High school is a cruel little world.
This week is student body elections. Days of handing out suckers, preparing speeches (which by the way, none of the candidates actually gave speeches, they all just showed a video. What has our world come to?), and trying to convince the intelligent high school population that you getting elected will have anything to do with their happiness.
It won't.
One of my favorite students, an aboslute doll who is always on task and sweet and cheerful, lost the election.
Would it be too dramatic to say it broke my heart? Because it really did.
I guess I don't really understand student body elections. "Alright, guys, lets all choose the hottest and most popular kid and have him be in charge of everything important at our school. The teachers and principal get no sway whatsoever." Because isn't that how all jobs are filled? By the hottest and most popular with no regard for what the authorities think?
I suppose I feel high school elections so acutely because eight years ago, in the throes of teenage angst and misunderstood hormones, I myself, was involved in a little student government election.
I was running for junior class secretary against Shayla- a girl I disliked for the mere reason that she had what I wanted: Will Shane. He was gorgeous and perfect and I had crushed on him for four years. The boy was as pure as pure can be- never kissed a girl, never had a girlfriend, straight A student. And when he finally got himself a girlfriend, it wasn't me. It was Shayla. I went on loving him- unrequited, of course- until the day he got married. (Not to Shayla).
With Shayla already as my arch enemy #1, I wanted nothing more than to crush her in the campaign. To show Will who he should really be dating. To reclaim some of my lost pride.
After days of draining campaigning, the results were in. Carbon High, never the classiest, didn't have the courtesy to announce the results to us before they told the rest of the school. They would announce it at a high school dance. On a Friday night. In front of everybody. No, we couldn't hide from those teens, we would have to face our formidable classmates and show them that we were the failures the thought we were.
Friday night finally rolled around. I could hardly enjoy the dance waiting for the announcement. No boy was cute, no cookie was chocolatey, no song was catchy, all I wanted to know is if I won, and wasthattoomuchtoaskforDANGIT!?!?!?
Finally, the advisor came over the P.A. He announced the historian. Then, it was our turn, "You guys, for junior class secretary we have something we have never had before. Never. Ever! EVER! We have an exact tie! We've recounted four times and it's an exact tie can you believe it?!?! This is CRAZY! So we'll revote first thing Monday morning, make sure you're on time to school to vote!" Beep.
Then. Silence.
I felt sick. I left immediately with my best friend, who had lost the election for president. We rode together in silence, each aching in our own way.
The weekend dragged on. I stressed. I tossed and turned. I didn't eat.
Monday morning arrived, and sure enough, at 8:20 sharp, we re-voted. I remember circling my own name, bold and strong.
BONNIE BLACKBURN.
ME.
I wanted to win this.
Thirty minutes later, in the middle of correcting a biology quiz with the class, the advisor came on the speaker. Beep. "We have our winner for secretary. The winner is Shayla Gilman. Thank you." Beep. Just like that. Millions of possibilities were extinguished with that voice and I sat there, staring down at that biology quiz, fully aware that all eyes were on me and I that I had nowhere to hide. I was raw. Exposed. Vulnerable. Tears filled my eyes, and I bit my lip with all my might, trying to stop them from rolling down my face. I had to act like I didn't care. Like I never wanted it in the first place. Like I had lost on purpose.
It didn't work, and as thirty five pair of eyes boared into the back of my head, I'll always be grateful for Mr. Bean, who sensed the tension, the awkwardness, and blurted, "Alright, hurry up, we don't have all day with this quiz! Number 5 is mitochondria, Number 6 is ribosome..." and took those eyes off of my shamed, red face and back onto a quiz.
This story is supposed to be funny, but I realize now when I reread it, that it reeks of sorrow, not humor. When I tell this story out loud it's hilarious; in fact I told it in the faculty room at lunch yesterday and one teacher was laughing so hard he cried. It is funny, but not for good reasons. It's funny because of its cruelty, funny because of the things humans sometimes do to other humans, funny because that was eight years ago and I have had a full enough, rich enough life that that doesn't matter anymore.
But when student elections roll around at the high school each year, I hurt. I can't enjoy it, and I wait anxiously for the week to pass and hope none of my students come out injured. My heart aches for those who don't win, (most of them kids I've never met) for those who want it so bad, for those who are publicly rejected by the cruelest age group.
I guess I don't understand why student government elections are necessary in high school. I suppose you could say it prepares kids for the real world, the rejection and all, but nowhere in my life since losing that eleventh grade election have I felt a sharper form of rejection. Not getting stood up by own boyfriend, not having doors slammed in my face in Argentina, not being denied a job at the school where I student taught. Nothing equals the pain of having an entire school of your peers and friends say, "Nope. Sorry. Not good enough for us."
