My high school was a Hollywood stereotype played out on a real-life stage.
If you were good in sports, you were popular too, which worked well for the girls in my class: they happened to be the prettiest and the smartest as well. The boys, on the other hand, were different.
Unlike their female counterparts, the boys were not looking toward the future. They were not aiming to go to college. They had no reason to try to achieve in the classroom, and cared very little about their grades. Instead, they were incredulous to their teachers and unmerciful in their torment of their peers.
Still, I sought them out as friends, eager to gain their acceptance. We had more in common than not. We played varsity basketball and baseball, loved pretty girls and were passionate about heavy metal music. Despite all that we had in common, my efforts in school always drove us apart. They perceived me as a poser, a nerd in jock’s clothing, and never a friend.
“Don’t worry about them,” my mother would tell me, her words giving me strength. “They will be pumping the gas into your luxury car one day.”
Except for the whole “luxury car-thing”, my mother was right.
17 years later, Diane’s words resonate as strongly with me today as my mother’s had before, but they somehow remain less applicable in light of my long term goals as a private practice owner.