I got something in the mail recently that rocked my world. It was an invitation to my 50th high school class reunion. My 50th! That’s a half century! That length of time is so hard for me to process because the memories are still so vivid, so clear.
What is it about your high school years that burn them into your heart so deeply? I remember little from elementary school, not much from college, almost nothing from my first few jobs. But high school….I can recall almost all of my teachers, my buddies, my crushes, high peaks and low valleys.
Most 50th reunions are held in places with names like the Cahaba Grand Ballroom, or the Sheraton Perimeter Parkway. My 50th is being held at a place called Jug’s Hitching Post. And that pretty much tells you all you need to know about my high school.
I went to a small, rural school, about 400 students in four grades. I arrived my first day of freshman year with a flat top haircut and thick, black rim glasses. Yes, I was the kid who always took a dodge ball shot right in the nose, and whose glasses would then explode into a million pieces. My mom kept a large roll of white tape handy to wrap around my nose bridge and hold my frames together. You get the picture.
It didn’t take long to understand there were four distinct groups and cultures in the building, and by default you fit into one of them instantly.
There was, of course, the popular kids. They were the best looking, the most athletic, and the envy of all other groups. Your prom, homecoming court, and student council would come from this bunch. Also your sports teams, cheerleaders and yearbook staff. This explains why the yearbook was saturated with pictures of the cool kids doing cool stuff while the rest of us scrambled through the pages hoping to see one shot of ourselves randomly lurking in the background.
Then there were, for lack of a better name, the greasers. These were the troublemakers, the kids who filled the detention hall, defiant in the classroom. They would constantly brag about their under-aged beer parties and were constantly ready to brawl. I remember playing basketball in a P.E. class one time and aggressively going after a loose ball with a greaser kid who was about my size. He unnecessarily threw an elbow into my ribs and shoved me to the floor. When I got up and shot him my best dirty look, he immediately raised his fists in boxing position and shouted “Let’s go Lass!” I backed down like a scared rabbit. I had never been in a fight and didn’t know how, and I valued my face being in one piece.
I hated the greasers. I dismissed them as morons and losers. Although a small part of me secretly admired their independent spirit, and was stunned by their advanced sexual activity. Every now and then one of the greaser girls would stop coming to school, never to return. We would later learn she had gotten pregnant and was home raising her baby. I remember thinking to myself “Wow! That’s really going on?” Hard to believe for a shy kid whose throat dried up when he even tried to speak to a pretty girl.
Then there were the Ag kids. These were by and large the farm kids of whom there were many in my school. They excelled in shop class but seldom went out for sports or other activities. I always assumed they were needed on the farm and just didn’t have time. You didn’t mess with the Ag boys. They were a hard scrabble bunch and didn’t take any guff. The greasers always tried to bully other students but they did not mess with the Aggies. I made it a point to get along with them. Beneficial allies to have on your side.
Which brings us to my group…..the nerds. We were ‘tweeners, not good looking or athletic enough to be popular, not rebellious enough to be greasers, too sophisticated, we thought, to be Aggies. We got the highest grades, took most of the advanced classes, settled for band, chorus, theater, and debate….all of which solidified our nerd status.
Most of us desperately tried to escape to popular land. I dumped the black rim glasses and switched to contact lenses. Grew my hair out (almost over the top of my ears!) I joined a garage band and went out for track, the only sport for which my small stature was not a disadvantage. Alas, my invitation to Prom Court never came.
In the 50 years that have since passed, I try to convince myself that eventually I broke the chains of nerdhood. I went on to a 43 year on-air career in television and radio. Occasionally I would hear someone refer to me as “a local celebrity”. That always made me smile….not out of pride, but because I was profoundly aware that deep down inside still beat the heart of a nerd.
I’m okay with it now. I’ve even gone back to the black rim glasses….I’m pretty sure my dodge ball days are over.