“Lost in the high street, where the dogs run
Roaming suburban boys
Mother’s got a hairdo to be done
She says they’re too old for toys
Stood by the bus stop with a felt pen
In this suburban hell…”

-The Pet Shop Boys – “Suburbia”

In September of 1985 I was 14 years old and entering the ninth grade, full of puberty fueled self-doubt and a lack of any self-knowledge. And what a disastrous year it was. I spent a good part of the school year in a cold war with my best friend over a girl who I don’t even remember. My Mom had begun to let me make my own fashion decisions and if you were ever to see my school photo from this year (which you shan’t) you would see that I was not prepared for that level responsibility. Unlike most places in the States, ninth grade in Columbia County, Florida was not the beginning of High School but a sort of purgatory between it and Junior High. So, the excitement of beginning High School – new people, a new school – was absent. It was just another year stuck with the same classmates, stuck in the same social stratum without any hope of improving my level of coolness. I was firmly entrenched in the sort of geeky academic crowd and with glasses, a full palate of pimple, a skinny physique and a funny name and accent. In short, I was an easy target for merciless teasing.

Here’s an example. I used to get teased for wearing thick glasses – “four eyes”, that sort of standard unoriginal fare. To give the teasers credit, it was fair enough as one of the (poor) fashion choices I made was to pick glasses with photochromic lenses. This technology was a little ways from perfected in the mid 80’s so that I always walked around – whether in direct sun or in the dark – with some level of tint in the lenses. Some time in the ninth grade I finally got contact lenses. I remember being so excited on the first day that I was going to school without my glasses on – it was going to be a new day for me, new opportunities for popularity and I was sure that the girls of the Lake City 9th Grade Center would swoon on first sight. I strutted proudly around all day up until P.E., the most tortuous class of all. We were playing basketball or something like that and I made a mistake, as it was the norm for me to do, and one of my classmates yelled out to me: “Get it together, big nose.” If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. God, high school sucked.

I spent a good part of my high school years dreaming of escape. One of the things that got me away from where I was – this small town in north Florida where my social class of “nerd loser” was well established and irrevocable – was the occasional song on the radio or MTV. Some time in my ninth grade year I saw the video for The Pet Shop Boys’ “West End Girls” and I was vaulted out of Lake City for three and a half minutes. The misty London montage as the video opens was so foreign to my experience in a small Southern town. The rail thing coiffed and tailored Neil Tennant and dark, semi-transparent Chris Lowe strolling along the Thames offered an entirely different version of manhood than the thick chested and red necked guys that made my school days miserable. I bought the Pet Shop Boys debut LP “Please” as soon as it was released and wore the cassette out that school year. Songs like “West End Girls, “Suburbia” and “Opportunities” kept me sane through the ninth grade.

As I was walking along the Thames yesterday The Pet Shop Boys cover of “Always on My Mind” brought a lot of this rushing back. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to go through ninth grade again with the self-confidence, and aplomb that I’ve got today. Would things have been different? Or would a reasonably well adjusted adult man still be bullied and teased into submission? One of my favorite expat bloggers recently expressed a wish to go to her 20th high school reunion. Mine is coming up as well (2009) and I personally can not imagine anything more tortuous. First of all, I would have to return to a place to which thankfully (thank you for moving away Mom & Dad) I have no ties nor wish to return. Second, I fear that all the confidence and positive self-image I have cultivated for the past two decades would collapse under the scrutiny of cheerleaders with a half dozen kids and a job at the Wal-Mart and aging, flabby football players. Nope, not interested in finding out. I’m as happy as could be with where I am in life right now. I think I’ll just stick with The Pet Shop Boys as a reminder of that time.

Image credits:I-10

Heathers

West End Girls

 
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