THE LONELINESS OF THE LONG-DISTANCE CLASS PRESIDENT [W, 5-26-21]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter

THE LONELINESS OF THE LONG-DISTANCE CLASS PRESIDENT   [W, 5-26-21]

 

[Yes, I’ve told this story much too often, but I like it, and it gets better every time. Besides, I tried to stop writing…] 

I was surprised, but I should not have been, for without knowing it, I had worked hard to get to be class president.

Not only did I know every kid in our class by name, I knew every kid in the school by name, and I said “hello” to each one, by name, every time I saw them. Not a big deal in a class of 80, or a school of 300, but I was the only one who bothered. [By graduation, our class was down to 62.]

I wanted to be… not “popular,” exactly. That was for athletes, and cheerleaders, and kids with clothes and money. I had nothing to offer but myself, and I so much wanted that self to be… yes, not “popular,” but included. So, I learned every name, and said hello every time, so that no one could ignore me, and thus exclude me.

Since we started high school in 8^th grade, that meant I knew all the upperclassmen by name, and spoke to them. They were surprised that a “little” 8^th grader--as we were called every time they deigned to acknowledge our unwanted presence--was saying hello to them by name, but even if you’re a haughty senior or sophisticated sophomore, you’re pleased that some peon knows your name.

When class sponsor Mr. Cato called during our class home room for nominations for president for our freshman year, the first year we had class officers, I was sitting across the aisle, in our rows of old-fashioned screwed-down desks, from Gary Harper. I didn’t know Gary well, but I could almost see the wheels in Gary’s head grinding, and saying, “Hey, John always calls me by name and says hello to me, even though the rest of the kids shy away from me because they think I’m sort of weird.  I’ll nominate him.”

He did. Those were in the days that the first nomination was an automatic election. It was rude to put up competition. So, I was elected by acclamation. The first of 3 years running.

I was a good, hard-working president, and I probably would have been elected senior class president, too, but I proclaimed that I did not have time for another presidential year, because I wanted to focus on being editor of “Oak Barks,” since journalism would be my profession. I didn’t realize until after the class had accepted my demurer that I really wanted them to rise up and cry, “No, we cannot do without you. You have always been our president. You must continue.” [Does that sound Trumpian, or what?]

I think they were actually glad to have a chance to get rid of me, and Mike Dickey, my best friend in the class, was a good choice for senior president.

I think they were probably just a little tired of me. I did not abuse my presidential power, but I wanted everybody in the class to be involved in everything. I could not stand the thought of being left out, either myself or anyone else. I could not understand that not everyone wanted to be as involved as I did. I didn’t force people to participate, but I didn’t leave them alone. I kept encouraging them to be part of all the class activities. I didn’t threat or bribe or manipulate. I just kept inviting and reminding. As Lee said of Grant, “That man just keeps coming.” Yes, I can understand why they would be tired of me.

I didn’t really need that “Oak Barks” editorial experience, since I didn’t pursue that journalism career, although the writing and people skills were useful. [Reporters are a lazy and fractions and rebellious lot, even at the high school level, and learning how to conjure them into action is a precious talent.]

However, name skills and “hello” skills are quite useful anywhere, certainly in a church, where we’d rather leave out the weird people but have to include them anyway. Yes, even you. Hello.

John Robert McFarland