Recently, a few memories have reminded me of how awkward pre-teens can be. Perhaps it's the surge of hormones that drives girls to try to kiss cute boys despite the obstacles of braces and headgear, or it's the Red 40 dye in Swedish Fish that leads young, sweaty boys with the promising starts of BO, facial hair and acne to feel as confident as Joseph Gordon-Levitt.
We may never know, but here are a few memories to jog your own. Either these will make you feel better about your level of awkwardness, or you'll find that I'm another friend with whom you can commiserate.
The Halloween Costume
In Fifth Grade, crushes at school started to take on just the faint aroma of real attraction. It wasn't like I even knew the words to describe this, but I was aware that some girls just had what it took to get the boys really obsessed with them. We were all starting to wear training bras and put on lipgloss and there was an extra layer of heady anticipation before Halloween that year, because it was maybe a time when you could get noticed, you know, for being kind of cute.
So every night, in the silence of my room, I looked at the pink lamp shedding light softly onto a collection of chapsticks and a Lego pirate ship, and mulled over this precious opportunity. What could I wear, to get boys to like me? What were the other girls going to wear?
There were no easy answers there in the muted pink light. In retrospect, there probably were easy answers in simply asking my friends and acquaintances what costumes they planned to wear. But remember, pre-frontal cortex not fully attached at this point. Not even close. And shyness. Also a thing.
So of course, the harder I thought about it, the more difficult the problem became until it was the night before the school Halloween parade. I found myself sifting through our costume box at home and shriveling under the creeping realization that there was no magic costume that screamed "boys will like this!". When I was too tired to stay up any later, I found my brother's giant pumpkin costume and somehow it worked its way up to the top choice, based on the tenuous logic that "it fit me" and "wasn't a witch costume."
Wearing a pumpkin costume stuffed with crumpled newspaper did not make it any easier to get in or out of the car on the ride to school, and certainly made it more difficult to fit into my desk at school. Extensive amounts of shimmying and rearranging the costume were required to squeeze into the chair. Teacher: "Giant, saggy orange sack present today?" Me: "Here. I'm here." Most other girls were cheerleaders that year.
I think I tried to be a cheerleader the next year, but in my typical frugal and intensely independent fashion, created my own cheerleader outfit that may have resembled more of a girl wearing a skirt and sweatshirt and holding pom poms made of...shreds of yarn? I'm not sure.
Anyway, a couple years ago, my friend Stephanie admitted to me that in fifth grade, she dressed up as a Businessman by wearing a suit, carrying a briefcase, and drawing on a fake goatee. And that is why we are friends, Stephanie. Because we tried so hard to aim for the normal crowd, and most definitely landed somewhere else.
The Football Game
There was this boy, Zach, in my 7th grade class, who I had a huge crush on. I'm fairly positive that he had no idea who I was because I was so shy. Our entire Latin cohort went to Cape Cod for spring break and this seemed like my opportunity to get him to notice me. In retrospect, I'm really surprised that our parents and teachers thought it was a good idea to let 7th graders stay in bunks in Cape Cod.
So on the bus ride to Cape Cod, I was constantly trying to sit near Zach, close enough that he might notice me, but not close enough to make it really obvious. So, in the row behind him. Or in front of him. I listened to him tell lots of teenage boy jokes to his friends (why was I interested in him? Beats me).
That night, while most everyone stayed inside the bunk rooms to play probably poker with candy instead of money, a few of us went outside to play touch football. The field was really quite dark, with maybe two lamp posts far away. I did not know how to play any kind of football, but Zach was playing, and I thought maybe we could laugh or chat while playing or something (obviously I do not understand football).
And then, while standing behind Zach in the field and generally ignoring the actual game going on, a brilliant idea struck me. If I tackled Zach, he'd surely notice me. This thought kept revolving in my head and gaining more and more momentum. Yeah. That would work! He'd definitely have to notice me! This will work. It HAS to work. It's going to work. These thoughts beat the rhythm of young and desperate hope into my soul and my muscles responded by poising for action. I felt brave, and I felt alive. I felt ready. And I launched into the air, flying straight for Zach.
Mid-way through this jump, while still air-born, my reasoning caught up with me and I realized with horror that 1) Zach did not have the football and that 2) even though I didn't exactly know how to play touch football, I was pretty sure that you usually only tackle someone who has the ball, and 3) we were on the same team, and 4) it was too late, because then I crashed into Zach and tackled him to the ground.
We tumbled and rolled a few times through the grass. Everything was a blur. When we finally came to a stop and Zach was still face down on the grass, kind of struggling to gather himself, I jumped up with lightning speed and ran behind the nearest tree, hair prickled with the apprehension. What in the world must Zach think of me? What kind of crazy girl just did that? I swallowed the lump in my throat and after a few seconds, peeked out from behind the tree to assess the damage. In the dusky light, Zach stumbled to his feet and swayed with dizziness as he turned in a circle to the right and squinted his eyes to look around, and then shuffled around in a circle to the left in complete bewilderment. He looked really, really confused.
And a flood of relief washed over me. Wonder of wonders, he had no idea what hit him. He didn't even see me go behind the tree, and had seen no one, nothing before he was tumbling head over heels in the grass.
