Student Council Class President, two years; Class Treasurer, two years; Captain of the Varsity Soccer Team, three years; Most Valuable Player, two years; Most Valuable Freshman on the Varsity Soccer Team; Who’s Who Among High School Students of America, three years; National Honor Society, three years; 3.95 GPA at graduation… That is an excerpt from the Resume that got me in to Kalamazoo, College, where I am about to graduate for years later, with a much less loaded list of extra-curricular activities. Where I go from this place and who I am now, can be traced to my formative years at West Bloomfield High School, either for better or worse.
Walking through the huge entry doors into the two story atrium at seven on any day Monday to Friday, you would see the “popular kids.” The cute, well dressed freshman girls, waiting for the older boys to notice them, had their own little corner. The senior girls who resented their existence huddled next to their older male counterparts. In season athletes stood in circles donning their green and white jackets, talking about an upcoming game or amazing play. Sounds typical of any high school, I recognize, but throw in designer handbags, expensive cars, and a tumultuous racial mix of students, and arises an interesting situation filled with its own set of pressures, separate from the typical adolescent experience.
It is not often that a white Christian girl feels like a minority in her community. I walked through those great doors on the first day of my freshman year, with little idea of what I would encounter. Our school district is composed of two middle schools, one far less diverse than other. Since I had not spent my summers at sleep-away camp with them, or studied at Temple Israel, for a bat mitzvah that my religion did not dictate, I had no connection anyone other than my immediate classmates.
My mom had woken up with me at 5:30 that morning to dry my hair and help me get ready for my first day of classes. I wore a pink XOXO sweater with my new grey Z. Cavaricci pants with my new Calvin Klein messenger bag, the fact that I still remember that is sickening. I felt like I blended well with my surroundings, except of course my athletic build that did not match the slender dancer’s bodies of so many of the other girls. Within the first weeks of school, I had earned a reputation, not a bad one, but one of curiosity.
It was always flattering when I introduced myself to someone new, and countered a look of recognition. Within the first couple of months of school, I was brought into the clique with the “popular girls.” When I walked into school, I would confront a screaming group of girls who would compliment my outfit, haircut, or any other superficial conversation piece. The notoriety I gained encouraged me to begin to run for positions within Student Council and won. On the surface, everything seemed perfect, but I realized early, I could not play that part forever. For the first time in my life, I started to feel insecure. It seemed that all of those other girls had more dates, better grades, cuter clothes, and more connections. I abandoned my best friends, most of whom I had known since elementary school because they ran in different circles. I appeared confident because I did everything I could, but felt shallow and different on the inside.
For two years, I kept up the charade. I continued to isolate myself from those I had always considered my closest friends to have a Sweet Sixteen Party with fifty guests, maybe two of which, I’ve kept in contact. Trying to keep with the trends, gossip, and being set up on dates/ or told who to date took its toll. Even now, as embarrassing as it is, I hate recycling outfits. Despite how lousy I felt, I dressed up and dressed well to mask any inner turmoil. In adopting the motto, “you look good, you feel good,” I have learned to appear put together and collected, like the duck on the pond that seems calm, but under the surface his webbed feet are paddling furiously to stay afloat.
The start of my junior year, proved pivotal. That summer I spent time rekindling relationships with old friends, while also pulling away from others and making new ones. I began to feel like a floater, bouncing from one group to the next, never having a close-knit group of friends, while also knowing the value of lots of acquaintances. Walking past the cafeteria during lunch, each grouping of students had a designated area of the cafeteria, mostly based on race or ethnicity; black, Chaldeon, or Jewish. Without the visual clues guiding me to the appropriate table, where an empty seat waited for me, I felt awkward and out of place no matter where or with whom I sat. During those years I learned to act and I did it well.
On graduation, I walked up to the podium to address my classmates and their families for one last time. It was in that moment, when I looked over the sea of green and white caps, that I realized that the next chapter of my life gave me a chance to start all over. Walking across the stage felt liberating, and exciting because I could go someplace different; start off on my own, walk away from the familiar, confront new challenges, and discover who I am, which after twenty-two years is still maturing and changing. Leaving college is a much different situation with more loaded questions, but I am lucky that I learned, at a young age, to keep up appearances, it will make my professional life a lot easier.
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