I'll dedicate this post to Becky, Michelle and Michelle, whom I met for dinner on Wednesday and got me thinking about this in the first place. When you get four MHS Class of '95 alum together, there's bound to be some reminiscing, so naturally, we did a lot of that. I was reminded that it's been a whopping 17 years since we graduated. I don't know about other people, but the second 17 and a half years of my life have whizzed by much more quickly than the first, which at times felt interminable.
Part of the conversation with my friends centered on people who made our lives miserable back in school. For me, the worst years by far were junior high. Is there a worse time in anyone's life? You don't quite fit into your body, hormones are surging, and particularly if you're a girl, your peers probably have reached the apex of their viciousness. Me, I certainly felt that I faced more than my share of adversity. I don't know what exactly it was like for my brothers to go through school carrying the name Ceman, but I pretty much can guarantee it's much harder for a girl to live with than a boy. My classmates were very creative, let me tell you. My hair was very fine, and even though I dedicated much Aqua Net and curling iron time to the task, my bangs would not form into a becoming poof. Add to that an unfortunate letter R speech impediment that took me until high school to shed, and I had a social nightmare on my hands. I wouldn't say I was bullied. But I was teased. Mercilessly.
I was desperate to fit in at Butte Morts, or at the very least simply be ignored. I tried out for, and by some miracle made, the eighth grade cheerleading squad despite the fact that I was hopelessly uncoordinated. I think the coach must have taken pity on me - and I think about 12 people tried out for six spots. I was predictably awful, and something that I'd hoped would increase my social currency only diminished it further, my pathetic attempts to kick in sync with others giving my classmates more reasons to taunt me . It's funny to me now that I even wanted to do that, as it is so not me. That's the whole point, though, isn't it? Assimilating.
High school was incrementally better for me, but I think in a lot of ways school just did not suit me very well. My socials struggles continued to dog me a bit, but I didn't thrive academically either. I was like two different people in my classes. If someone would have asked my history and English teachers what kind of student I was, they would have said I was bright and hardworking. My science and math teachers? The opposite. I never thought higher math and and science would be of the slightest use to me. Now almost 35, I can honestly say geometry and the balancing equations of chemistry have yet to come in handy for me. But I know now that it's about more than that, and I wish mightily I would have tried harder in school. As it was, I walked away from my graduation none too sad to leave it all behind, except of course for my circle of friends.
I don't think it was until I got to UW-Oshkosh my junior year of college that I truly found my stride. UW-Fox Valley, where I spent my freshman and sophomore years, was a microcosm of Menasha High in a lot of ways, plus all those math and science general ed classes. I was able to take classes that truly interested me. As a result, I excelled in school for the first time in my life. Finally I was able to shed the social strictures of middle and high school and find something closer to my true self (yes, that sounds incredibly cheesy).
Watching the trailer for the movie "Bully" recently brought this all to mind for me as well. I was in tears watching the struggles of the kids, especially the two who committed suicide, those beautiful boys. I wish I could take those boys and girls aside and assure them somehow that life does get easier.
My point in all this waxing nostalgic isn't to be all "woe is me." It took me a long time, but I've finally realized that in many ways the middle and high school years are hard for everyone. The people who made my life miserable probably had their own miseries, and their actions toward me were just a different manifestation of the very same insecurities I had. It's tempting but fruitless to hold onto animosity. Besides, maybe I'm the lucky one. I like to think of my struggles as character-building, and look at it this way: I never had to drop the crutch of popularity.
All of this brings me full-circle, to my own boys. My hope for them is simple. I want them to have a few good friends, to be neither bullies nor bullied. I hope for them to come through school as unscathed as possible, but if they do struggle, maybe my experiences will be able to help them in some way.
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