I can't imagine what he's thinking now. Like, man, that one time in Cape Cod when a literal invisible ghost tackled me during a game of touch football.
We may never know, but here are a few memories to jog your own. Either these will make you feel better about your level of awkwardness, or you'll find that I'm another friend with whom you can commiserate.
The Halloween Costume
In Fifth Grade, crushes at school started to take on just the faint aroma of real attraction. It wasn't like I even knew the words to describe this, but I was aware that some girls just had what it took to get the boys really obsessed with them. We were all starting to wear training bras and put on lipgloss and there was an extra layer of heady anticipation before Halloween that year, because it was maybe a time when you could get noticed, you know, for being kind of cute.
So every night, in the silence of my room, I looked at the pink lamp shedding light softly onto a collection of chapsticks and a Lego pirate ship, and mulled over this precious opportunity. What could I wear, to get boys to like me? What were the other girls going to wear?
There were no easy answers there in the muted pink light. In retrospect, there probably were easy answers in simply asking my friends and acquaintances what costumes they planned to wear. But remember, pre-frontal cortex not fully attached at this point. Not even close. And shyness. Also a thing.
So of course, the harder I thought about it, the more difficult the problem became until it was the night before the school Halloween parade. I found myself sifting through our costume box at home and shriveling under the creeping realization that there was no magic costume that screamed "boys will like this!". When I was too tired to stay up any later, I found my brother's giant pumpkin costume and somehow it worked its way up to the top choice, based on the tenuous logic that "it fit me" and "wasn't a witch costume."
Wearing a pumpkin costume stuffed with crumpled newspaper did not make it any easier to get in or out of the car on the ride to school, and certainly made it more difficult to fit into my desk at school. Extensive amounts of shimmying and rearranging the costume were required to squeeze into the chair. Teacher: "Giant, saggy orange sack present today?" Me: "Here. I'm here." Most other girls were cheerleaders that year.
I think I tried to be a cheerleader the next year, but in my typical frugal and intensely independent fashion, created my own cheerleader outfit that may have resembled more of a girl wearing a skirt and sweatshirt and holding pom poms made of...shreds of yarn? I'm not sure.
Anyway, a couple years ago, my friend Stephanie admitted to me that in fifth grade, she dressed up as a Businessman by wearing a suit, carrying a briefcase, and drawing on a fake goatee. And that is why we are friends, Stephanie. Because we tried so hard to aim for the normal crowd, and most definitely landed somewhere else.
The Football Game
There was this boy, Zach, in my 7th grade class, who I had a huge crush on. I'm fairly positive that he had no idea who I was because I was so shy. Our entire Latin cohort went to Cape Cod for spring break and this seemed like my opportunity to get him to notice me. In retrospect, I'm really surprised that our parents and teachers thought it was a good idea to let 7th graders stay in bunks in Cape Cod.
So on the bus ride to Cape Cod, I was constantly trying to sit near Zach, close enough that he might notice me, but not close enough to make it really obvious. So, in the row behind him. Or in front of him. I listened to him tell lots of teenage boy jokes to his friends (why was I interested in him? Beats me).
That night, while most everyone stayed inside the bunk rooms to play probably poker with candy instead of money, a few of us went outside to play touch football. The field was really quite dark, with maybe two lamp posts far away. I did not know how to play any kind of football, but Zach was playing, and I thought maybe we could laugh or chat while playing or something (obviously I do not understand football).
And then, while standing behind Zach in the field and generally ignoring the actual game going on, a brilliant idea struck me. If I tackled Zach, he'd surely notice me. This thought kept revolving in my head and gaining more and more momentum. Yeah. That would work! He'd definitely have to notice me! This will work. It HAS to work. It's going to work. These thoughts beat the rhythm of young and desperate hope into my soul and my muscles responded by poising for action. I felt brave, and I felt alive. I felt ready. And I launched into the air, flying straight for Zach.
Mid-way through this jump, while still air-born, my reasoning caught up with me and I realized with horror that 1) Zach did not have the football and that 2) even though I didn't exactly know how to play touch football, I was pretty sure that you usually only tackle someone who has the ball, and 3) we were on the same team, and 4) it was too late, because then I crashed into Zach and tackled him to the ground.
We tumbled and rolled a few times through the grass. Everything was a blur. When we finally came to a stop and Zach was still face down on the grass, kind of struggling to gather himself, I jumped up with lightning speed and ran behind the nearest tree, hair prickled with the apprehension. What in the world must Zach think of me? What kind of crazy girl just did that? I swallowed the lump in my throat and after a few seconds, peeked out from behind the tree to assess the damage. In the dusky light, Zach stumbled to his feet and swayed with dizziness as he turned in a circle to the right and squinted his eyes to look around, and then shuffled around in a circle to the left in complete bewilderment. He looked really, really confused.
And a flood of relief washed over me. Wonder of wonders, he had no idea what hit him. He didn't even see me go behind the tree, and had seen no one, nothing before he was tumbling head over heels in the grass.
I can't imagine what he's thinking now. Like, man, that one time in Cape Cod when a literal invisible ghost tackled me during a game of touch football.
I'm laughing so much I'm crying.
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