In the story of my life that I tell myself and others, there are several periods that I think of as low ebbs in a mostly quite happy life—times where I struggled or suffered or felt generally crappy more than usual. One of those times, which I’ve been known to characterize as the nadir of my existence, was seventh grade. I know there are a LOT of people out there, particularly girls, who would probably say the same thing.
How did seventh grade suck? Let me count the ways:
- I felt ugly as hell. I had a mouth full of braces, I felt bad about my nose, which seemed to be growing faster than the rest of my head, and I was way behind on the puberty front. I didn’t have the labels on my clothes that the cool kids did: Guess, Esprit, Benetton. I felt awkward and uncomfortable in my own skin, and was convinced that everyone else could see it, too. And was laughing at me.
- I was a straight-A student and teachers loved me (although I wasn’t a suck-up) which made me a subject of disdain and eyerolls among the popular kids, who saw me as a goody-two-shoes. Though I was never exactly bullied, I did catch some occasional meanness and snottiness. And I never had a good comeback. Like the time some girls crank-called me to taunt me for the fact that I’d listed “hiking with my family,” as one of my interests in a health class assignment. (Assholes. Today they’d probably put it on Instagram and ruin my life.) All I could muster was, “So what?” (Actually, that’s not bad, now that I think of it.)
- The boys I actually liked never asked me to dance or liked me back—not that I ever let them know I liked them, God forbid. The only ones who did like me were precisely the ones I *didn’t* like, because they were nerdy or shy or not great looking or whatever. (They’re all, of course, pretty damned awesome today, doing cool things with their lives.) At the same time, if one of the boys I liked *did* like me back, I would have been terrified. In fact, when a super-cute boy asked me out at camp during middle school, I ran away screaming. Not literally, but you know. Big wasted opportunity. Might have changed the entire course of my life. I’d be like the post-time-travel version of George McFly.
OK. I guess that’s only three ways. But they were big ways. In spite of having a nice little cadre of friends I loved (including one BFF at the time, whom I’m still friends with today), getting along well with my family, and having interests I enjoyed (LIKE HIKING, DAMMIT), my overall memory of the time is that I was an insecure mess.
So it was really odd when, recently, I got to actually see myself as a seventh grader.
My parents were purging a bunch of old VHS tapes, and brought me one that included home video of my 13th birthday party, in my parents’ basement. There were 8 or 9 girls there, and we amused ourselves playing games and doing skits with wigs and old clothes from a costume box and eating Doritos and cake and giggling hysterically about who knows what. My intrepid brother, 10 at the time, captured it all on our home video recorder.
What strikes me now, watching it, is 1.) How really not that ugly I was, bad haircut and braces notwithstanding. A little gawky, sure, but also pretty cute. 2.) How happy and relaxed and un-selfconscious I seem throughout the whole thing.
Alastair, who has heard me tell my tales of 7th grade woe said, “I don’t get it. You’re surrounded by friends, and you totally exude confidence.” Of course, this was me in my natural habitat: At home, among friends, not at school or on (shudder) the school bus. No snotty popular girls or dickwad boys in attendance.
Still. It left me thinking: Jeez, 13-year-old Jane. Why’d you let those bastards grind you down? Why’d you let you grind you down?
With my girls in middle school now, there’s a part of me that’s holding my breath, hoping-hoping-hoping that they won’t feel the way I did so much of the time in seventh grade—that I wasn’t and never would be cool enough or attractive enough or normal enough.
I hope they’ll be able to weather the meanness that infects kids, especially girls, during these messy transitional years. And, of course, not inflict it upon anyone themselves.
I hope they’ll give way less of a crap about what the popular kids thought than I did.
And I hope—though I know it’s probably futile—that someday when they look back at videos of themselves (which will look ridiculously low-tech, because they’re not holograms or whatever) they won’t be as surprised as I was by what they see.
I can relate to a lot of this. It’s so funny you talk about the popular kids, because my 13 yr old daughter talks about the popular kids and how snotty they are. We’re in the UK so I guess a a different generation and a different continent don’t ensure times have changed!
They’re everywhere! (And I suspect that, secretly, most of them feel just as insecure as everyone else.)
Another brilliant article, Jane. And I deeply relate. This is the only letter I ever got published, to Sports Illustrated some years ago:
Bully for Them
Selena Roberts’s Jocks Against Bullies (POINT AFTER, July 7) struck a blow for civility. When I was 11 and fat, the best athlete in school started razzing me after a softball game. That’s when another athlete, Jack, playfully tossed his glove at the offender and said simply, “Leave him alone.” How big a deal was it for me? That was 30 years ago, and I remember like it was yesterday. Thank you, Selena—and for the first time, thank you, Jack.
Scott Lainer, Brookline, Mass.
Thanks, Scott. That’s a wonderful letter. I hope Jack saw it. And that the bully saw it too. 🙂
Why’d you let you grind you down?…. So much of it was and is the image we have all been sold as the idea of happiness. In our days it was being in with the latest and greatest of all things MTV, the shows and its advertisements. Now its something involving whatever social media we’ve caved into letting our kids get access to and how that is used in modern social situations. At the end of the day, at the pre-teen age, it’s the beginning of the relentless pressure with define oneself outside of your parents (because we are now uncool, like it or not) while not really being ready to make that break. That’s hard even for a seasoned veteran of this world.
I can relate to all of this (except for hiking–substitute going to museums and concerts with my family for this and I could have written it).
I was snuggling with my 15 year old this weekend and listened to her cycle through all of these same feelings, and I told her the only thing I wish I could have convinced myself of back in Jr High and early High School was that NOBODY CARED. No one was looking at me the way I feared they were. And I told my daughter the proof that it’s true is that I wasn’t looking at anybody else that way. Everyone was too obsessed with their own flaws and worries to see anyone around them clearly.
God you couldn’t pay me to go back to that age. I’ll take the peri-menopause and the headaches and the bills and just happily crawl in bed next to my husband each night and listen to the sounds of my kids not going to bed on time and not look back.
PS You are totally adorable in these (and current) pictures. Glad you got a chance to appreciate yourself more that way.
Another touching and provocative piece. I was the new kid in town in seventh grade, having just relocated to Colorado (Boulder was the 6th city in which I’d lived in my 11 years). Worse still, I had to wear a head gear and saddle shoes (my mom insisted on shoes that laced for better arch support) to school. The head gear was easy enough to conceal before the bus arrived – the shoes not so much. To cap it all off, I had severe cystic acne, which became much worse due to the anxiety and sleeplessness I had over my Catholic parents’ imminent divorce.
Fortunately, I had an active imagination, fueled by my love of books. I was introverted, but that was okay. Literature was my sanctuary and my everpresent friend. Boulder had an excellent library, a branch of which was within walking distance of my house.
Your retelling of the derision you received following the family hike comment sparked a snarky thought in my head. Those kids are likely all diabetics with bad knees now: what goes around comes around!
Well written. Well said. You’ve become an exceptional person and you always were an exceptional kid.