully truthful at times. One ep started with a lead character drumming along to the Rush song on his headphones. He's kicking ass! And then the camera and mike move OUT of his headphones to reveal that he is a horribly inept drummer. It's like watching someone puncture a baby's balloon. F&G was also based on MY era (I would've been the same age as the lead boy, give or take a year) and nails the period details like a time machine.
One thing made strangely clear to me here also is just what a mixed blessing boobs are to a teenage girl. I've heard the horror stories from my well-endowed-at-age-11 wife, but it really sounds like rackage is akin to being a belovedly typecast actor like George Wendt--it's nice that people shout "Norm!" when you enter the room, but Cheers was just a small part of your life.
Eyes up here, mister.
Posted by: robert at February 9, 2006 01:56 PM
Thanks for the drink offer - and since you know me so well, you know I will have to say YES to the first round and YES to the second round. And many more rounds after that.
Send me a note when you're heading back to sedVegas. Gabe is back in town on March 1st and we'd love to see you again. And drink. And laugh. That's it - just drink and laugh and see you, then I'll head back to KC.
Posted by: Big Daddy B at February 9, 2006 04:46 PM
Julie, I think you're so right. I know I wasn't an outcast by any means. I had friends (including Mr. Popularity himself, Big Daddy B), was very involved - not a cheerleader, but I was yearbook and newspaper editor, president of the creative writer's club, played tennis for two years (with Julie Han as my kick-ass doubles partner), speech and debate. Oh, and I had the car (1980 Mustang, yo) and boobs. Yep, that stuff does happen to everyone. It's everyone's rite of passage and the one thing everyone has in common. I do think some people get it to a more severe degree than others, though. I think the true mark of maturity is in how well people get over the bullshit from their childhood and adolescence.
On the John Hughes front, one of the things I love in retrospect is that even his perfect popular people weren't so perfect. Ferris wasn't classically handsome or a jock. He might have been arrogant and cocky, but not so much that he didn't freak the fuck out at the end when he was trying to make it home on time. The pretty rich girls were usually shallow. That shallowness either bit 'em in the ass or they overcame it. Think Molly Ringwald in "The Breakfast Club".
Robert, thanks for the "Freaks and Geeks" reminder. I've been meaning to put the DVDs on my library reserve list for ages and just did it. The show first started airing when B. and I were on our honeymoon. Between the wedding, honeymoon, his brother's move to Germany (and brief but painful cohabitation with us), and two trips to Michigan, I only caught one episode. By the time life calmed down enough for me to watch TV, it had been cancelled. Some of the writers/producers came from one of my all-time favorite shows, "Mystery Science Theater 3000", so I don't doubt that it's awesome.
Posted by: Poppy at February 9, 2006 05:48 PM
Almost every MST3K'er does a cameo on F&G. And the DVD box set has perhaps the most comprehensive, GEEKish collection of commentary tracks and extras (comm. tracks? Average THREE per episode).
The same crew did another misfire show, UNDECLARED, which I've heard is great but never caught.
Per the difference between John Hughes and his many later imitators, I think 3 simple words sum it up: Freddie. Prinze. Junior.
Posted by: robert at February 10, 2006 07:37 AM
Yes! Exactly. Being able to get over your adolescence is definitely a sign of maturity.
You're right about the fact that some kids got it worse than others, though.
Posted by: Julie J at February 10, 2006 11:49 AM
