Sorry, but the prom queen will win again

Remember your high school days? Of course you do. And, if you remember them, you should also recall them as being the most cringeworthy time of your life. If you are remotely sane, HS is a place to which you should have no desire to return, even in your reveries.

The only good thing to come from high school (in retrospect) has nothing to do with learning trigonometry (bet trig’s been a lot of use to you in later life), understanding the tenses of French verbs or coming to the conclusion that Emily Dickinson was really screwed up sexually, but in the realization that life is not only unfair, but that it is designed to be so. So designed, of course, by those who came out on the ‘good side’ of the unfairness.

Those who were (and remain) on that good side are the high school ‘innies’; the golden children who were cosseted, cajoled, flattered, and told they were the possessors of spectacular anal sphincters from which the sun did, and would continue to, beam forth. Doesn’t matter that it wasn’t true, what matters is that the possessors of these light-exuding bums believed it to be so. They also believed that lesser mortals should therefore, always, bow to their will.

Were you in the in-crowd in school? I wasn’t. Well, maybe sorta, but not much. I was positioned in -- if former classmates are to believed -- a sort of outer ring that sat smartly on the cusp of where a slightly in-crowd and the mass of complete nonentities met. I saw myself in the nonentity group. Some saw me as closer to the centre. Jeez, thanks guys, I’m flattered.

Of course, those assessments only come from those who were in virtually the same position as I was, and there were scads of us.

And there my life-course was determined. As I was then, there I still am, if I am to judge how my life has unfolded. It’s true that in some areas I may regard myself as special, maybe even sui generis, but I think to many others I am right where I was at 17 – a decent enough guy, moderately nice looking, with a relatively pleasing personality, and generally intelligent. But, no real superlatives happening. Well, maybe I do, but we tend to be oblivious to our own areas of excellence.

For you see, there is no life after high school. I can look around me, both in my own community and elsewhere and regard those who have good things fall into their laps. Utterly undeserving people (in terms of real talent) who have good things fall into their laps. I don’t say this out of bitterness, but merely as an observation.

I think of a female of my acquaintance (considerably younger than I) who, since she came to this community has had plum positions simply fall into place virtually from the moment she arrived. Oh, she’s quite charming (in a superficial manner), relatively pretty (with a great ass, I must smuttily confess), and a truly pedestrian intellect and imagination. Yet, without striving, she does well, very well.

Why is this? Well, for one thing she has a ‘big’ personality. Lots of color, flash and pizzazz. Also, her mother, whom I know, thinks she is the most talented young creature ever conceived. And such motivators, I conclude, are the keys to success, not subtle intellect.

I just bet in high school she was prom queen, most likely to succeed, belonged to a gazillion clubs and all the lads (and maybe a few teachers) had big old crushes on her. And, she continues in that pattern. Yet, as Gertrude Stein said about Oakland, California, “there’s no ‘there’ there.”

It’s a disconcerting reality, if you think about it on a larger scale. It really matters not a fart in a smaller community, but if you consider our leaders, it assumes much importance. Leadership, be it in politics, business or wherever, is the bastions of the ‘big’ personality. Lots of glitter and glam. At the same time do those big personalities, those glamorous lads and lasses who control our destines, have the genuine wits and skills to serve us best? I think much of history and the contemporary scene can only lead us to conclude, as did Porgy, that “It ain’t necessarily so.”

Take US presidents. Who are the shining beacons? Oh, JFK to be sure, and Bill Clinton and Ronald Reagan. Personality to burn in all cases. We’re they good at the job? In the case of each it’s arguable that their flaws surpassed their virtues.

Who was the best post-World War Two president? Taking all aspects of the task into consideration, I’ll vouch for Harry Truman. He was not colourful; he was a humble little haberdasher from Independence, MO. Yet, he ably took the helm of the most powerful country on the planet at one of the most perilous times, and did more good than bad.

In Canada the most dazzling prime minister in the postwar era was Pierre Trudeau. Everybody in the world knew Trudeau; bright, sexy, colourful. Was he the best? Arguably he was one of the worst at many levels, but man he had style. The best was a man most people have never heard of: he was a quiet and rather boring plodder named Lester Pearson.

Now, for fear of rambling needlessly, I’ll merely conclude that our patterns are set at an early age, and the key to future happiness rests solely with our ability to see ourselves in a positive light and screw what anybody else thinks.

Maybe there can be life after high school, provided we take steps to leave those sordid years in the past. We may not have attained all that we wanted to, but if we can pull up the covers at night with a clear conscience, we’re doing OK.