When I look back onto my middle school career, I am often surprised by how much things that happened over decades ago can still make me blush and feel terribly uncomfortable. They’re really not things that I invite back in my life to relive over and over, but, rather, subconscious memories that I never took time to internalize and deal with at the actual moment that they occurred. And, as an adult, when I find myself in an emotional state that I can’t control with the various coping mechanisms I have cultivated over the years, I am wide open to the overwhelming feelings of second-hand embarrassment that happened to me when I was just twelve years old. 

It’s not like I did anything in front of the whole school (except for the time that I managed to knock over an entire mountain of trays during peak lunch time). I was always ripe for that kind of overwhelming attention from my various school chums. No, this particular moment occurred between me and just one other person. Someone that I hope is having a long and contented life now (as opposed to back then, when I really just wanted to trip her down the stairs). She didn’t really deserve the ire of an overly weepy pre-teen, but she got it (even if she didn’t ever know it). 

I don’t know if anyone has been able to tell yet, reading through my various stories, but I tend to think very highly of myself—even when I haven’t done anything to deserve that kind of esteem. Creating a mental environment that keeps me somewhat elevated over everyone around me helps me get through the ups and downs life throws at me.  Basically, anything you can do I can do better (unless it takes a lot of effort). Although I was very shy and not sure of my place in the world back then, I somehow thought I was better at absolutely everything and that if I wasn’t getting my just desserts, it was just because someone didn’t like me, and not because I didn’t have the skills to truly be the best (ask me about trying out for the cheerleading squad sometime). 

This particular moment came from my association with the school choir—the one class that I loved above all others. A place to be creative and hang out with my friends without having to worry about anything except having a good time. I jumped into every song and performance that I could with all the flair and excitement of a young Taylor Swift (okay, not really—more like with all the flair and excitement of a young girl that was happy not to be in science class) and I truly loved every second of it. Even if I did get occasionally overwhelmed by the thought of performing at concerts, it was worth the nervousness to, on the daily, feel like I was in a safe space to be the “diva” that I was.  

So, I spoke up in class and I performed my little heart out, thinking that I had something special that was going to make people notice me the most at those times when we did have to do those big performances. It was all so easy and carefree and being a part of the group made me feel warm and happy more than most anything else I had going for me. The teacher was always nice and complimented me on my AMAZING alto voice (I may just be projecting here, but, if I am, might as well go for the big time) and I totally wove myself fantasy of being his favorite student. I didn’t think it was anything to be debated at all. My mind had decided that that was the way that it was going to be. 

Now, I’m not sure how many schools indulged the frail egos of itty-bitty up and coming high school freshmen, but mine did—by having a yearly award ceremony, in front of the whole school, where teachers gave out awards to the kids that really did rise to the occasion in their various subjects. I tended to think of it as a very public way to just pump up their favorite students (knowledge be damned) and I wanted (and believed that I should) be chosen as the outstanding choir student.  

As award by award got announced, I started to fidget on the gym bleachers trying to visualize the trip down the stairs and onto the floor. It wouldn’t do if I were to pull a “me” and plummet head over ass in front of the entire school. I pictured myself gliding gracefully down the stairs and onto the shiny wood, accepting my moment of glory, smiling at the back wall (because I sure as hell wasn’t going to make eye contact with anyone), and quickly (and without heavy breathing) make my way back up to relative anonymity. I knew that (mostly) I wouldn’t enjoy people looking at me and I would just have to make the most (non) attention-grabbing ascent back to my seat. (I have a pretty damn good imagination, wouldn’t you say?) 

As the assembly began to stretch a little too long for such tender behinds, I started to think that they weren’t going to hand out any certificates for choir. I was starting to feel a little frantic because I just wanted my little bit of self-validation and (to be real) I had to go to the bathroom. Badly. Now, I think that my bringing that part of my memory up for this story may be a winking nudge to plant a seed in your brain that my embarrassing moment may be toilet related, but it wasn’t quite that (humorously) chaotic. 

I was so desperate for something to happen that I found myself beginning to be a little upset (and maybe) talk a little shit. So, I leaned over to the girl next to me (let’s call her Mary) and started complaining about the length of the ceremony. And how I really had to pee. And that I really just wanted to get up there and get my choir award because it was really starting to get boring. I should let you know that Mary and I weren’t really friends, or even acquaintances—she was just the girl that always seemed to be around school—and she looked at me with a look in her eye that screamed, “and who the fuck are you?” Yeah, it was a great interaction. 

She gave me a sort of half smile and a slight rolling of her eyes. You would have thought I would have picked up on the signals, but even though I thought myself the bee’s knees, it was obvious that she thought I was a dumb-dumb. And, considering what was lining up to happen next, she was absolutely not wrong. Now that I think about it, that was the extent of our conversation. She turned back towards the teachers that were still calling out (everyone’s name but mine) and gave me the cut direct. Hey, it may take an hour or two, but I do occasionally pick up on vibes once in a while. I shut up and squeezed my legs together. No need to be more uncomfortable than I already was. 

Finally, the last of the awards were being read and my choir teacher hopped up to the microphone and began to wax poetic about his choice for best student. How she was dedicated, talented, and an excellent multi-tasker (I looked to my feet and blushed). How he could count on her to help set up the risers (huh?), copy sheet music for the students (um, I don’t remember that), and help put away chairs when the class was done (nope, definitely can’t recall offering that service). Ahem, can you feel the vibes that it was taking me an hour or two to get? It wasn’t going to be me. I wasn’t the special one. I practically tortured myself with my own bodily functions for no reason. Honestly, it figured. 

After what seemed like a completely inappropriate amount of time spent gushing over just one mere choir student, he finally said the name of his choice (go on, you know who it was) and, of course, it was Mary. The one I was just complaining to about wanting to get my award and get out of there. Yeah, her. She stood and gave me massive side-eye (I did mention that she was a multi-tasker), tossed her hair back, and sailed down the stairs effortlessly (like I could never, ever do. Bitch.). The crowd was too far gone in their epic boredom to give her a decent clap (which I didn’t exactly hate) and within seconds of her getting my coveted piece of paper, my agony was over. All awards were passed out and the powers that be let us all escape back to our (now much more palatable) classrooms. 

After sticking through this story, it may not seem a terribly embarrassing moment for some people, but it was truly mortifying for me. There is nothing that makes me more vulnerable than appearing stupid, and I’m afraid that I was displaying all of the stupid on that day. I think it wouldn’t be too shocking to say that Mary and I never talked again (not that we ever did) and that I never like choir quite the same way again. I sang, I danced, I even occasionally put chairs away, but I really tried to not let my britches get too big again when it came to thinking I was better than everyone in the room. It was a lesson that I took to heart, and actually applied…until cheerleader try-outs. Really. You should ask me about that sometime. 

© DRB 2024 

Photo by Franco Antonio Giovanella on Unsplash

Also read: My Most Embarrassing Moments: Part One