The cool kid’s table.
That’s where everyone wants to sit.
I learned a huge truth about the cool kid’s table when I was in seventh grade. My bestie, Jean and I got mad at our friends. I don’t remember why; it doesn’t matter. What matters is that we decided that we didn’t need the cool girls anymore and to prove it, we joined the not-so-cool girl’s table at lunch the next day.
We were absolutely floored to discover that the second group of girls thought they were the cool ones. Turns out, for all those years, the other girls (a lot of them rode the bus) had spent exactly no time wishing they were part of our clique; they were too busy having tons of fun without thinking of us at all.
The problem with being a kid is that you don’t really know anything but you make the disastrous assumption that what you think is actually true, ie: those kids over there are cooler than me.
Or: those kids over there are laughing at me.
Unless you’ve just been pantsed and they’re actually pointing at you while laughing, the chances are very good they aren’t thinking of you at all. And even while they’re laughing, most of them are just relieved that today it was you instead of them.
Even when we know all these things, most of us hate to eat alone at a restaurant or otherwise give the impression of being lonely, friendless losers. Humans are pack animals, we crave acceptance.
Even those of us who are so introverted that the company of others exhausts us, like to know that if the time should come when we need them, someone is out there who has our back.
MJ brought Tatertot home from the hospital last week. Kent dropped Bananas and Punkin at my house so he could go collect mother and baby and all the paraphernalia accompanying them.
We had a good time. The girls have been hanging out at my house every once in a while since they were born. Punkin is a little jabberkins; if she’s awake, she’s talking. Bananas is a little Hubbell; only her closest friends get to know what’s on her mind. She and I have spent hours in each other’s company without saying a word.
I’m totally cool with that.
Last week, both girls were so excited about Tatertot’s homecoming that even Bananas couldn’t keep quiet. We had a very nice time together. I whipped up a huge batch of bran muffins, they drew all over the chalkboard wall, we watched some Looney tunes and they played house in the TV room.
Jay came home and plopped himself down in his recliner and turned on the Twins’ game.
Bananas came into the kitchen where I was filling muffin cups.
“Mary,” she said. She has a low, soft speaking voice. “We’re playing a game, and we’re using the whole room, and Jay just sat down in one of the areas that we’re using…”
“Are you asking me to tell Jay to move?” I asked. Just because Bananas is comfortable talking to me doesn’t mean she’s ready to talk to Jay. He’s been known to intimidate 7’ athletes, much less a 7 year old girl. “Because he’s not going to do that.”
“No.” she said. “We want him to be the dog.”
“Oh! Sure, he’ll do that.” I popped my head around the corner. “Jay. The girls are playing house in here. You’re the dog.”
He nodded and barked.
It’s so nice to be accepted into the pack.