Confessions of a Ninth Grade Homecoming Court Member Wannabe

Recently, my graduating class celebrated our 20^th high school reunion and sadly, I was not able to attend.  Life gets in the way sometimes, but in the months leading up to the reunion there was significant online activity around it.  People re-acquainting, posting old pictures, it all brought back so many memories.  I found myself thinking about those days often, which were by far more fond days than not.

Later, the results of the reunion awards were posted; most successful, most changed, least changed, life of the party, etc.  That sparked a very specific ninth grade memory for me.  But, before we go there, allow me to share some history about myself.

The year before my family moved to Mississippi we lived for one year in Springfield, MO.  That was a magical year for me, my 6^th grade year.  I don’t know how or why, but the stars aligned and I was the new kid in class in the best and most exciting way.  I was a novelty and I was immediately accepted and befriended.  The most popular boy in the 6^th grade, Alex, asked me to be his girlfriend.  He was perfect in every way; smart, cute, nice, athletic and I felt special walking down the halls with him, talking at recess, and slow skating at the rink on Friday nights.   In 6^th grade PE was still coed and I’ll never forget our annual physical evaluation that year where they counted the number of sit-ups, pushups, jumping jacks, etc. we all could do.  I’ve never been hardcore athletic, but I’ve always held my own.  Alex and I were called up at the same time to do our free throw test.  10 shots – how many could we sink?  I’d been practicing at home and I was ready.  We stood back to back and we both made every single basket.  10 for 10.  Our classmates were cheering and our fate was sealed, we were the perfect couple, totally “made for each other”. 

It’s hard to explain.  I know at 11 or so I didn’t fully appreciate the good fortune I was experiencing, but I knew that I didn’t want that year to end.  That single year boosted my self-confidence and self worth in immeasurable ways.  I realize now that it also prepared me for the next few years to come.  I was about to be tested, in ways I couldn’t understand.  My answers to a couple of very simple questions, would secure my place in my peers eyes in ways I couldn’t predict.  But more of that to come.

We left my magical school year behind and moved to Tupelo, Ms.  There is a line in the movie Sweet Home Alabama which aptly describes our first months in Mississippi, “People need a passport to come down here”.  That is exactly how it felt.  I literally could not understand half of the words being said to me.  English words I had always known as having 2 syllables mysteriously became 3 or even 4 syllables long.  And the reverse was also true.  People would nod and say hello by saying “ya’ll right?”  Of course I’m all right, what did I fall down and not notice?  The first girl I met thought my name was Morning the entire first summer because she couldn’t understand me either.  And the complete strangers honking and giving that one finger wave hello whenever they passed us was inexplicable.  For months my entire family would look at one another and ask, “Do you know them?” “No, do you?” “No.” 

Those very significant questions I mentioned earlier, they were simple and I answered them honestly, not knowing the impact it would have.  Seconds after being introduced to a kid, any kid, the questions were asked and my fate was sealed once again with my answers.  “Where do ya’ll go to church?” “Oh, my family doesn’t go to church.”  Clearly they misunderstood me, question two quickly followed, “Where will ya’ll go to church?”  “We’ve never gone to church.”  I can’t even tell you how many times this happened.  At least a hundred times, easily.  And I also can’t tell you how many times my second answer was responded to with, “Oh, then ya’ll are going to hell”. 

That 7^th grade year must have been a year of teaching evangelism in church school because I was regularly invited over to a new friends house for a sleepover on Saturday night and invited to attend church with them the following Sunday.  This happened at least 2 dozen times that year, different girls each time.  Those were bittersweet days.  I would have such a great time and convince myself I had finally made a new friend.  We’d laugh and be silly and the next morning, get all dressed up for church.  I loved going to church with my new friends.  I loved seeing everyone in their nice dresses, listening to the hymnals and just watching the various worshiping styles.  But the outcome was always the same.  The following Monday at school I would get another significant question, “So, when is your family gonna join our church?” “Oh, we don’t go to church, but I had a lot of fun going to yours with you.” Let’s just say that first year I never got a second invite to sleepover.  I guess I was a lost cause. 

It didn’t take me long to realize that I was not the novelty here, I was the oddity.  But, please, I beg you – don’t feel sorry for me or assume that I was unhappy.  7^th and 8^th were difficult years, but I did find some school friends that accepted the misfit that I was and I was finding my own way.  9^th grade though was a turning point for me.  I met two girls who later became my lifelines, Susan and Liz.  Susan and Liz were so awesome, bright and fun…and like me they were northerners. For the first time, in a long time, I felt like I could completely be myself.  I was very happy which I can honestly say is more of my natural state.  I’m not the type to whine and moan; I’m more of a go with the flow and make my own happiness type of person.  I’d rather laugh than cry and even in those most baffling early days, with the help of my family, we always found something to laugh about. 

