The Prom, Friday night football, pep rallies, after school organizations, parties, getting your driver's licence, and graduation. High school can hold some fond memories. Nothing beats that feeling when you're 16, and you have your very own car. You fill it up with friends and go cruisin down some back roads. You have the world at your feet, and you're too young and too immature to know what to do with it.
Just about everybody I know says they wouldn't go back to high school. Mostly, because they've changed since then and they don't like the person they were all those years ago. I think it'd be interesting to run into the 17 year old version of myself. First I'd give myself a hug and then I'd tell myself to buckle up because it's going to be a rough ride.
I'd also like to run into the 50 year old version of myself to see if I survive this quarter life conundrum. Much like the teenage angst years, though, I'm sure I'll survive this semi-charmed life.
It's sad to me, though, when I run into people from high school who haven't changed a bit. I see former football stars sitting at the bar swapping former stats with somebody who graduated ten years before them. They have a smile on their face as they recall the glory they felt when they went to state or won the big homecoming game, but the smile turns into a frown as they realize those days are long behind them. Those days can't be relived. But these are the few people who would like to go back. They walk a lonely path wishing they could be the person they were back then. It's sad to peak in high school.
I have a friend, Dave. He was the class clown. He was a jock. He was a hottie, and he was popular. He still lives in this small town, as do I. We weren't friends in high school. We ran with different crowds, and, as we all know, crowds don't mix well in high school. He did a lot of growing up, though, and it amazes me sometimes at how well rounded of a grown up he turned out to be.
Dave and I don't hang out too often, but when we do we manage to have fun. He gripes about the same things I gripe about and he's passionate about the same things I'm passionate about. It's easy for me to talk to him, and he makes me laugh. When we run into his old friends from high school, he's polite to them, but he never mingles with them for long. He knows they haven't changed, and as an adult he sees them as the adolescents they once were. He says he's almost ashamed to admit he was once one of them.
My friends in high school were the bunch who thought they were mature. They thought the rest of the class just needed to catch up with them. They yearned for the day when the jocks and preps would finally be mature enough to accept them. But, I hate to admit that we were guilty of the same things they did.
They looked down on us for being interested in the things we spent our time doing. But, we looked down on them just as much for being into sports. They never invited us to parties, but then again, we never extended an invitation to them either.
As I've grown into a woman I've let down that barrier and I have no qualms about hanging out with somebody I've "known" for a long time but never really got to know before now. Some of my friends aren't of this same opinion.
I've kept about half the friends I had in high school. I hate to admit that I've lost correspondence with some who were, at one point, very important people in my life. The ones I hang out with on a regular basis have grown up and adopted the same attitude I have. But, there are some who are still in my life who haven't. And, I found out recently that I live with one of them.
My roommate, who I have yet to introduce on here, has recently thrown slander towards Dave. She refuses to really get to know him. She doesn't care to try and understand how people change, even though, she, herself, has changed a lot in recent years. She won't trust herself enough to open her mind to the possibility that maybe he's not the ass he was back then. She can't see that he's grown up and turned into a rather fine man. She simply doesn't trust him with no real reason.
No, she does have a reason. The reason is this guy she's seeing (on the down low). This guy refuses to openly date her because he doesn't want anybody knowing he's back on the market after getting divorced. I, personally, think he's stringing her along and just making it as easy as possible to break it off with her in the future. She, however, sees him as a highly sensitive soul learning to trust again. He says he doesn't trust Dave, therefore she doesn't trust Dave. He, by the way, hasn't spoken to Dave in years. He's judging a man based on who he was as a kid.
This really bothers me, because my friends have, essentially, turned into the people we once despised. If I were easily influenced (like a teenager) I just might jump on the bandwagon and decide that I don't trust Dave as well. But, I can't do that. I like him too much. I like his company. I've seen nothing but proof that he's grown up, and I hate to admit that I haven't seen much in the way of proof that my roommate has grown up.
Sure she's a responsible bill payer and she holds a job. She understands the meaning of living a grown up life, but her mentality is still stuck in high school. She's easily led, and she's easily bothered. She has lower self-esteem than any 15 year old I've met, and she has the tendency to blow things way out of proportion. She, really, needs to grow the fuck up.
I'm getting tired of dealing with her constant insecurities. I'm growing weary of explaining to her that it doesn't matter what people say or think about you as long as you know what the truth is. I'm utterly exhausted with her constant state of boy crazy and her belief that every guy she goes on a date with is her future husband. And I've really, really had it with the fact that she insists on communicating through written notes as if we're in study hall.
She can't do confrontation, and I don't mind confrontation in the slightest. I like to talk out problems and find solutions, where she would rather write down what's bothering her, leave it for me in the living room, and put at the bottom of it that she doesn't want to talk about it. She doesn't want to hear my side. She's allowed to vent, but I, alas, am not.
In short... I'm not a teacher and I'm getting sick of babysitting a 16 year old.
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