This week is student body elections. Days of handing out suckers, preparing speeches (which by the way, none of the candidates actually gave speeches, they all just showed a video. What has our world come to?), and trying to convince the intelligent high school population that you getting elected will have anything to do with their happiness.
It won't.
One of my favorite students, an aboslute doll who is always on task and sweet and cheerful, lost the election.
Would it be too dramatic to say it broke my heart? Because it really did.
I guess I don't really understand student body elections. "Alright, guys, lets all choose the hottest and most popular kid and have him be in charge of everything important at our school. The teachers and principal get no sway whatsoever." Because isn't that how all jobs are filled? By the hottest and most popular with no regard for what the authorities think?
I suppose I feel high school elections so acutely because eight years ago, in the throes of teenage angst and misunderstood hormones, I myself, was involved in a little student government election.
I was running for junior class secretary against Shayla- a girl I disliked for the mere reason that she had what I wanted: Will Shane. He was gorgeous and perfect and I had crushed on him for four years. The boy was as pure as pure can be- never kissed a girl, never had a girlfriend, straight A student. And when he finally got himself a girlfriend, it wasn't me. It was Shayla. I went on loving him- unrequited, of course- until the day he got married. (Not to Shayla).
 |
| Me in high school. With that hair do and purple eyeshadow, I don't know how I didn't have the whole school worshipping me. |
With Shayla already as my arch enemy #1, I wanted nothing more than to crush her in the campaign. To show Will who he should really be dating. To reclaim some of my lost pride.
After days of draining campaigning, the results were in. Carbon High, never the classiest, didn't have the courtesy to announce the results to us before they told the rest of the school. They would announce it at a high school dance. On a Friday night. In front of everybody. No, we couldn't hide from those teens, we would have to face our formidable classmates and show them that we were the failures the thought we were.
Friday night finally rolled around. I could hardly enjoy the dance waiting for the announcement. No boy was cute, no cookie was chocolatey, no song was catchy, all I wanted to know is if I won, and wasthattoomuchtoaskforDANGIT!?!?!?
Finally, the advisor came over the P.A. He announced the historian. Then, it was our turn, "You guys, for junior class secretary we have something we have never had before. Never. Ever! EVER! We have an exact tie! We've recounted four times and it's an exact tie can you believe it?!?! This is CRAZY! So we'll revote first thing Monday morning, make sure you're on time to school to vote!" Beep.
Then. Silence.
I felt sick. I left immediately with my best friend, who had lost the election for president. We rode together in silence, each aching in our own way.
The weekend dragged on. I stressed. I tossed and turned. I didn't eat.
Monday morning arrived, and sure enough, at 8:20 sharp, we re-voted. I remember circling my own name, bold and strong.
BONNIE BLACKBURN.
ME.
I wanted to win this.
Thirty minutes later, in the middle of correcting a biology quiz with the class, the advisor came on the speaker. Beep. "We have our winner for secretary. The winner is Shayla Gilman. Thank you." Beep. Just like that. Millions of possibilities were extinguished with that voice and I sat there, staring down at that biology quiz, fully aware that all eyes were on me and I that I had nowhere to hide. I was raw. Exposed. Vulnerable. Tears filled my eyes, and I bit my lip with all my might, trying to stop them from rolling down my face. I had to act like I didn't care. Like I never wanted it in the first place. Like I had lost on purpose.
It didn't work, and as thirty five pair of eyes boared into the back of my head, I'll always be grateful for Mr. Bean, who sensed the tension, the awkwardness, and blurted, "Alright, hurry up, we don't have all day with this quiz! Number 5 is mitochondria, Number 6 is ribosome..." and took those eyes off of my shamed, red face and back onto a quiz.
This story is supposed to be funny, but I realize now when I reread it, that it reeks of sorrow, not humor. When I tell this story out loud it's hilarious; in fact I told it in the faculty room at lunch yesterday and one teacher was laughing so hard he cried. It is funny, but not for good reasons. It's funny because of its cruelty, funny because of the things humans sometimes do to other humans, funny because that was eight years ago and I have had a full enough, rich enough life that that doesn't matter anymore.
But when student elections roll around at the high school each year, I hurt. I can't enjoy it, and I wait anxiously for the week to pass and hope none of my students come out injured. My heart aches for those who don't win, (most of them kids I've never met) for those who want it so bad, for those who are publicly rejected by the cruelest age group.
I guess I don't understand why student government elections are necessary in high school. I suppose you could say it prepares kids for the real world, the rejection and all, but nowhere in my life since losing that eleventh grade election have I felt a sharper form of rejection. Not getting stood up by own boyfriend, not having doors slammed in my face in Argentina, not being denied a job at the school where I student taught. Nothing equals the pain of having an entire school of your peers and friends say, "Nope. Sorry. Not good enough for us."
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