High School Sucked or Lessons I Hope I Can Teach My Child

“Mommy, no play with Zachy. He stinky.”

This is the greeting I received when I picked up Pumpkin from school today.

“Pumpkin! We don’t say our friends are stinky! It’s not nice!”

I want to raise him right. I want him to be nice to people, to respect others, to be a good and genuine person. He doesn’t have to like everyone (who does?) but I want him to be kind to others, to embrace others, to appreciate others.

It also struck home when I read Isabel’s post today.

When I was in high school, I couldn’t have been more awkward. Coke bottle glasses? Check. Chunky silver braces? Check. Smart? Check. Love for pleated plaid skirts and ruffled blouses? Yes. Socially inept and shy? Yep and yep. Afraid of boys? Terrified of them.

When I was a junior, one of the few boys I talked to (and wasn’t afraid of) asked me to prom. Eric was even more awkward and nerdy than me, so I thought he was sincere – and my best bet for a date. Turns out, he asked me as a joke, on a dare from his friends. They knew I’d freak out.

It was one of my friends who overheard the boys’ conversation afterward. “Dude, I never expected her to say yes – now what?”

When my friend told me, I cried. Then I got pissed. I called Eric, confronted him. I demanded that he apologize. He confessed everything, and asked what he could do to make it up to me. I told him he was taking me to the dance – and finding dates for my two girlfriends who were dateless – and taking me to dinner – and he’d pay for the whole thing. I told him that he was going to have the best damned time of his life and he’d realize what a jerk he was.

Prom night came. Eric picked me up; we picked up my friends; we went to dinner at Olive Garden. Then after dinner, he got his middle finger slammed in the car door. We ended up going to the emergency room. (Lesson: karma’s a bitch.)

Imagine, six high school kids sitting in the emergency room, all dressed up and no place to go. Eventually, my friends and their dates went onto the dance. But I stayed. I sat with Eric, held his “good” hand, told him everything would be okay. I went with him to the exam room and waited with him until his parents showed up.

His finger was fine. We caught the last 10 minutes of the dance, then he took me home. He walked me up to the front door and thanked me for being such a great date that night. “Most girls would’ve gone onto the dance and not waited at the hospital, especially after the way I treated you” Eric told me.

He asked me to go out with him again and he leaned in for a kiss.

I asked to remember this moment. I wanted him to know how horrible he made me feel when he asked me out as a joke. I told him about crying for days because I was a joke. Then I thanked him for making me feel as bad as I’ve ever felt – I knew that nothing, no one could ever make me feel as bad as I did when I heard that I was the butt of a cruel, awful joke. Before I went into the house, I told him to fuck off.

I have no idea what happened to Eric. I really don’t care, haven’t seen him since high school graduation. But this story occasionally rolls around in my head, as it did again today.

I don’t want Pumpkin to experience what I did in high school. And, I don’t want him to hurt anyone the way Eric hurt me. I know can’t shelter him from being hurt or make people like him, but I hope he’s empathetic to others. Kids can be cruel and name calling is part of growing up, but taking cheap, deep shots at someone, stabbing them in the heart, is off limits.

If I can accomplish that, I'll know I’m a good mom.