Jocks. Cheerleaders. Band geeks. Stoners. Nerds. Thespians. Preppies.
Whatever the moniker, as near as I can tell, nearly every high school in America has some iteration of these cliques. I used to think that cliques were something that got left behind when we exited high school, along with brown paper bag covered school books and standardized tests. With age and experience, I have become keenly aware that in reality cliques exist even in adulthood. By definition, the common denominator of cliques is exclusion. And I don't know about you, but whether you are 15 or 65, feeling excluded does not feel good, regardless of whether it is intentional or unintentional. But, I try to find a thread of humor in life whenever possible, so I decided to take a little trip down memory lane. If you are so inclined, please join me.
When I was in high school - many, many moons ago - I never really found that I identified with a particular clique. I had friends across multiple cliques but I did not really 'run' within one exclusively.
My softball and soccer careers were both over by the time I hit high school. I was a competitive swimmer, but since my high school did not have a team, I swam year-round on a club team outside of school about 10 months a year and was not able to participate in any sports at my school. And I never dated a football player, so I could not even make it into this one by association.
My swim practice and meet schedule, my inability to do a split, and the fact that I never wore make-up are just three in a long list of disqualifications to ever achieving cheerleader status.
Despite my recurring dream of being a guitar-wielding folk rock songstress, my maroon-colored guitar from the glossy pages of the coveted Sears & Roebuck catalog was a passing fad with a life span barely much longer than a mayfly. Apparently, you need to practice between and beyond weekly lessons to actually learn chords, according to my guitar teacher, who in my memory looks disturbingly like a 70's porn star. And, after singing in the chorus in sixth grade in a grey flannel skirt and a white blouse, I pretty much stuck to singing in the shower. No band for me.
The stoners in my high school were an interesting bunch. Rocker t-shirts, mullets, lots of dark colors, lots of denim, and smoking. Honestly, I never set foot in the 'smoking area' located off of G corridor, which was supposed to be an area for students (who were over 18 or who had written permission from their parents...seriously?!) to smoke cigarettes. I question whether tobacco was the only substance being smoked out there. I did, however, always say "It's okay" when entering the girls' bathroom, especially in the lower corridors of the school, to make it clear that a teacher was not entering, which would require these young ladies to waste a precious butt by promptly flushing it down the toilet to avoid getting in trouble. Frankly, I was so scared to death of getting beat up on those rare occasions when I did forget to speak the code, I rarely ever forgot! Intimidated underclassman? Yes. Stoner? No.
And really, let's not sugar coat this one: I was not smart enough to be a nerd. Plain and simple. (Don't worry. I say this without the slightest hint of low self esteem!)
I vaguely recall some "Free To Be You and Me" production during elementary school, but really my acting career started and ended when I played a donkey in a local production of Pinocchio. Sadly, that is a true story that I am apparently not too proud to admit. A donkey, people! A freakin' donkey! Sweet Jesus! (Now, if you want to talk about low self esteem...)
Truth be told, the majority of my clothes in my high school years were from LL Bean, the Gap, and J. Crew, so that fact alone could arguably qualify me as a 'preppy', for lack of better association with any of the aforementioned cliques. And it IS true, there was a well-worn copy of Lisa Birnbach's "The Official Preppy Handbook" in our house (i hear it is out of print but if you have never flipped through this book, you will probably never truly understand the culture of the Northeast United States). And, I spent my first 18 months as a college student at one of Birnbach's 'top ten drinking schools', crowned as such for boasting high number of "students who have the unique ability to mix drinks in their stomachs". Looking back, I suppose it is possible that preppy may have been my most closely associated clique.
But, my nickname isn't Muffy, we didn't summer on Nantucket or belong to a country club, I never had a boyfriend named Chip or Topher, I do not ski, play tennis or golf, I did not receive a BMW for high school graduation, and I have never seen my father in a seersucker suit. So, I cannot really be sure!
