On Friday, August 31, I chaperoned the Back to School Dance at Orem Junior High. In case you don't know where Orem Junior is, you can see it easily on 800 North in Orem, UT by a triangle leopard print marquee---even though we are actually the Jaguars. Never mind that though, because the triangle has faded in the sun to an unusual pink hue, which makes the sign look like a ginormous pink leopard print thong. So, what was I saying? Oh yeah, welcome back to school kids!
So it is in the benevolent shadow of larger-than-life, rosy-colored, animal-print underwear that we begin our narrative.
About 10 minutes into the dance, I was talking to 2 of my favorite comrades in the junior high trenches---Mr. Sigafus, the German teacher and a math teacher, Mr. Hart---when a rather portly and socially savvy (as you will no doubt discover) 7th grader came up to Mr. Sigafus and burped, no, belched right in his face, only to back away with a smug, over-bitten chortle (picture Dudley Dursley from Harry Potter). Rest assured, it was all done in the spirit of fun: Mr. Sigafus is one of the coolest teachers at our school (even though he wears cowboy boots). Correction: it was done in the spirit of trying to be cool. How we manage to get anything accomplished in school with people who think that letting loose with bodily functions impresses those higher up on the food chain. . . (And the public is complaining that test scores are down. Do you see what we have to work with here?)
And then there's Jonathan (who would make a fascinating subject for a blog entry), the unnaturally sweet and yet socially-challenged English-as-a-second-language student in my homeroom (yet his lack of interpersonal ease is not related to his sometimes barely intelligible, heavily accented English), who asks me if it's okay for students to dance with teachers. I'm relieved that the answer here is clearly no, even though it makes my heart a little heavier that I know he won't dance with anyone this afternoon.
When I was taking in a nice panorama of the soiree at one end of the gym, the dee-jay announced a "ladies' choice" slow dance (You know, to this day I don't think I've ever had the guts to ask a guy to dance during "ladies' choice."). All the girls gravitated to the center of the dance floor while all the boys made a mad dash, as casually as possible, to the nearest wall. The image was almost scientific. Remember way back in the day when in biology you had to learn the stages of mitosis, which at this point I would venture to say is cell division? (I really can't remember anymore and truthfully had not thought of until this afternoon at the dance.) The scene unfolding before my eyes was JUST like that one slide with the "stuff" polarizing at different ends and the motion and stretching illustrated by horizontal lines. Do you remember? Not only was the physical image so striking, the tense emotional state of all those in attendance charged the room so, that I swear if someone had lit a match the whole place would have gone up in flames. It was enough to make me, a mere spectator, want to run for cover. Or at least to the middle of the room (where all the girls were, you know, because of the mitosis and such).
It was most likely during this very same dance that my emotionally delicate friend Hannah arranged to have a her friend ask the boy she liked if he would dance with her. His reaction: "Oh G*d, anyone but her. Could she be anymore friggin ugly?" She was cowering by the wall, alone, almost too upset to speak when I found her.
Other vignettes of crushed hopes at the junior high dance would include my teacher friend Lindsey helping a boy in the corner crying because his glasses were stepped on and broken. Another seventh-grade girl was sobbing because she was terrified and positive that some ninth-graders (whom she had never seen, nor did they even know her) were going to make good on their empty threat that "they were going to make her life miserable."
Although the junior high dance as I have portrayed up until now may seem like the optimal stage to spotlight all that is tragic and flawed in the world, it can draw forth that which is most admirable and kind in all of human nature. For example, however much it was slightly annoying that students couldn't resist giving me the eye and shooting fake guns with their hands "go get 'em tiger" style as I innocently stood and talked shop with Mr. Hart, a happily married man of probably 25 some odd years---I realize in retrospect that my students just want me to be happy and to find love (they are obsessed with my love life---funny, I don't ever recall caring about my teachers'), even if it is with someone who is unavailable and probably old enough to be my dad.
There is a crowd of funny, FUNNY eighth and ninth grade skater boys that go to my school. All of them happen to take my men's choir. Funnier still. I can never get them to stop moving or jumping off of things or making noise (unless it's on stage where they happen to freeze up like Greek statues). Here at the dance was another brief moment in time in which they stood strikingly still---awkward spectating wall flowers in contrast to the student body's mass swing dancing to Hairspray's "You Can't Stop the Beat." Though they were "cool," they certainly were fish out of water in this scene. I happened to see some of the cute girls they hang with and told them to go drag those boys onto the dance floor. A sweeter sight I had heretofore not seen this afternoon: these gangly skaters swing dancing with adorable girls decked out in goofy blue and silver school spirit clothes.
The best moment of the dance for me was seeing a student council member named Jill inviting a boy to slow dance. Now this boy was definitely not the coolest or the funniest or even the smartest, nor was he quite the nerdiest or the homeliest; he did seem to have any kind of "-est" designation to set him apart from the rest, which is actually the loneliest. And you could tell that he himself knew it. I could tell from their exchange that she did not know him, nor would he have ever presumed to approach someone of her status. He tried to get out of the invitation by saying that he didn't know how to dance, but Jill led him on the dance floor just the same and showed him where to rest his hand on her shoulder and how to move his two left feet. I was inspired, while I secretly chastized myself for all the times in my life I hadn't, but could have, done the same.
What is it exactly that fuels junior high to make it so exciting that all of this could go down in 45 minutes? Maybe it's because these little people don't make decisions rationally. They make them reactionally. It's the archetypal showdown between brainstem and frontal lobe, adrenaline versus critical thinking. And the winner is . . .
Are you kidding me? Brainstem everytime. In junior high, we live in "fight or flight." Eat or be eaten. We're just looking to survive through the day. The wonderful relief that you discover in junior high, though, is the realization of that first breath and just how good it feels after the wind gets knocked clean out of you. After each defeat, the feel of the sweat on your brow or the taste of blood on your lip means one thing, and that is ultimately that you did win and you did survive because you're still alive and feeling and tasting. And you'll go to bed and wake up the next morning to do it all over again. And this is what will sustain you through the rest of life's inevitable humiliations.
My tender little friend Hannah who had fled to the wall most likely thought that her fight had been lost. Perhaps, but it had only been a battle, so to speak; definitely not the war. In fact, I'd wager that losing a lot in junior high just might increase your winning odds as you get older. While Hannah was recounting her story, I was frantically thinking about what in the world I could possibly have to say that would be of any consolation when the oddest thing came to me. When she finished, I stretched forth my hand and clutched hers in a firm handshake. "Congratualtions and welcome to the club," I said. "You are now a woman."
6 comments:
You have to write a book on your adventures. I swear. That was so great.
I hated junior high school with a passion. Not so much the school part, but everything else that was involved with being 12-13 years old.
You need to post a picture of the lovely pink thong image. Perfect for Orem.
I can picture each and every child that you talk about, not because I know them, but because you make it real. You should teach creative writing as well.
And I would never ever go back to Jr. High. I really feel Hannah's pain- that was so me at the dances.
Must come with the name Hannah--I can't tell you how many times I got rejected when asking a boy to dance. Why did I keep trying?!?!
Junior High was the worst time of my life, as well. I had NO self confidence. I had very serious fantasies of becoming the best football player in history, which of course was absurb, but on this particular subject I was in the power of positive thinking camp. I was skinny and a book worm type and a lot of guys were really mean to me. Camille, you touched me with your description of Jill, the kind one.
I miss junior high and all those that you mentioned terribly. You're an amazing writer and reminded me of all the interactions I've had with those kids! Thanks!
I'm proud to call you my friend!
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