They are not hard to find. They form a distinctive part of the student body in
schools both small and large. Attend a high school pep assembly and you
will have no problem locating them. They sit on the top row, usually isolated,
off in one corner. They will not stand for the school song and through their
nonchalant and non-attentive behavior, it is clear the distain they feel for
their school mates who are the guests of honor at this party, one that requires
their mandatory attendance. They dress different and are outspoken when
describing their lack of interest in main-stream high school social life.
“Football players are pussies,” states the young man dressed all in black. He
is small in stature and seems to have several nervous habits, such as
constantly tapping his foot as he sits and talks. “They run the whole school
and think they should get anything they want. F*#k this place. I am sick of
everything about this place. Soon as I get out of school I am gone from here.
The best thing to happen to this place would be if someone would blow the whole
fu#$ing town up.”
The makeshift gathering took place down a dead-end gravel road, nothing more
than an abandoned farm road. “Here is where we come to party,” said a young
lady, sporting multi-colored hair, featuring pink highlights. Her makeup was
chalky, her lipstick a deep black. “Everybody knows we come here. So if you are
a narc, telling them will do you no good. They know we come out here. I think
they leave us alone because it keeps us out of town and out of sight. As you
can see, we dress a little different. They all call us ‘Goths’, and I guess
that is cool, that is who we are. We do dress different and we are not hard to
pick out.”
The
group numbered seven. I had asked to be brought along for this after school
“social.” A marijuana cigarette was soon passed amongst the group. “You sure
you are not a narc,” a young man confronted me with the same question I had
answered in town shortly before we began our caravan out into the country. My
interrogator who had multiple facial piercings and was also dressed all in
black, was questioning my deferring on the community joint when it reached me.
Rest easy, I assured him, the cops don’t normally send 54-year-old men to
infiltrate high school drug parties. My presence, I told the group, was for
educational purposes, only.
“I
can’t say the jocks bother us,” offered another young man. “They just ignore
us. That is what most of the town does. The same at school with the teachers,
they just ignore us, hoping we will go away. They use to try and make us cut
our hair, wear our clothes different. They even took away our chains.” He was
interrupted by the second young lady of the group who complained, “they
threatened to kick me out and take me to court, put me in a home if I didn’t
stop wearing my dog collar to school. Now what kind of sh*t is that?”
The group appeared to be intelligent, their ability to discuss issues and argue
values impressive. “I don’t really care about all the attention this school and
town gives the jocks. But it gets old. Sometimes I just want to scream,”
complained the girl with multi-colored hair. “It is so stupid. Who cares who
wins a dumb game?” She admitted that to her knowledge, neither she nor her
friends had ever suffered from a major confrontation with the more main-stream
students of the local school. She even-admitted, to at one time, entertaining
thoughts of joining the jock culture. “When I was little, I played on the
softball teams in the summer. It was fun and I was pretty good. I am still
pretty good at the games in PE, when I want to be,” she offered. “But as we got
older, it got so much more intense. And I didn’t have parents who were going to
haul me around to all the different towns where the games were to be played. It
just was not worth it, so I quit playing. When that happened, it wasn’t like
the other girls kicked me out of their group; we just didn’t have anything in
common anymore. It wasn’t a big deal. So I started hanging with the other kids who
didn’t play sports. We just all kind of found each other. I don’t dislike the
other girls at school, we just don’t have anything in common, but it’s cool.”
A tall young man with a mature build for his age of 16 was the group’s vocal
leader and the most outspoken. “I could have been pretty good at sports. Up
until about the last year, the coaches were always trying to get me to come
out, come over to their side. I will admit that I liked the attention and
thought about it; maybe going over to the other side. But it just was not going
to work for me. I just didn’t want to change, you know what I mean? If I wanted
to be in football I had to change my hair, my clothes and my friends, so I said
‘forget it.’ I think they have finally given up on me. I guess I am past
saving,” he said with a sarcastic giggle. “I live with my mom. She does not
care about sports and if your parents don’t get interested, it’s tough, when
you are too young to drive, to start playing.”
He took another long drag on the rolled up weed cigarette and passed it to his
girlfriend (I assumed), seated on his right. “Hey, after school, we just come
out here and get high. How else are we supposed to tolerate this f#*cking hick
town? I just want out. I don’t need anyone here saving me. I am just putting in
my time, not bothering anyone, until I can get out of here and get someplace
where nobody gives a damn who won some silly f#*king game.”
