an open letter to...

the daughter of my brother's wife (not technically my niece but I think of her as such)

Dear Kaylee,

Congratulations, Smarty Pants. You've achieved another end-of-school-year best-student-ever award. Yup, I know you're proud and you should be. And some of your peers might even congratulate you and help you celebrate your achievements. Seeing as that this is something that the people you know have come to expect of you (since you get this award every year), I may be the only one who knows that this one feels just as sweet as the previous ones, even if everyone around you has become jaded by the experience. That is because once upon a time, I was you.

Yup, yup. I was/am a nerd. Just like you. I got the straight A's and the academic accolades that come with such a record during the course of many, many years. Along with those accolades came the teasing and harassment from my peers who didn't like me because I always set the curve on the test or because I always had the right answer when I rose my hand. I had very few friends in grade school. My junior high years weren't any easier. As I ventured into my teens, being popular became so much more important then it had been. And, Kaylee, I was NOT popular, by any means. I was so removed from popularity that I was practically invisible. People only noticed me when the teacher was handing back graded tests and the teacher would single out the person with the highest score (that would be me). And my descent into oblivion continued for a while.

I clung to the few friends I did have. They were my life lines. And then something magical happened. I went to high school.

Now, I haven't heard anything from my brother about what high school you'll be going to one day, but I should tell you that it's super important. High school saved my life. It was there that I found other people who shared my commitment to academics. Maybe some of them were the social pariahs of their junior highs. Or maybe getting good grades was the cool thing to do at their old schools. I don't know and it didn't matter. What mattered is that I found myself surrounded by people I could truly consider my intellectual peers.

While I had never been the social butterfly before, I began to flourish in high school, making friends in all of my honors and AP classes, some of whom I still talk to today. They never made me feel like less of a person because I was smart. "Nerd" became a term of endearment. And people who didn't understand something that was said in class would come to me for help, not because they were using me but because they respected me for being smart.

You know how they say that high school prepares you for college? Well, it truly does. Had I not met the friends I made in high school, I don't think I would've been socially prepared for college. And if you decide to go to the best university in the country (ahem, that would be USC not that Notre Lame your papa likes) I can speak from experience that you will find LOTS of other nerds there. It's like a big nerd convention with tons of people thirsty for knowledge and eager to learn new, complicated things.

So ultimately, what I want to tell you (if it would even be appropriate to send you this) is that you are perfect just the way you are. Just keep on reading books way beyond your grade level and being smart and doing your thing. Yeah, school can be rough sometimes. Yup, there are bullies and mean girls and people who are jealous of you for being smart. And trust me, I know it can be really hard.

But one day when you're older and out conquering the world, you'll look back on this time of your life and think, "I was a nerd and I'm proud of it!"

when friendships die, where does the love go

A couple of days ago, I was contacted by an old high school friend out of the blue (wow…I knew that MySpace thing would come in handy some day). Kimmie and I did some catching up over email and I was dumbstruck by one of her questions (which I’ve yet to answer): How’s Abby?

Abby was my best friend. She started attending school with me in the 4th grade. We weren’t friends at first. She was very competitive with me in regards to grades. Whenever we would get a quiz or paper back, she would ask me what grade I got and smile to herself if hers was higher (this is the kind of dorky stuff we did at my private Catholic school). After a while, I got used to it and started to use this competition to get better grades.

We became really close in the 8th grade and eventually went to the same high school together, where we also met Kimmie. Abby and I did everything together—lunch, shopping, movies, whatever. At the time, she was the only person in the world that I trusted with everything, who knew everything about me. She even predicted that I would end up marrying a black man (still not quite sure why she said that at the time, but, if Jesse and I work out then that would make her Miss Cleo). Our families were friends and spent a lot of time together. We were practically sisters.

Our friendship continued when we went to separate colleges—I was off to USC (as you all know) and she went off to Long Beach State. She would come up to LA to visit or spend the weekend. We did our usual stuff together despite the distance. When we couldn’t hang out together, we’d talk on the phone for hours about all sorts of stuff—boys, clothes, sex, religion, life, dreams, ambitions. I’m not quite sure what happened, but one day it all started to change.

