I graduated in the Class of 1999: the last class of the century. That prince song, "Party Like It's 1999" was waaay overplayed. This was the era of such fashion fau pauxes as: Steve Madden platform shoes and earlier on (as freshmen) flannel shirts and doc martens. (Shudder)! This was the time where you went to Dave Matthews concerts, worked hourly summer doldrum jobs, and (maybe) clung onto your friends for dear life to grasp shaky footing within the social hierarchy. Perhaps you counted down the days to graduation (like I did) or daydreamed about your eventual escape.
It's funny because the majority of my career is in education, but mostly to a post-college populace. However, it should be noted that I am far, far removed from working with high schoolers, the hallways lined with lockers, prom, and the cliques, and honestly, that makes me so relieved. You couldn't ever pay to go back and repeat the experience, because at times, I hated my existance in high school. This is a confession from a former, stressed out wallflower who blossomed into an accomplished, social butterfly.
Let's see: this story might make you laugh. What did I do to rebel? Well, my group of female friends at the Catholic academy I went to (who pretty much always attracted the older guys' attention), wanted to dress up as strippers from around the world for Halloween our sophomore year. The really messed up thing was that we were only age "15." Damn. Could it have been that our plaid skirt uniforms were that repressive?
I thought the idea was very lame and incredibly sketchy, so me and my friend Kara joined them and rather than wear a fur trim skirt up to here and a low cut top, we instead dressed up respectively as a cow and a puppy dog. Needless to say, when I opened up the door in my the guys' faces fell and they were like, "what the heck? We thought you were dressing up all sexy?" (cough, cough, slutty). I look back, and am really proud of myself for not following the crowd and sticking to my guns with what I believed in.
My worst moment was when I went to this sweet, "cool" girl's party, my junior year of high school (This is after I went to the private, city school in Chicago). Of course, the host's parents were out of town at this "rager." The "cool," soccer playing guy my year, Patrick Rice, was sitting in the kitchen and smirked and said rather loudly and incredulously, "What the heck is Tanya [aka: that's me] doing at this party?!? Why is she even here?!?" How did I handle it? By drinking and slinking away, shoulders sagged, fighting tears, and feeling very, very ashamed to be pointed out directly for not fitting in. I had no chutzpah. Zip. Zilch.
How would I handle a reaction like that today? I'd definitely laugh it off and fire back sassily, "what are YOU doing here? Thanks SO much for the warm welcome!" (This would, of course, be delivered with wonderful sarcasm).
The diverse, professional group of alumni who volunteer at my alma mater (God bless them!):
It's funny because the majority of my career is in education, but mostly to a post-college populace. However, it should be noted that I am far, far removed from working with high schoolers, the hallways lined with lockers, prom, and the cliques, and honestly, that makes me so relieved. You couldn't ever pay to go back and repeat the experience, because at times, I hated my existance in high school. This is a confession from a former, stressed out wallflower who blossomed into an accomplished, social butterfly.
Let's see: this story might make you laugh. What did I do to rebel? Well, my group of female friends at the Catholic academy I went to (who pretty much always attracted the older guys' attention), wanted to dress up as strippers from around the world for Halloween our sophomore year. The really messed up thing was that we were only age "15." Damn. Could it have been that our plaid skirt uniforms were that repressive?
I thought the idea was very lame and incredibly sketchy, so me and my friend Kara joined them and rather than wear a fur trim skirt up to here and a low cut top, we instead dressed up respectively as a cow and a puppy dog. Needless to say, when I opened up the door in my the guys' faces fell and they were like, "what the heck? We thought you were dressing up all sexy?" (cough, cough, slutty). I look back, and am really proud of myself for not following the crowd and sticking to my guns with what I believed in.
My worst moment was when I went to this sweet, "cool" girl's party, my junior year of high school (This is after I went to the private, city school in Chicago). Of course, the host's parents were out of town at this "rager." The "cool," soccer playing guy my year, Patrick Rice, was sitting in the kitchen and smirked and said rather loudly and incredulously, "What the heck is Tanya [aka: that's me] doing at this party?!? Why is she even here?!?" How did I handle it? By drinking and slinking away, shoulders sagged, fighting tears, and feeling very, very ashamed to be pointed out directly for not fitting in. I had no chutzpah. Zip. Zilch.
How would I handle a reaction like that today? I'd definitely laugh it off and fire back sassily, "what are YOU doing here? Thanks SO much for the warm welcome!" (This would, of course, be delivered with wonderful sarcasm).
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