Ah the depths of loneliness. I think if there were a subtitle to my high school life it would be “and other ways of never getting any attention from the opposite sex.”

I had friends in high school, some of them girls. Surprisingly I had a few girl friends – surprising to those who knew me during the time and myself, even now. Though there was always this embarrassing ritual known though out high schools in the land: Crush days. I might be embellishing a bit but I am pretty sure they were held every three months or so: Valentine’s day, Sweetest day, random reason to hate being single day #35.

This is how the agony would start: a week before set date, the cheeriest of all the girls would be rounded up and put at a table at the entrances of the school, there was no way around them. Sure, the first time I thought – hey that is neat – but after the first time no one sent me can of crush. The harsh reality of my ugliness came to fruition. There is no way to escape a table of yelping girls crying out to be recognized in the hustling hallways of an overcrowded high school. Their pampered voices tore at my heartstrings, knowing that not one of those valentines or cans of orange over sugared pop would land on my desk in biology or US history. No escape and it would sit resting in your brain all day pulling and cutting away your self image.

This isn’t the worst part, not by far. The worst is when the same team of giddy volunteers come stumbling into class, pulling everyone out of their stupor, and my peers would tighten their backs awaiting their presents. There would always be so many cans and cards they had to be toted around on an old crying cart, wailing its way through the lanes of desks. Passing out cans and passing those who aren’t wanted – like me. Four long years of being passed over. Oh, don’t feel bad for me.

Something that those who don’t know me well may not know: I’m a real creep. Sure I can carry my own in social situations and all that business now.  Oh, but how I’ve learned, I used to be a terrible creep. I used to think it was funny, or even flirtatious to stare blankly at the girl I was infatuated with. Yeah, that was me. I was the guy that would try for the friend angle and wonder why the girls never noticed me. Am I surprised that I didn’t get any cans of orange crush? No, but the emotional staining was painted thickly on my heart at the time; I was crushed.

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My childhood part 3: Crush

Posted on

December 17th, 2010


My Childhood