REUNIONS
Ok big shot. You put high school behind you and become tremendously successful and have a life that Donald Trump would envy. You have the spouse that causes a fair amount of rubber-necking and your kids/pets are stellar. Good for you. Because one day there will be a letter in your mailbox that will bring you to your knees. It will look innocent enough. But we guarantee that this one will stop you dead in your tracks.No, it’s not the IRS audit for your private jet. It’s the invitation to your class reunion. And it’s a bitch. All of a sudden your entire high school history will come flying through your head. And no matter how successful you are now you will start to panic. Should I ? Shouldn’t I? Do I have time to loose 20 pounds/have plastic surgery/buy a new sports car?. It’s Oh my God. And just to make it even more fun once they’ve found you you’ll get another and another….every 5-10 years.
Of course, there’s the brave front that everyone puts on. Avoiding the “oh my God, what happened to you?” Or the equally disturbing.” Wasn’t she the girl that picked her nose? Wow…now she’s a babe.” Of course you’ll drink too much, say many inappropriate things and try way to hard to hook up with your high school crush. It’s not pretty.
Runners Up
She just seemed to know she was getting the tiara Didn’t she? That oh-my-god expression and teary-eyed reaction was all put on. That slow motion walk to stand up near the quarterback was as deliberate as a bitch slap in prison. She had some nerve. You should have been the Queen. You’re the one who decorated the gym and made cookies for the pep club. You were the student council president and the girl that was nice to everyone. And you had to stand there and watch her walk the walk and take the prize. Excruciating. Sound familiar? If it does, you’re not alone.
–ANONYMOUS
If you were a runner up things had to get ugly. After all you put yourself out there and you were publicly rejected. Brutal. Either you went on with your life and became an anchor woman or a courtroom diva ….or you simply put yourself in a position where you never had to compete again.
Running for Prom Queen begins way before high school . Tea parties and secrets, best friends and pink Barbie parties were the breeding ground for crowns and handsome princes.. We learn then that life isn’t always easy or fair. Our mothers taught us to invite everyone to our birthday party. But some mothers didn’t…and sometimes we were left out.
We quickly learn the art of pleasing to stay afloat in that world of parties and movies and sleep-overs. Sometimes we would give up our training bras to be invited. There were always some girls that were always invited. They didn’t have to do anything. They just accepted that they would be invited…and they were. These are the girls that are in Prom Queen Training. A ritual we were clueless about. But an invisible training camp that produced those icons of American high school life as carefully as the SAS.
The tiara takes a toll.
Prom Queens Forever
She wasn’t always the most drop-dead gorgeous girl. But she always looked like she deserved it…the Prom Queen…the teenage American Princess. The legend lives on whether you graduated in 1950 or fifty years later. Every girl in that room wanted to be her…and every guy wanted to nail her.
She was the girl of the hour…the girl of many teenage longing…the girl most likely to be envied and hated. High school life depended on her: for the drama and the back story. There may have been other girls that were cooler, smarter or more va-va-voom….but the Prom Queen ruled .
If you were the Prom Queen chances are you were in the best sorority in college and had the pick of the litter when it came to husbands. But it didn’t guarantee life was going to be perfect. That karma has it’s own little way of working it’s way out. In writing this book and screenplay we ran in to Prom Queens who became strippers and abused wives. Those tiaras are tough to live up to.
But back in high school it was heaven Everyone the Prom Queen touched carried a little bit of the aura with them. If you were the Prom Queen’s best friend or boyfriend or rival…you had a little brush with the glow that went with the title. It was no secret that she was treated a little better by the English teacher…or got the better chicken salad in the cafeteria. .
After all rank has its privileges.
The Boys In The Band
When you say you were in a band most people see sweaty musicians, guitars and soulful groupies. That is, until they figure out the band was in high school and the genre was marching band. Playing in the band in high school was a calling. You absolutely had to be really into music to don a uniform that screamed “UNCOOL” and parade in front of the jocks, prom queens and cool kids. But if you did you probably were either great with music, which will come in handy for the rest of your life. Or you’re good with your hands, equally useful…especially if you end up being a surgeon or a great artist or have a regular gig…say on the Letterman show or with Emeril.
Did the boys (and girls) in the band get a rough deal? Probably not. You were surrounded with people just like you and you didn’t have to go to all the trouble of finding them. They were right there with a big “something high school ” on their chest. Bandies were usually the kids who could conform, were disciplined and had a higher purpose. Their parents usually left them alone. How much trouble could you get in with a trombone?
You had built in friends that you spent a lot of time with and you all looked alike. (A concept applauded in most schools today so that everyone starts off the same and the pesky rich kid can’t always have the coolest clothes.) And you’ve got to admit that school spirit and the cheerleaders were nothing without that band. So whether you were a lone drummer or a hip band worthy of Drumroll. Music made it happen.
Shake It Like A Polaroid Picture
If you compare high school to being in a Royal Kingdom then cheerleaders have to be the ladies-in-waiting. And they were waiting for it …and they expected it. This small pool of carefully selected women were the queens to be, the future girlfriends of the jocks and the girls who broke your heart or left you with permanent self esteem scars. They were glossy…they were bossy and they knew a thing or two about shaking their pompoms.
It may have been Game Night for the jocks…but it was center stage for the cheerleaders, and they knew it. They had the bouncy curls , the little-girl hair ribbons and the neatly pressed shorter-than-short pleated skirts. Nothing, however, could disguise the display of Lolita-esque hormones in the sanctity of the organized sport arena. Sort of like being a pole dancer without the guilt.. It was catnip for teenage boys.
Being a cheerleader now isn’t the same. Cheerleading is a sport…….it’s all about being a gymnast, a precision dancer, a perfectionist. Back-in-the-day it was about being popular,, being competitive in the social arena and being part of the privileged crowd. Short on skills…long on attitude. That’s why every teen movie shows the mean girls as cheerleaders.
I have to confess that I was a cheerleader all through high school. I took what was handed to me. Great jock boyfriends and the self confidence to take my rightful place on the school newspaper, the yearbook anything I wanted. I’ve had my share of successes and failures….but I never lack the courage to go for anything I want.
There’s a lot to be said for the mindless dancing tributes to high school athletes on a field or court surrounded by screaming fans. And when you’re chanting “we’ve got the fever…we’re hot…we can’t be stopped..”…..It was just way too easy to think it included you.
Run, Baby, Run
Those muscular shoulders and view from behind….well they were the staple of many a young girl’s dreams. The jocks are top of the rung in high school. They are pandered to by parents and students alike. They get paraded for their athletic prowess and worshipped by the rest of the student body….males and females alike. Because in high school we’re just…well shallow.
Winning a game becomes the most important thing in the world…and the jocks are the ones that make it happen. We want immediate gratification…and we got it. All packed in to a Friday night…most of it out on the field. Unless, of course, you were a jock and you might get a little action off the field.
Ask any high school girl who ever dated a jock and she’ll tell you that the scent of a male athlete after winning a game…is pretty heady stuff. You can’t bottle that. It’s an unforgettable elixir of success and a hot shower splashed for good measure with liberal amounts of Canoe/Brut/Jade Calvin Klein/Ralph….or whatever your decade’s best scent happened to be.
I
It was yummy…and we loved it.
