Have you ever heard of F.O.C.K.? No? That’s probably because I just made it up. F.O.C.K. stands for Fear of Cool Kids, a condition that can develop in childhood when one feels overshadowed by the popular crowd. Symptoms of F.O.C.K. often emerge when insecure kids find themselves in the presence of the cool kids, leading to behaviors such as stumbling over words, struggling to communicate clearly, and acting out to mask their own perceived inadequacies. While F.O.C.K. typically begins in late elementary or middle school, it often peaks during high school and gradually fades as one transitions into adulthood.
You might assume I’m about to recount a tale of my teenage son or daughter grappling with F.O.C.K., showcasing my exceptional parenting skills as I guide them through it. But no, it’s me who still wrestles with a lingering case of F.O.C.K.
I distinctly remember that junior high was when my struggle began, but it was high school where it truly flourished. I won’t dwell on the specifics, but it’s fair to say that my F.O.C.K. was the only thing that peaked during my high school years. Back then, I was perplexed by the cool kids. How did they saunter down the hall, seemingly taking up more space than the rest of us, exuding such confidence? How could they appear to revel in every single moment? What was their secret to effortlessly hanging out on weekends, engaging in activities I could never imagine participating in? Just the thought of being near those cool kids sent my F.O.C.K. into overdrive.
As high school came to an end, so did my acute F.O.C.K. phase. College brought new friendships, with individuals who would have been considered cool in high school. Though my F.O.C.K. would sometimes resurface, I largely left it behind after graduation.
Fast forward ten years after graduation; my F.O.C.K. seemed like a distant memory, and I felt compelled to attend my reunion. I was a happily married woman, embarking on a career and expecting my first child. However, sobriety during pregnancy put me in an unusual situation at the reunion, surrounded by intoxicated classmates. Perhaps it was the absence of alcohol or just being back in the presence of those mean girls, but the moment I stepped into the venue, I was thrust back in time.
As I walked through the bar, my heart raced. In one corner, the cool kids were gathered, while in another, the boy who had bullied me stood. I immediately sought refuge in the restroom. Inside, I encountered a few familiar faces, and after exchanging pleasantries, I listened from behind a stall as one of the women recounted a night filled with drugs and wild escapades. I recognized her voice; she was the girl who had mocked me in class years ago. For someone with F.O.C.K., she was both cool and intimidating.
When I stepped out to wash my hands, the group of cool girls blocked all the sinks, seemingly oblivious to my presence. Paralyzed by my F.O.C.K., I couldn’t even bring myself to ask them to move. Eventually, I squeezed past them and hurried out.
After regaining my composure, I heard one of the popular kids making a welcome speech. “Great to see everyone! The last time we were together on a Saturday night, we were probably running from the cops!” Laughter erupted around the room. While they reminisced about their wild escapades, I couldn’t help but think of my quieter nights spent babysitting or enjoying takeout.
That unexpected resurgence of F.O.C.K. at my 10-year reunion led me to skip my 20th reunion. However, recently, an invitation to my 25th reunion appeared on my Facebook feed.
Now, as a F.O.C.K. survivor in remission, I find myself contemplating attending this next gathering. The baby I was pregnant with 15 years ago is now a high school freshman. How do I convey to my kids that popularity is trivial? How can I teach them not to let fear dictate their experiences when I’m still grappling with my own insecurities?
As a parent, shouldn’t I exemplify positive social behavior by attending my reunion? But then again, my children likely couldn’t care less about my attendance. This is about me. The truth is, I had friends in high school that I genuinely want to reconnect with, and I refuse to let fear hold me back. Twenty-five years later, does it really matter who was considered cool back then? It’s such an arbitrary concept.
In high school, athletes and cheerleaders were often deemed the epitome of cool. But what defines coolness in adulthood? Some might argue it’s measured by the cars we drive or the vacations we take, while others might point to physical appearance. I believe that overcoming challenges, conquering fears, and achieving happiness should categorize someone as truly cool. By that standard, I’d say I’m a pretty cool person now, ready to embrace my reunion.
So, here’s to finally telling my F.O.C.K. to take a hike! Look at me—I’m so cool now that I’m even dropping the F-word!
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Summary:
In this reflective piece, the author shares her struggles with F.O.C.K. (Fear of Cool Kids) throughout high school and her journey toward self-acceptance. Despite her past insecurities, she contemplates attending her 25th high school reunion to reconnect with old friends and demonstrate to her children that fear should not dictate one’s choices.