Everything I need to hate, I learned in junior high. As my collegiate life draws to a close, I’ve been reflecting a great deal on my education. But instead of finding joy in all those great moments in kindergarten, grade school or high school, the things that stick out in my mind are the horrific, depressing and nauseating memories of junior high.
Does anyone actually enjoy junior high? This is not a rhetorical question. I’m seriously interested in hearing if people had a good time during these awkward, early pubescent years. I have yet to meet a fellow student who did not either completely despise junior high, or at least find it mildly awful. In fact I’m beginning to think that all of life’s miseries, all of the horrible things that people inflict on one another, can be best understood by looking at junior high. Maybe the world itself is just one big junior high. That would explain the quality of food — at least the tater tots.
In everyone’s quest to become more popular, cliques always develop. It seems as if an infinite chain of coolness exists, which kids dreaming of popularity are perpetually trying to ascend. I always wonder if an end to this chain is ever realized, if the coolest people are ever aware of how cool they are and can just be happy. Or are they as awkward and uneasy with themselves as the rest of us?
The worst were those who appeared to have no friends, the bottom-feeders who you couldn’t be caught dead talking to. They picked their noses incessantly, had disgusting teeth and had acne on weird parts of their body. I always enjoyed making fun of these poor souls, but then again, self-deprecation is one of my favorite pastimes.
Junior high was like a prison or detainment facility. The authorities decided to round up every kid nearing puberty and throw them together, just to see what would happen. It’s like “Lord of the Flies” with Clearasil.
Remember junior high dances? Everyone danced together in groups until the disc jockey would put on music for slow dances. It might have been OK if they had played something romantic and touching, like “Love Hurts.” But it was invariably something stupid and horrible, like “Love Hurts.”
And then the awkwardness of finding a girl to dance with. There were those pathetic people who dated in junior high — I wonder how far those relationships went. I’m sure people rounded second base a couple of times, but looking back, it seems strange and goofy. Has anything really changed in terms of relationships? Do 20-somethings still practice the art of love by giving hickies to their arms?
Junior high school taught me one thing (in addition to the important histories of Canada and Mexico): The world is a horrible and disgusting place. I learned that people can be cruel, callous, mean and unfriendly. I learned that I had a lot of things to doubt about myself — my looks, my emotions, my ideas, my friends. Most of all, I doubted what kind of person I was supposed to be.
Has anything changed? Is junior high representative of life in general? Will I keep dealing with cliques, coolness, awkwardness and acne for the rest of my post-school life?
Well, to quote my seventh-grade social studies teacher: “Don Miguel Hidalgo is the George Washington of Mexico.”
Paul Flaig is a Weinberg senior. He can be reached at [email protected].