Please don’t think I’m writing this to bash the south or to cry over my difficult childhood.  I was a social worker, I know what it means to have it rough, and those kids were my clients.  I was an extremely lucky and happy little girl, in a loving home with everything I could ever possibly need or want.  And the people of the south are genuine, warm and welcoming in so many ways.  I’m simply trying to explain what it was like for a northern, non-religious, middle grade student to move to the Bible belt with no local family or friends to smooth the transition.  I might as well have moved to the other side of the world – complete and total immersion learning, with many missteps along the way.

This brings us to my memory, the one sparked by the reunion awards.  One day sitting in 9^th grade Spanish class another classmate told me that he had nominated me for homecoming court.  You might think that I would be flattered by this (and in hindsight I should have been), but the truth is I was mortified.  Instead of thanking this sweet boy I sullenly hissed at him, “How could you do that?!?”  I immediately went down a spiral of feeling unworthy and desperately out of control.  All I could do was wonder what would everyone else think?  Surely when they saw my name on that ballot they’d have one of two thoughts.  The first (and preferable) would be, “who is Maureen Clifford?” Or even worse, “WHY is Maureen Clifford on the ballot?”  I was sick to my stomach and certain that everyone would assume I had nominated myself.  I imagined whoever tallied the nominations would think, “Oh that poor girl, she got one nomination, she probably nominated herself, well we better put her on the ballot anyway….”

Now, if you know me now you might wonder how I could feel this way, but the truth is I still felt like such an outsider that I did not feel deserving of being on the ballot.  I didn’t fit; I stuck out like a sore thumb next to the other names on the list.  It wasn’t that those other girls were stuck-up or mean, the opposite actually.  Most of those girls were some of the nicest girls I ever met in school, it just seemed like their circle was so far out of my reach.  That magical life I might have had in MO if I had stayed actually belonged to the other girls on the ballot.  I had put away those wishes and was happy in the place I had made for myself and having my name on that ballot was almost like a slap in the face. 

I knew without a doubt that I would not be voted onto homecoming court.  I never for a single second thought it might actually happen.  I knew too well that it was not in the cards and having my name listed there on the ballot felt more like I was being laughed at than actually being considered for inclusion in that group. 

Voting day came and went and as predicted I was not on the court.  I was ok with that, I was just glad the vote was over and I could go back to being who I was.  I can honestly say I didn’t really think about that time again in the years to come.  I was not nominated again and I was glad for that.  It wasn’t my thing, at least not the “me” I had become and the truth is I liked her, the "me" I had become.

So, why am I telling this story now?  Well again, my memory was sparked by the high school reunion goings on and once I thought specifically about those few days in 9^th grade I was shocked to remember just how anxious and desperate, unworthy and low I felt at that time.  It was so unlike me to be unnerved and completely undone by something like that.  I had come to terms with the fact that I would never completely and entirely fit in and I was ok with that.  In 8^th grade my music teacher pulled me aside to tell me a joke.  He asked, “Do you know what a Yankee is? A northerner that visits the south.  Do you know what a damn Yankee is?  One who stays.” And if I’m being honest, I had become to like the fact that I was unique in this way.  I was a bit of a northern rebel in the south (in a very non juvenile delinquent kind of rebel way). 

But mostly I tell this story because I also remember how much I changed between 9^th grade and my senior year in high school.  Like many do, during those formative years, I learned to like myself.  But I strive to be completely honest on this blog and if I am I have to admit, there was a small part of me that secretly wished I had been nominated to the court.  There is a tiny piece of me that would have loved the picking of the dress, the flowers, going out on the football field, and all the rest of the fanfare. 

So, the main reason why I tell this story, the reason why I tell all of my stories, is for my children to read someday.  There is so much I want them to know.  For instance, no matter what, you are deserving of your hopes and dreams, no matter how far out of reach they may seem.  That no one can make you feel unworthy unless you let them and in my case no one did, no one had to, because I made myself feel unworthy all on my own.  That if you find yourself in the moment I did, one of complete desperation and of not belonging, to give it some time, luckily we grow and change and learn what is really important.  Even more importantly, we learn to stop focusing on ourselves so much and stressing over what others may or may not think of us and by removing those hurtful blinders you open up your eyes to the people and places around you – and maybe appreciate how amazing they are.  I miss the south so much now, the friendliness, the familiarity people share with one another, the pace of living, and the friends I made while I was there.

I do wish I had handled my situation more graciously. I could have simply said thank you.  I could have appreciated the gesture and acknowledged the compliment inherent in it.  I wish I could have enjoyed and treasured the fact I was nominated at all.  But I realize now, that with maturity comes wisdom and that the wisdom I was lacking then, prevented me from seeing the good.  Seeing the good in the act, seeing the good in being nominated, seeing the good in being me.