Friday, May 04, 2007

Pep Rallies and warnings.

The first couple of weeks of my Freshman year of high school, besides all the other anxieties of the transition from the big fish-little pond of 8th grade to the turd of the big pond as a freshman, there was a developing fear that was being instilled in me. See, all the upperclassmen I knew all started to point to one day: the first Pep Rally of the year. “You just wait!” they said through snickering expressions. “Enjoy your initiation into the big leagues” and then they would make this weird motion with their two straight arms coming together in a motion that looked like an alligator closing its mouth. And to be honest, it freaked the shit out me. I had no idea what was going to happen, so I let my imagination fill in the gaps. And considering I really didn’t have any idea what the hell a Pep Rally was and high school was a completely new playing field with rules I didn’t know, there were a lot of gaps. All I know was that I was going to get humiliated as a rite of passage in this big new world. I’ll admit now that I was scared.

So eventually, the day came. 3:00, all the students were supposed to meet in the gym, quartered into 4 sections by grade. I, with all my other nervous 9th grade victims, filtered in with darting eyes, looking for the cats around us to pounce. Coincidently, my new English teacher was MC of the event and I instantly felt betrayed by him. No under the breath advice in class that morning? “Class, don’t tell anyone I said this, but when they start running for you, just play dead, its just easier that way.”

Anyway, Mr. Judas the English teacher gives some words of welcome, has a couple of announcements, and finally says “OK, the moment you upper classmen have been waiting for! Let’s get it started. Sophomores!” Instantly, (as all the freshmen’s heads swiveled towards the 2nd years) the sophomore class started yelling, “Ninety Three! Ninety Three! Ninety, Ninety, Ninety Three!” Right after, the Juniors did the same thing: “Ninety Two! Ninety two! Ninety, Ninety, Ninety Two!” Then, the Seniors followed with the same cadence with their year. Then all eyes shot to me and my fellow freshmen. Outside of a couple of people that were smart enough (or tipped off by more loyal English teachers) to catch on and start yelling out “Ninety-Four!, Ninety-Four!...”, most of us stood there silent and looking stupid.

After that second of silence that seemed like an eternity, the other three classes all began that same chomping arm motion that I had been taunted at me so many times before and broke out into laughter with cheering. The Mr. Judas explained to us that we had just experienced our first class cheer and was going to give us another shot at it. He started it again and sure enough, as a class we were able to figure out the pattern and executed our “Ninety-Four!” cheer at our allotted time, timidity, but successfully.

After completion, the MC moved onto something else. It began to dawn on me that that was it. That was our hazing. My visions of noogies and bullying anarchy were just that, visions. What the fuck? That was what I got my panties in a bunch over? Some stupid alligator chomp done at my class by the other 300 students? Holy living fuck, that was lame. Good one everyone. Looking back, its obvious to me that nothing worse than that would have ever happened, but I say that with the wisdom of 4 years of high school. I didn’t know any better.

Fast forward to now and I kind of feel that way again with our pregnancy. Like all the parents around me are giving me that same “You just wait” line said with a smirk about our upcoming conversion into parenthood. “Enjoy your sleep now” etc, etc. I know they don’t say it with any malice, obviously their intent is to help Jessica and I become mentally ready and also to use our pre-child time wisely. But it almost has had the opposite effect on me. It’s instilled such an idea of impending life change, that I’ve pretty much already gone through it my mind. Just now, I was talking with someone about Washington DC and I suddenly grew nostalgic. “Man, that was back when Jessica and I were carefree and childless, those were some days.”

What I do need to do is get beyond the mental block that while my life will soon change, it hasn’t fully happened yet. Jessica and I are still the only ones in the house and I should enjoy that. And when we aren’t the only ones, that’s going to be great too, regardless of all the “just wait” comments that have the side effect of making future parents nervous.

Contrary to my freshman counterpart, I haven’t worked myself into a tizzy over the jovial warnings I get. I’m not really worried about losing sleep or changing diapers. You adapt. You get used to dealing with feces the same way you get used to turning over your boots at night when you move to places that have scorpions. I have to assume it just becomes a part of life.

Yes, I just compared my future child’s poop to a scorpion, what of it?

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