October 13th, 2006

This is a continuation of my last rant.

So many people I know, myself included, live our adult lives as a sort of rhetorical response to what happened to us when we were in high school. It amazes me to realise that those five little years had as much—probably more—impact on our lives than any other period. I mean, I had marriages and relationships that lasted as long or longer, and they don't resonate in my psyche as much as the single momentary events in Grade 11 or Grade 9, or the people I was briefly friends or enemies with when I was 13, 14, or 18.

Just about everyone I know has spent at least their 20s and a goodly chunk of their 30s living up to the values and ideals they first discovered and explored in their high school ... or at least when they were high-school-aged (and since it represents the place we spent the bulk of our time, it stands to reason that high school experiences approximate teen-aged experiences).

I don't mean this to be a pining for the Golden Age of our Lives ... I'm sure it was far from that ... but rather, I want to see how it is that we let such a small slice from our lives affect so much of the rest—just as my friend Cecil spent his whole life re-living his Summer of Sexual Awakening. Fully sixty years—nearly his entire lifetime—went by and his teenaged sexual frustration and anticipation still dwelt within him. And he is the norm, not the exception.

So why is that?

Well, those years (say, for sake of argument 13 years old to 18 years old) are full of our first real impressions of the world with adult-like eyes, ears, and understanding. We arrived in high-school with internal wiring that was sophisticated enough to capture most of the nuances of human interaction, but with a completely blank slate of human experience. The first lines drawn in our minds happened at that time. Though we were ready to record memories of our interactions, we hadn't actually had any yet. The tape started rolling once we were all thrown together with other awkward, sexually-charged, self-conscious, angry, frightened, silly, vulnerable teens, and it started capturing images. With such a clean canvas, everything could be captured in the smallest of details, and studied and relived and agonized over forever.

Also, because they formed our first impression they not only remain more visible today, they helped to shape the parts of us that were still developing. While I say the tape started capturing our experiences, it is not true to say that the recorder was complete. It changed with the experiences it was recording. It became more sensitive to the most "important" signals. The biggest fears that teenagers first start contending with, such as awkwardness or appearing ugly/fat/stupid, etc., are the fears that tune the recorder to the quietest of whispers about it. How many teens spend their whole high school years having their parents, teachers, even friends shouting encouragement into their ears only to have their fragile egos smashed into a million pieces by that cute boy/girl who laughed at something they did or said? And the recorder grows even more attuned as it hears more.

Another thing: Because they were the first impressions, we felt them much more strongly. I can still remember the crushing Grade 10 anguish of being told "no" when Kim P. wouldn't go out on a date with me. I sat around with Dean L. (not even a friend, but whose friendship was desperately needed by me at that moment) in the library in the seconds and minutes after being snubbed ever so gently by her. I mean, when you are 15, you really feel these things for the first time. As the saying goes, the first cut is the deepest.

(And, for completeness, I'll finish the memory: I got over it 30 minutes later when I decided to ask Karen M. out instead—aha, another wondrous thing about teens: They heal so quickly because their attention span is so short—but I can still feel the full body slam of the denial, even now if I concentrate hard enough.)

So, I think that is why Cecil's and his former girlfriend's tale of unconsummated Love in the Time of Prairie Drought caught my attention so much that I still think about it more than a dozen years after hearing it. It resonates in me because it reminds me of a time when I was a teenager myself, and a time when the experiences were loud and so long-lasting. I was an awkward teenager with crushes and desires, feelings and hopes and aspirations too, and Cecil's story echoes my own.

His tale draws a line connecting his experiences to mine, reminding me that my experiences were not unique in the world ... reminding me that we all travel that road through adolescence ... showing me that it is not unusual to harbour those feelings well into my adult life ... showing me that it's okay: I am not alone.

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