High School Hierarchy

When people ask about what my high school was like, often I start with, "Have you ever seen 'Varsity Blues'?" If so, then people know where I'm going with this. If not, let me educate you.

My graduating class was about 350. I thought this was huge until Spank, my college roommate, told me she graduated with a class of 800. With 350 kids, you recognize faces, you know most people's names, their siblings, what sports they play, and economic status. You also inherently know if they are "cool." And not just "cool" but what level of cool they are.

"A" Group
More commonly known as the elite group, this was who everyone aspired to be, yet simultaneously abhorred. They were cool because...they simply existed. Some people in this group, like Katie, had it all. She had perfect hair, perfect body, and perfect teeth, and to top it all off, she was the head cheerleader, the star field hockey player, AND the salutatorian. She was annoyingly perfect. But, like all the elites, she gave off the air that she didn't CARE if she were popular. She just WAS. Strangely, these kids were equally noted to be in the Honors Society, the head cheerleaders, star quarterbacks, and star wrestlers (or 'wrastlers' as some said), and yet also the biggest drug users. I would say about 10 out of 350 kids were in the A Group.

This was the group Harve and I longed to be in, but spent 4 years hiding from, blushing in front of, and feeling genuinely uneasy around. We wanted to be cool, but there was NO WAY we could've fit into this group. This is the Ferris Bueller of popularity. You don't think about having a party at your house or worrying about your parents finding out, you just DO IT. And Harve and I would've been too nervous, not confident enough, to ever fit in here.

Strangely enough, both Harve's siblings were in this group. I was fortunate, in that my sister had dropped out of the popularity race and went the opposite direction by joining up with the hippie commune. My brother was more of an unknown. From what I could gather, he either flew under the radar, or ended up in the same ranks that I did.

"B" Group
This was about 1/4 of the student body. Most of the football team and the rest of the cheerleaders were in this group. Hence, Varsity Blues. Thank you high school athletic stereotypes.

The rest of the kids in this group were popular, but because they worked at it, not because it came naturally. And that's what made them so sad. This group was what teen movies are made of. They would throw you under the bus if it meant they'd elevate themselves to the A Group or even just to secure their position in the B Group. These kids could be peer pressured into anything -- drugs, alcohol, sex, class uprisings, cheating, etc. -- just to seem cooler.

On one hand, Harve and I wanted to be cool. But, on the other hand, we never would've sold ourselves to the devil JUST to be cool. We were too scared and genuinely good to maliciously start rumors or talk back to teachers.

About 100-150 kids were in the B Group.

"C" Group
 If things had been different, I could've seen Harve and I in this group. In fact, Deege managed to get there as well as about half our other friends. This was the group who had a good time, maybe got invited to parties "under the bridge", but didn't care too much about whether or not they were popular. These kids played sports like soccer, tennis, field hockey, baseball, and anything else that failed to bring money into the school.

This was also the drama club kids and some of the cooler band nerds who actually had their own bands and would play at local coffee houses. These kids also had the magic ability to float between class systems, blending magically with the popular jocks and the meek nerds like myself.

This left 2 groups.

"D" Group
For the rest of the band nerds, anyone in FFA (Future Farmers of America), the Goths. For example, if you were a Mathlete, you'd be in the D Group. And we'd welcome you because frankly, we'd enjoy the company of a fellow nerd.

I remember football games where Harve and I would march out onto the field past the student section (a smattering of A, mostly B, and a smattering of C) and say under our breath, "yesss we know, we're giant nerds, just please ignore us, just pretend we are not clad in heavy polyester with giant feather plumes walking past you" but we always felt people staring at us, their eyes a mixture of pity, wonder, and embarrassment.

Ok, maybe the student section was blindingly drunk and not staring at us like that, but it FELT that way.

And finally there was the "F" Group. These were the special ed. kids and the 16 year old pregnant girls.

The funny thing is that when I think back on my braces, my hand-me-down clothing from my sister (a good 3 inches taller than me), my constant state of embarrassment, I picture Fern Mayo from the movie Jawbreaker:

and I am relieved that I never have to go through high school again.

