I recently went to a high school football game at my alma mater. I’d like to say I hadn’t been to one since high school, but I’ve been to several because my Teacher Dad still helps announce the home football games. Specifically, he keeps track of the players on the field so the announcer can call the plays correctly, and he does a great job.
I didn’t go to football games often in high school, but I went enough to make going back eight years later feel really weird. Walking up to the stadium I am hit by dual waves of emotion. First is fear: I don’t want any of my ‘03 classmates to see me here. What’s more lame than a 26 year-old going back to her high school football game, right? I’m as big of a fan of my alma mater as the next alum, but high school was meant to be graduated from, not re-visited.
The second emotion I feel at the stadium is fierce, fierce annoyance. The parents proudly wearing circle picture buttons of their players / cheerleaders / band members on their school-colored outfits, and the high school students throwing baby powder at the opening kickoff (that’s the new thing apparently) - I find everyone’s enthusiasm uncharacteristically aggravating. So I sit with my Mom in the stands feeling like one of those Muppet hecklers, mentally rolling my eyes at the seriousness with which everyone is so in to this high school football game. We might be one of the best football teams in the state, but this is Indiana; not Texas. No two-a-days here (I think).
My annoyance at these otherwise-nice folks stems mostly from my cynicism about the high-school / college / real-world transition. Ask my friends and family, and they’ll say I’m frustratingly optimistic. Once at work when our central data system had crashed and was completely paralyzing our operations, I managed to tell a coworker, “Well, at least this shows us that there’s a problem with the system.” That was making lemons into tart moldy lemonade.
My normal effervescence becomes caked in sticky bitterness whenever I’m surrounded by cheerful high school students. You see, I used to be one of them. I was the standard high school over-achiever. I graduated in the top 2% of my class; I held numerous leadership positions in orchestra, language clubs, and honor societies, and I even cried over at A- or two. Then I went to a college where everyone was an overachiever. And I entered a work-force where my social networks mattered more than my GPA.
So I sit at my high school football game with an cloud of cynicism raining on me. I have a strong desire to go up to one of those chest-bumping football players on the field, grab him by the shoulders and say “All of this doesn’t matter.” Cheerful. I know.
But then I realize that what I might be feeling isn’t cynicism, it’s jealousy. Because I liked high school.
Yes, I said it. I liked high school a lot. But I know it’s not cool to say that. I’m even nervous to write it down because it’s okay to like the four years in college, but not the preceding four years, right? If you reminisce about college in your twenties, you’re being nostalgic; if you reminisce about high school, you’re being immature. At least that’s my perception. After all, valedictorians’ speeches always talk about moving on to the “real world” and better things. But what if high school is the better thing? I certainly liked it just as much as college. It’s where I first felt important and accomplished, it’s where I met my first life-long friends, and it’s where I first fell in love. Those trends continued in college, but high school paved the way. College prep at its best.
I didn’t go to football games often in high school, but I went enough to make going back eight years later feel really weird. Walking up to the stadium I am hit by dual waves of emotion. First is fear: I don’t want any of my ‘03 classmates to see me here. What’s more lame than a 26 year-old going back to her high school football game, right? I’m as big of a fan of my alma mater as the next alum, but high school was meant to be graduated from, not re-visited.
The second emotion I feel at the stadium is fierce, fierce annoyance. The parents proudly wearing circle picture buttons of their players / cheerleaders / band members on their school-colored outfits, and the high school students throwing baby powder at the opening kickoff (that’s the new thing apparently) - I find everyone’s enthusiasm uncharacteristically aggravating. So I sit with my Mom in the stands feeling like one of those Muppet hecklers, mentally rolling my eyes at the seriousness with which everyone is so in to this high school football game. We might be one of the best football teams in the state, but this is Indiana; not Texas. No two-a-days here (I think).
My annoyance at these otherwise-nice folks stems mostly from my cynicism about the high-school / college / real-world transition. Ask my friends and family, and they’ll say I’m frustratingly optimistic. Once at work when our central data system had crashed and was completely paralyzing our operations, I managed to tell a coworker, “Well, at least this shows us that there’s a problem with the system.” That was making lemons into tart moldy lemonade.
My normal effervescence becomes caked in sticky bitterness whenever I’m surrounded by cheerful high school students. You see, I used to be one of them. I was the standard high school over-achiever. I graduated in the top 2% of my class; I held numerous leadership positions in orchestra, language clubs, and honor societies, and I even cried over at A- or two. Then I went to a college where everyone was an overachiever. And I entered a work-force where my social networks mattered more than my GPA.
So I sit at my high school football game with an cloud of cynicism raining on me. I have a strong desire to go up to one of those chest-bumping football players on the field, grab him by the shoulders and say “All of this doesn’t matter.” Cheerful. I know.
But then I realize that what I might be feeling isn’t cynicism, it’s jealousy. Because I liked high school.
Yes, I said it. I liked high school a lot. But I know it’s not cool to say that. I’m even nervous to write it down because it’s okay to like the four years in college, but not the preceding four years, right? If you reminisce about college in your twenties, you’re being nostalgic; if you reminisce about high school, you’re being immature. At least that’s my perception. After all, valedictorians’ speeches always talk about moving on to the “real world” and better things. But what if high school is the better thing? I certainly liked it just as much as college. It’s where I first felt important and accomplished, it’s where I met my first life-long friends, and it’s where I first fell in love. Those trends continued in college, but high school paved the way. College prep at its best.
I was lucky to have such a great high school experience, and I realize that many folks don’t have such cheerful memories of their alma maters. Even the Real Housewives are quick to label cattiness and jealousy as being “so high school.” (By now I think it’d be better to say those qualities are so “Real Housewives.”) But I don’t really have bad memories, and so I’m happy to celebrate 1999-2003. I love looking at my yearbooks and all the little messages scribbled in it thanking me for a fun year and wishing me good luck in the future. So the next time I’m at a football game, you might find me wearing blue and gold and throwing baby powder with the teenagers. You may call me uncool, but that would be so “high school” of you. And if you were my classmate, you should take that as a compliment.
1 comment:
Ha, love it. I get this weird feeling anytime I drive past my high school back home. I too loved high school, however I would never relive it. I would relive college, but not high school, I can't identify why. PS your post on the brushetta gave me the craving for it, so I made it... delicious. Thank you for sharing.
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