She had gone to England on a study abroad program and had really, really enjoyed it. I was happy for her because I knew that study abroad would be a great experience for her. However, when she returned, she couldn’t quite adjust. Coming back to Cali, she realized that her life there hadn’t changed much although she had changed drastically as a person. I believe that Abby was truly happy in England and she felt that she could never experience that kind of happiness again. She became depressed, but didn’t want to talk to me about it. It was very frustrating for me. I felt that I was losing my friend and she wouldn’t let me help her. I wanted so desperately to get her to open up to me. After awhile, we stopped hanging out. She stopped returning my calls. She stopped going to church (where our families usually saw each other). Her mom would tell me, “Please talk to Abby. She’s just so sad now.” After my many attempts to reach her failed, I suggested to her mom that she see a professional.

I thought that maybe I should give her some time to herself. I wanted to be there for her during her recovery, but she had essentially shut me out of her life. A few months later, on her birthday, I decided to surprise her with flowers and balloons. I drove to her house, saw that no one was there, and placed the flowers by the front door and tied the balloons to the knob. I expected her to be all surprised by the time she got home, take a look at the card, be happy that I thought of her, and then call me. That call never came.

I’m not really sure what happened to Abby. Her family stopped going to church. I moved away to DC and didn’t take her phone number with me. I figured, what would be the point of contacting her now?

Three years ago, I was visiting Cali and was on my way to see a long, lost friend. I ran into Target to buy a card for my friend. Walking by some aisles, I did a double take. In the picture frame aisle was Abby, looking exactly as I remembered her. She looked up from a frame, recognized me and smiled. I walked towards her to say hi. She walked towards me and came within a yard of me and stopped. It was awkward. Do we hug? Can it be like old times?

It didn’t feel appropriate so we didn’t hug. We made some small talk. She told me that I looked very different. She told me that she works as an educator for kids with special needs. I told her that I live in DC now and was just in town for a visit. To end the awkwardness, I ended it by saying, “It was nice to see you again. Take it easy.”

I think about this now and I get a lump in my throat. Abby was my soul sister and now she’s a stranger to me. We had such plans for our future—like maybe having a joint wedding or being each other’s maid of honor. It still hurts me that she pushed me away when I wanted to be there for her. I guess it was something that she wanted to get over on her own. Even now after all this time, I wish I could’ve been there to support her.

if the past is so bad, why relive it?

I received a notice about my high school reunion. Actually, if I had never joined Myspace, I would never have found out about it. Surprisingly, I received my notice through Myspace.

Since the days following graduation, my particular class was intent on staying in touch. A website went up just for my high school’s class of 1996 (one of my classmates, a computer geek, set it up). I know of people who used that for a couple of years in college. And now, there’s a Myspace group just for my high school’s class of 1996. Since I only recently gave in to Myspace, I wanted to join some groups to feel like I “belonged” (some of us never grow out of those high school ideals…thank God I grew out of other things) and just happened upon my class group.

Before joining the group, I perused its members. Of the 425 people I graduated with, over a quarter of them are in the Myspace group. When reviewing the list, I didn’t look at any faces or names. I only looked at their locations. Where are my classmates? I wondered. Not surprisingly, they’re still in California. In fact, a large percentage of them are still in Southern California. Out of the over 150 names in the group, only 3 are outside of the state. To be honest, I’m not surprised.

My conservative, private, Catholic high school had felt like a bubble to me. While inside of it, I only knew of my own little world—wearing plaid skirts above the knee and pulling them down when the dean walked by, finding a date to the next dance, judging the girls who got pregnant, keeping hush about the kids who did drugs and dealt them. The message to “do what Jesus would do” was constantly shoved down our throats, but rarely genuinely lived by. People faked it all the time. This little bubble fostered ignorance and prejudice. The hypocrisy of it all still disturbs me.

There is one positive thing I can say. The academics were outstanding. Almost everyone struggled to be the smartest one in the class (I was content with top 5). Your peers praised you for setting curves (and cursed you behind your back). Academic achievement was praised every which way imaginable. I don’t regret attending that high school for successfully setting me up for college. It just didn’t set me up for life.

Actually USC did that. My college, with its diversity and opportunities, truly made me the person that I am. I began to see what the real world truly was and I began to question everything I was taught in my high school religion classes. I took nothing at face value and began to think for myself. And the sports teams kick ass!

So, when I found out that my high school reunion falls on the same day as the USC/Notre Dame football game, I was ecstatic. The planning committee was asking me to choose between my high school and USC. Hmmm…let’s see…a clash between traditional football powerhouses…or reliving the miserable high school years? I’m glad you agree with my decision.

If I’m even in town that day, I’d much rather catch the football game at a sports bar with fellow Trojans, then go to a silly reunion.