Recently I was talking about high school with a friend I met 3 years ago, and she said, "Heidi, I bet you were so popular, you were probably a cheerleader in high school." It made me laugh so hard to think of where I used to be and how far I'd come and that now, 18 years later, I finally had the confidence I so sorely lacked as a 14-year-old.

I like to think maybe I'd be in that elite group now, not because I care about which group I could qualify for, but more importantly that finally, after all these years, I care so little about it.

Also, because I'm still afraid of having parties at my parents' house.

I Am Eating NECCO Wafers

And I am reminded of two things:

1. Steve McGuigan — my brother’s friend who lived down the street from us. Sometimes, on very rare occassions, they would allow me tag along on a bike ride (i.e. my mom forced Johnny to bring me along) to Ebner’s Shop-o-Rama. Ebner’s (now defunct), was a one-stop-shop convenience store. It was within biking distance of our house, but it required crossing some “busy” intersections and I couldn’t go by myself. So it was a real treat to go there and pick out candy or a Stewart’s rootbeer I could enjoy in the park next door, or put in my little handlebar fanny-pack to enjoy later. When Johnny and Steve would take me along to Ebners, I remember Steve always buying a pack of Necco wafers.
2. Receiving the communion at the Catholic church my best friend attended (and I would be forced to attend almost every weekend when I slept over). I remember taking it, placing it in my mouth and thinking, “Hey! It’s like a bland Necco wafer!” And that’s what I told my mom when I came home that day. Her response was, “Tell me you didn’t eat it!?” which I thought was odd, because:
1.  if given a snack during church, why wouldn’t I take it? If I shouldn’t have the snacks they give out, then my mom should’ve known better and packed me some ‘Nilla Wafers or something. 
2. I just told you what it tasted like, so of course I ate it. I was promptly yelled at for “eating the body of Christ” because I never had my First Communion, or been baptized for that matter.

Bring Your Daughter to Work Day

When I was a wee tot, I heard mumblings about Bring Your Daughter to Work Day. And I remember thinking, “Yay! I’m going to get to see where Dad works!”

Lo and behold, I did not.

When I asked, in my very cutest Cindy-Lou-Who voice, why I couldn’t accompany him, my dad said it wasn’t safe. Then rambled on about the kind of place he worked in and how there were all these big machines and if people aren’t careful they sometimes lose fingers or get hair caught in gears.Terrifying? Maybe. But exciting? Absolutely. Just the kind of loud, noisy, fast-paced environment a kid would LOVE to see.

See, my dad was a safety supervisor of the Mobil Chemical warehouse. They made and shipped Styrofoam cups, plates, bowls, and garbage bags. Hence why my parents always had a surplus of such items (until I hit high school and scolded them repeatedly for all the Styrofoam).

Unfortunately, for a six-year-old girl, this makes no sense. I knew what Mobil was because we often gassed up our station wagon there. And while I didn’t know what a warehouse was, I knew what a GREENhouse was.

Close enough, right?

So when I was asked in school what my daddy did, I said:
“He works at a Mobil Gas Station greenhouse. And he has to wear steel-tipped boots.”

I can only imagine the look of confusion on the teacher’s face.

School Lunches

I bought a Valentine’s Day card for my mom last week. On the front, there’s a picture of Cupid in his little diaper, bow and quiver of arrows in hand standing on a cloud with his mom who is saying, “Here’s an extra-small sweatshirt if you get cold. Remember always point that arrow away from you. And I packed you a nice, heart-shaped baloney sandwich for lunch.”

The reason I bought this specific card is that Mom Z. actually used cookie cutters on my sandwiches when she packed my lunch. Pumpkins, Easter eggs, smiley faces, hearts, you name it. Why? Because it made eating a regular ol’ baloney sandwich more FUN.

My mom is the single greatest lunch maker on the planet.

