I am not equipped to raise a popular child. I do not have the wherewithal or sensitivity to understand youthful happiness and joy. Give me an angst-filled, self-loathing child any day and I know exactly what advice to give. “Adolescence sucks. But take comfort in the fact that most of the assholes who tortured you during childhood will gain weight, lose hair or end up in minimum wage jobs in adulthood.”
So as a parent not versed in the charmed life of the popular, I have no ability to understand my son’s athletic friends who are always stopping by, the flurry the female admirers and all the party invitations. I especially have no tolerance for questions like these: “So, my mom, what group were you in when you were in school?”
“No group. I was an individual. A free-spirit.”
“So that means you didn’t have friends.”
“Yeah, more or less.”
“So, you were uncool and a loser?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Really? But you have so many friends now. Are you sure?”
“Okay, what’s up with all the questions? Why are inquiring about my social history?”
“Just wondering.”
“Unpopularity is not genetic. You are not suddenly going to develop uncoolness one day. Don’t believe there is such a thing as the “uncool gene.”
“Okay, so that means you hung out with the smart kids.”
“Not really. I wasn’t really that smart either. I just worked hard and got good grades by studying and applying myself.”
“So, you hung out with the nerds.”
“No, they didn’t much like me either.”
“I can’t believe my mom was a loser."
“Yes son , I was a loser and now I am a librarian. Probably one of the few professions that encourages oddness. The dorkier that I am, the better service people think that they are getting. People expect librarians to be nerds and it gives them comfort. It is the balance of life, child. Now go comb your perfect hair and leave me alone.”
“You’re a dork, mom.”
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