Memory Lane
Last night, after finishing my readings for Native American Law, I decided that I wanted to get another book to read. I wandered into my den and started browsing through my library when I came across my old yearbooks from junior high and high school. On a whim, I pulled them out and glanced through them. I was surprised by how much I’d forgotten, but absolutely shocked when some folded pieces of paper fluttered out of one of the yearbooks. I immediately recognized them, but couldn’t understand how in the world I had ever forgotten that they existed.
In order to understand, though, I have to start the story much earlier. I know how everyone (although I’m wondering who I mean when I say ‘everyone’) must surely hate it when I engage in long-winded recollections about my youth, but bear with me.
As I’ve mentioned before, I was a fairly solitary kid. Moving around a lot as a child kept me from forming lasting relationships, and when my family settled in Topeka, I didn’t know how to relate to other children my own age. Largely until the end of my high school career, I spent most of my time alone. During these years, though, every so often there would be people who would enter my life and make me feel like I was somebody who was really worth knowing. It made me feel like maybe all of the people who wouldn’t deign to associate with me were the fools making the mistake. It made me feel a little bit less like the outsider and more like a normal human being.
I’ve written already about the debt of gratitude I owe a friend named Nik for his contribution to my life, and of the guilt I hold at not being able to keep him from killing himself. There were others as well, though – people who stepped in and brought vibrancy and color to an otherwise pedestrian life. Among those were ‘the girls.’
When I was in eighth grade, I took Spanish as one of my electives. I’ve always learned languages quickly, and was a full year ahead of my peers. I was in the Spanish class normally taken by ninth graders instead. Normally being the loner, I wasn’t all that concerned about being in a class where I didn’t really know anybody. In a way, it was par for the course.
The class was a mid-day class and we had lunch during that period. Lunchtime always posed a special problem for me (and did again when I had to eat in a dining center at KU) because I didn’t know where I was supposed to sit. People would claim their tables and my only option was to try to find an empty table where I could be out of everybody else’s way.
I’m edging toward relevance here. I swear it.
Also enrolled in the class were the four most attractive girls in the school. They hung out together, ate lunch together, and sat together in Spanish. Every guy in the school knew their names. Christy, Hannah, Joane, and Caitlin were the ‘in’ crowd and everybody wanted them or wanted to be them.
For reasons I still can’t understand, they… for lack of a better term… ‘adopted’ me. I sat with them in Spanish. I sat with them at lunch. They even accepted an invitation to come over to my house and swim in the pool once. I got to listen to their conversations and be a part of their lives. I learned about how adorable the girls found it that a little brother of one of them had asked his big sister about what romantic things he could do to help him win a girl he had a crush on. I talked to them about their dreams and hopes. I learned what guys they had crushes on and even hung on their every word about how they did on the last Spanish test. It was amazing. I couldn’t really believe that somehow I was their friend.
The pieces of paper that fell out of the yearbook were notes that they’d written me that I’d hung onto. Somehow, not only had I forgotten about the notes after all this time, but I’d forgotten about the people too. Realizing that made me disgusted with myself. Being part of their group, even if only for a year, made me realize how much I was missing out on.
The scraps of paper that fell out reminded me of how much I miss that type of camaraderie. Male friendships don’t have the type of intimacy that female friendships can have, and you’d quickly lose male friends if you wanted to talk about things being ‘adorable.’ In the notes, Hannah calls me ‘sweetie,’ Christy reminds me that they’ll save my place at the lunch table, and every note is signed with a heart.
I’d give anything to have that again.
In order to understand, though, I have to start the story much earlier. I know how everyone (although I’m wondering who I mean when I say ‘everyone’) must surely hate it when I engage in long-winded recollections about my youth, but bear with me.
As I’ve mentioned before, I was a fairly solitary kid. Moving around a lot as a child kept me from forming lasting relationships, and when my family settled in Topeka, I didn’t know how to relate to other children my own age. Largely until the end of my high school career, I spent most of my time alone. During these years, though, every so often there would be people who would enter my life and make me feel like I was somebody who was really worth knowing. It made me feel like maybe all of the people who wouldn’t deign to associate with me were the fools making the mistake. It made me feel a little bit less like the outsider and more like a normal human being.
I’ve written already about the debt of gratitude I owe a friend named Nik for his contribution to my life, and of the guilt I hold at not being able to keep him from killing himself. There were others as well, though – people who stepped in and brought vibrancy and color to an otherwise pedestrian life. Among those were ‘the girls.’
When I was in eighth grade, I took Spanish as one of my electives. I’ve always learned languages quickly, and was a full year ahead of my peers. I was in the Spanish class normally taken by ninth graders instead. Normally being the loner, I wasn’t all that concerned about being in a class where I didn’t really know anybody. In a way, it was par for the course.
The class was a mid-day class and we had lunch during that period. Lunchtime always posed a special problem for me (and did again when I had to eat in a dining center at KU) because I didn’t know where I was supposed to sit. People would claim their tables and my only option was to try to find an empty table where I could be out of everybody else’s way.
I’m edging toward relevance here. I swear it.
Also enrolled in the class were the four most attractive girls in the school. They hung out together, ate lunch together, and sat together in Spanish. Every guy in the school knew their names. Christy, Hannah, Joane, and Caitlin were the ‘in’ crowd and everybody wanted them or wanted to be them.
For reasons I still can’t understand, they… for lack of a better term… ‘adopted’ me. I sat with them in Spanish. I sat with them at lunch. They even accepted an invitation to come over to my house and swim in the pool once. I got to listen to their conversations and be a part of their lives. I learned about how adorable the girls found it that a little brother of one of them had asked his big sister about what romantic things he could do to help him win a girl he had a crush on. I talked to them about their dreams and hopes. I learned what guys they had crushes on and even hung on their every word about how they did on the last Spanish test. It was amazing. I couldn’t really believe that somehow I was their friend.
The pieces of paper that fell out of the yearbook were notes that they’d written me that I’d hung onto. Somehow, not only had I forgotten about the notes after all this time, but I’d forgotten about the people too. Realizing that made me disgusted with myself. Being part of their group, even if only for a year, made me realize how much I was missing out on.
The scraps of paper that fell out reminded me of how much I miss that type of camaraderie. Male friendships don’t have the type of intimacy that female friendships can have, and you’d quickly lose male friends if you wanted to talk about things being ‘adorable.’ In the notes, Hannah calls me ‘sweetie,’ Christy reminds me that they’ll save my place at the lunch table, and every note is signed with a heart.
I’d give anything to have that again.
posted by The Academian | 10:22 AM
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