My youngest stepbrother is a freshman in high school. Tonight, as his away message reads, he’s at the football game rooting on his Alma Mater. It’s a sweet, happy memory of crisp fall evenings spent in the stands of the stadium maintaining a terribly awkward lifestyle you attempt to pursue for four horribly weird years. It honestly makes me shudder to imagine reliving high school.
You never think high school is an awkward age until you reflect upon all the strange and embarrassing moments that occur while you are there. Seriously, when you were fourteen, when was life normal?
For example, for my first homecoming dance, I agreed to go along with one of the guys that rode my bus. Case in point: you can’t drive your own car, so your parents get to drive you to your homecoming dance as you sit as far apart from each other in the back seat, buckled up, and fronting basic questions from the monster in the passenger seat with the most ambiguous answers you can muster. Your only relief is knowing they have to leave you alone soon and only for a few good hours.
The person that escorted me to the dance brought a nice flower for me to wear to the dance. And instead of purchasing a sweetheart rose corsage to place around my wrist, I received a a bright yellow mum the size of the moon to place on the strap of my dress. Yes, my friends, I essentially wore a boutonniere to my first high school dance. It clashed marvelously with my shimmery black and blue gown.
I was taller than him. I was lanky and thin. I was socially inept. There are one thousand reasons why that dance, and therefore all of high school, was awkward, but nothing makes my gag reflex kick into action more than thinking about that damn mum on the gown. It’s not too often that you get to feel like the queen in a man-on-man relationship as a female.
I may have purposely lost that picture for sake of adulthood composure.