Now that I have a middle schooler, I know a lot of 12-14 year old kids. The boys are getting bigger (and smellier) but they’re really still just little boys. Well, little boys on the verge of being bigger boys. Most of them anyway.
The girls, however, are really changing. They’ve formed tight cliques – very tight – and are not always nice. They’re trying teenager on for size. Trying to figure out who they’re going to be. And sometimes, it ain’t pretty.
When I was in junior high, I was nice.
Recently, someone asked me if I was ever mean back then. And I’m sorry to say that I was.
There was a boy in my class. He was tall – gawky – and pimply. He wore horned rimmed glasses and his hair was greasy and kinky. He was, however, very smart. And nice.
Someone – a girlfriend who aspired to the popular crowd – dared me to write him an anonymous love letter. I did. She told me to perfume it. I did. She told me to put it through the slots in his locker. I did.
It seemed like no big deal.
But I saw him find it. And he was all excited. He thought it was true. That some girl liked him – blemishes and all.
And that’s when the stomachache began. For days and then weeks, I agonized over what I’d done. I couldn’t undo it – or so I thought.
But it was the last time I blindly followed. So, sorry as I am that I did this heinous act, it helped me become who I am.
I hope that kid is a rich, happy astrophysicist with a nice complexion and a loving family. Or whatever his dream of happy was.
And I hope he got over the time that some be-atch was so unfeeling and mean to him in 7th grade.