Social Life at School

Reading mountainmama’s description of her social interactions at school during her teenage years, reminded me of what it was like for me.

What’s interesting is how different we were, and how the net result was so similar. I, too, didn’t have close girlfriends. I too felt isolated. I too have few good memories of it.

But in my case, it wasn’t because I was shy or trying too hard to make friends. In my case it was because I was a real Bitch, yes, with a capital B.

I already had an alpha male personality. I was like a boy, an obnoxious one. For instance, when I got a good mark on a test or assignment, I rubbed it in. I told anyone who would hear me that I’d done well. I wish somebody would have told me that people had feelings that got hurt by my behaviour, but nobody in my life was that wise. An argument could easily be made that I treated other people callously because that’s how I was treated at home.

When my girlfriends had a crush on what I considered a worthless boy, I would tell them so. And I would go on to list all the boy’s shortcomings. I was imitating my mother. In her eyes, most men were worthless, and every time someone she knew fell in love, she would point out he guy’s disadvantages. I didn’t know then how horrible doing that was. It was judgmental and cruel. No wonder the girls didn’t like me.

I was also weird, too, in that I was interested in stuff other kids my age weren’t, like politics. I was in grade 5 and already had an opinion about the president and the opposition. Everybody found out my opinion, too, since I would go around talking about it, caring little whether they were interested or not. I was imitating my mother in this, too. She had very strong opinions that she expressed to anyone who would hear her.

But I did want to be liked, so sometimes I was compelled to help others with homework or to pass answers during exams, so they would like me. But they just used me. They still couldn’t stand me.

I wasn’t entirely alone, though. The boys were there for me (not during recess, unfortunately). I was the boys’ best friend. We talked about soccer and other sports. We talked about music. It didn’t offend them that I was a show off. Some of them even thought I was cool.

Being close to the boys earned me a few girlfriends, who wanted to hang out with me to get to the opposite sex. That part was good, too, even though I knew I was being used.

It does seem that I was disliked for good reasons. Brits would say that it was bad breeding, and they would be right. I simply was taught no manners or compassion or ways to get alone with others.

The sad part is that bad breeding is difficult to shake off. Even now, in my mid forties, when an acquaintance tells me she’s in love with someone I consider below her, I think my face shows the disagreement. Even if my words aren’t nosy and judgmental, it does seem that my body language shows my true feelings, and my interlocutors are able to pick up the negative vibes.

For almost any circumstance, it is difficult to come up with something to say when you weren’t taught as a child. Living among people from another culture multiplies the problem many times over. More often than not, when faced with awkward situations, I have no idea what to say, and end up putting my foot in my mouth. I usually fail to fulfill expectations, because I lack a repertoire of proper, socially acceptable, neutral answers that would not offend or put the other person down.

Worse yet, many women expect to be comforted with sweet words and a hug. I don’t have that stuff in my repertoire. I never received that kind of comfort as a child, or ever. I would have to be a trained actor to play that role. It’s completely foreign to me. When I try to behave that way, I feel silly, stupid, awkward, inadequate, and more.

So, I am in my mid-forties and married, and the guys are still my best friends. But I can’t go to the movies with them or have them as my confidents. That probably accounts for my loneliness and depression. I can’t have male friends, and when it comes to friends, they’re my only choice. Bingo!

It is perfectly possible that being able to interact with guys is my strongest, yet unconscious, motivation for wanting back in the workforce, where harmless inter-gender friendships can easily be had. Guys usually have skin thick enough to deal with a badly bred, opinionated chick like me.