Wednesday, November 03, 2004
election confession
My dear reader, I have a confession to make which I'm sure you will find as difficult to believe now as I did then: I was not one of the "popular" people in high school. I did not hang with the "in" crowd.
In fact, I can only remember one time when someone from the upper social strata of adolescence noticed me at all. Although her name escapes me (which goes to show how memorable it was) a cheerleader (yes, a CHEERLEADER!) spoke to me. It was during the Great American Smokeout back around what must have been 1983. This was back when it was okay for kids to smoke, the school had a smoking section, and a pack of cigarettes cost fifty cents.
I recognized then it was pity, not compassion that motivated her.
I was a ribbon she could pin on her oh so tight cheerleader sweater to show off to her friends.
But what the fuck did I care, I was a horny teenage boy (redundant, I realize). For one glorious day of my high school career hot chicks in short cheerleader skirts or tight jeans talked to me in the hallways and gave me candy in between classes.
[Yeah, and it really worked. Although tt's no longer a habit, or a daily or even weekly affair, I just came back inside from a smoke break. It's election night. I'm feeling a little tense.]
She used me for the day then discarded me. Although in my mind I knew better, in my heart I believed for one brief moment that she might have actually liked me for me. Foolish boy.
I watched with envy as the most affluent and the most popular drove the best cars, had the best toys, had the best parties and ruled school society.
I had the feeling, that somehow, I was being cheated, that despite my parent's teachings, opportunity and success had no real connection with hardwork, intelligence and creativity. Sure, sometimes you got lucky, but mostly it boiled down to "who's your daddy?"
It was a feeling of envy, yes, and also one of anger at the injustice and unfairness of it all.
Like all of us, I somehow survived the social trauma of being on the lower rungs of the high school caste system and went of to The University.
At The University I was introduced to a new caste system: fraternities. Although I was tempted by the bribes of gratuitious amounts of alchohol, I was not persuaded to purchase friendship.
And again I watched as the rich and the popular drove the best cars, had the biggest parties, wielded the most power on campus and seemed to get the best jobs upon graduation. Connection has its rewards as again it seemed to boil down to "who's your daddy?"
As the night drags on and I watch the election returns come in, those old feelings simmer up again. As I sit and I watch, I see a son of privilege with his daddy's connections and his granddaddy's fortune, a spoiled hard-partying fratboy telling half of America to fuck off with a smug snicker.
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In fact, I can only remember one time when someone from the upper social strata of adolescence noticed me at all. Although her name escapes me (which goes to show how memorable it was) a cheerleader (yes, a CHEERLEADER!) spoke to me. It was during the Great American Smokeout back around what must have been 1983. This was back when it was okay for kids to smoke, the school had a smoking section, and a pack of cigarettes cost fifty cents.
I recognized then it was pity, not compassion that motivated her.
I was a ribbon she could pin on her oh so tight cheerleader sweater to show off to her friends.
But what the fuck did I care, I was a horny teenage boy (redundant, I realize). For one glorious day of my high school career hot chicks in short cheerleader skirts or tight jeans talked to me in the hallways and gave me candy in between classes.
[Yeah, and it really worked. Although tt's no longer a habit, or a daily or even weekly affair, I just came back inside from a smoke break. It's election night. I'm feeling a little tense.]
She used me for the day then discarded me. Although in my mind I knew better, in my heart I believed for one brief moment that she might have actually liked me for me. Foolish boy.
I watched with envy as the most affluent and the most popular drove the best cars, had the best toys, had the best parties and ruled school society.
I had the feeling, that somehow, I was being cheated, that despite my parent's teachings, opportunity and success had no real connection with hardwork, intelligence and creativity. Sure, sometimes you got lucky, but mostly it boiled down to "who's your daddy?"
It was a feeling of envy, yes, and also one of anger at the injustice and unfairness of it all.
Like all of us, I somehow survived the social trauma of being on the lower rungs of the high school caste system and went of to The University.
At The University I was introduced to a new caste system: fraternities. Although I was tempted by the bribes of gratuitious amounts of alchohol, I was not persuaded to purchase friendship.
And again I watched as the rich and the popular drove the best cars, had the biggest parties, wielded the most power on campus and seemed to get the best jobs upon graduation. Connection has its rewards as again it seemed to boil down to "who's your daddy?"
As the night drags on and I watch the election returns come in, those old feelings simmer up again. As I sit and I watch, I see a son of privilege with his daddy's connections and his granddaddy's fortune, a spoiled hard-partying fratboy telling half of America to fuck off with a smug snicker.
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