When I think back to school lunches, I fondly remember the following:

• Napkins with stickers on them for every holiday. She’d go one step further and have word bubbles coming out from the stickers saying stuff like, “Have a great day!” “Good luck on your test!” “Tell your friends I said hi! (and then she’d list all the people at my lunch table)” Her napkins would be artwork, hand-drawn characters peeking through a window she’d cut into the two-ply paper. On rare occasions, she’d tape quarters to the napkin so I could enjoy a special treat of an ice cream sandwich (or in high school, a Chipwich).
• PB&J, Fluffernutter sandwiches, baloney sandwiches, liverwurst sandwiches, turkey sandwiches, peanut butter and cracker sandwiches. Every morning as I ate my breakfast, she’d say, “What do you want in your lunch? I have…..” and then she’d list my options and I’d get to choose what kind of sandwich I wanted that day, down to the type of peanut butter (always creamy for me) and type of jelly (always grape, although now I love strawberry). 
• Oranges and apples. I hated the pith on the orange, so my mom found a way around that and would send me with oranges cut in circle slices so I could peel them apart into little triangles of fruit juice. The apples also got special treatment. She’d cut them into chunks, sprinkle them with cinnamon and sugar, dump them into a baggie and twist tie a toothpick onto the bag so my fingers wouldn’t get all gooey. Growing up, I thought she was being extra nice, but found out recently she put cinnamon on them so I couldn’t see what degree of brown the apple would get as the day went on.
• Dessert. Compliments and criticism here. First, my mom packed my lunch with a sandwich, drink (chocolate milk or apple juice), something healthy, and a dessert. That dessert would be anything from pink coconut snowballs, Ring Dings, Ho Hos, Twinkies, leftover Halloween/Easter candy to homemade cookies. And it was AWESOME. As an adult, I find that when I eat lunch, I often crave a little something sweet. Why is that? Maybe 13 years of conditioning???
• Healthy stuff. My mom also tried to sneak in some healthy stuff once in a while. Raw carrots. Raw broccoli and cauliflower. Cucumbers. (maybe this is why I prefer my veggies uncooked?) Celery with peanut butter. One day while we were in our local grocery store (Laneco), Aaron F’s mom came up to my mom and asked where she bought her orange french fries. My mom stood puzzled. Upon further explanation, my mom realized she was referring to her homemade crinkle-cut CARROTS. Carrots + pastry blade = orange crinkle cut fry lookalike.

Indirectly proportionate to my A+, 4-star lunches were Harve’s lunches, which paled in comparison to mine. I’d show up with my Popples (you remember them) lunchbox and matching thermos and Harve would show up with…..a full-size paper Laneco bag. In my lunchbox I’d have separate baggies for each item, my personalized napkin, and of course, my dessert.

Harve would dump her paper bag on the lunch table to find…a sandwich made of 2 heels of extra wheat bread, 2 slices of cheese (which is the ONLY item Harve doesn’t eat, literally any other food she’ll eat) and lettuce wrapped in a…..deli meat baggie. So essentially a lettuce sandwich, once the cheese was tossed.

To add insult to injury, at the bottom of the paper bag were 3 prunes.

Some days, she’d excitedly talk about leftovers that would be waiting for her in her locker: egg rolls, steak sandwiches, chili dogs. All at whatever balmy room temperature her locker was.

A bottomless pit while we were growing up, she was always hungry, so needless to say a lettuce sandwich and 3 prunes weren’t really going to cut it. Thankfully/Not thankfully, my mom packed me with more food than I should have eaten (and yet did, most of the time).

On days when Harve brought her lunch, I’d offer up 1 of my Ring Dings or my apples and cinnamon, or some of my peanut butter crackers because I knew she was still hungry. On days when Harve BOUGHT her lunch from the lunch ladies, she was happy as a clam. Stuff that most kids wouldn’t touch—roast beef or meatloaf, mashed potatoes with gravy that had a hint of green to it, green beans, corn—she ate it all and loved it. To this day, when she works as a teacher, she still buys the school lunch and STILL enjoys it.

But for me, nothing quite takes the cake like my mom’s lunches. Even lunches at home were fun because she’d make us “Happy Face Plates.” A paper plate with a face drawn on it, covered up with lunch to make another face. Pickles would get sliced in half and be used as lips, lettuce would be used as hair, radishes would be used as red cheeks, etc.

In recognition, I’d like to give the gold medal of lunchmaking to Mom Z. for her 20+ years of school lunch service. [sidenote: she STILL packs my dad’s lunch, so when he officially retires she should get a bronzed lunchbox or something]