by Salvatore Barcia Jr.

Posted September 21, 2017

I was an awkward teenager . . . who wasn’t? My childhood was just fine, but once a certain threshold is crossed the level of “coolness” matters. Being timid and nonathletic, I had trouble in my early teens connecting with others. When approaching a situation during junior high school it was with anxiety rather than excitement. My primary goal was to avoid attention, for this meant negative attention and humor at my expense.

“Just get through this” was an unfortunate motto.

This isn’t a complaint, but rather an observation. Many kids experience rejection throughout their childhood and teens. It’s an unfortunate reality – teens exclude others not fitting a certain mold. Realistically this is inevitable for all people at some point in their lives, so perhaps it’s important learning to navigate such situations.

During high school I found my niche and exploded from my shell. Finding a circle of accepting friends, I became part of something special when joining the marching band. Life completely shifted course. The last two years of high school were full of excitement and amusement. Crossing fingers for a decent day gave way to anticipation of the day’s adventures.

Vacation

Of course high school soon met its end, and the spring made room for the lazy days of summer, 1987. It was typical for a graduating senior. We cruised the Boulevard (Hylan Boulevard, for you Staten Islanders) and spent evenings hanging with friends at a beach, parking lot or friend’s basement. Sometimes we took trips to Seaside Heights or Action Park. To close out the season we spent a week upstate at a friend’s cabin. It was a collection of scenes from a John Hughes movie.

My 1976 Malibu Classic was a key component of our enjoyment. I consider this my first car, although its predecessor was a 1974 Dodge Dart lasting three weeks. This vehicle was so omnipresent it appeared as some sort of clone car roaming the streets after an experiment went sour. My version was a damaged copy. The Malibu, though, was a fantasy roadster. It took up almost two parking spots and could fit large groups of rowdy high school students. Pure Americana, it was solid, commanded the road, and ready for Route 66. Anyone with engine savvy could open the hood and get it running.

With few pictures from this time, I have no picture of my beloved Malibu. Prior to current technologies, cameras were associated with weddings, vacations and other big occasions. Once in a while one might have a camera at a random gathering, but mostly we were camera-free. Although we did neglect to capture most events, we were happily celebrating rather than concerning ourselves with the perfect pose. One must decide the worth of lost moments prepping/restaging pictures.

Anticipation

As the summer closed, anxiety resurfaced. This new outlook on life, was it temporary? Was my high school experience an accident, with college beaming me back to the awkwardness of junior high school? It was difficult disconnecting because I had finally felt comfortable socially, and now I had to start completely over. Matured from my preteen self, I was excited about my new situation but found tween angst peering into my psyche.

Still, the glorious fall season was upon us. Throughout my life I’ve met autumn with a mix of excitement and anticipation paired with the melancholy of another summer’s goodbye. It’s a time to meet new people and begin new ventures. The air is crisp, leaves are changing, football returns, and harvest celebrations remain from the days of yesteryear. I was ready for a fresh start.

Upon arrival, I entered the Rutgers gym on College Avenue for orientation. Hallowed ground, it was the site of the first-ever college football game in 1869. Hoping to avoid embarrassing myself as I gracelessly strolled to a seat, I ran into an acquaintance from high school. We chatted, both revealing our apprehension.

“Just get through this,” I reminded myself.

The previous March I had first visited Rutgers. As I explored various colleges, my Dad was quietly marching me there for its proximity and affordability. On this particular day the weather cooperated with my Dad’s intentions by creating a summer-like atmosphere at the campus. As if a soft-drink commercial was under production, it seemed every student at the university was socializing on a porch, sunbathing on a roof, or playing Frisbee on a lawn. A fraternity hosted a band out front. The metrics on the school were excellent – but for a kid getting ready for college, campus life was important . . . and Rutgers did not disappoint (I’m happy to say in hindsight it lived up to what I expected academically and socially).

College life is uncharted territory for any 18-year-old. It’s a modern rite of passage. We should be thankful for this opportunity. For many turning 18 means working to help the family make ends meet, facing a violent conflict, or dealing with some other difficult situation. With an awareness of others’ plight, it’s important to appreciate the hand we are dealt . . . and play it fairly.

Peering around the room I felt uneasiness from the crowd. Even the kids appearing comfortable in their own skin were suddenly thrown into the big pool. My thoughts drifted across my adolescent social experiences, wondering what college had in store. Would I fall back into the patterns of my early adolescence or recapture the excitement of my latter teens? Sometimes in life we need a sign, a nudge, a small moment to inspire.

Rejuvenation

Suddenly the pep band began playing. Excitement filled the air, but clearly the incoming class held onto a taste of nervousness. With an eruption of energy, the cheerleaders revealed themselves from behind the stage creating a circus of noise and motion. One of the cheerleaders started chanting to the anxious crowd.

“It’s your school!” he shouted repeatedly, emphasizing “your” every time – an obvious commentary for the bright-eyed incoming student body.

Although a cliché, an 18-year-old hasn’t heard such platitudes.   As I watched the program and listened to his repeating motto, a shade lifted and my soul was fed. Something about timing, the delivery, the events coming together at this single moment in time made those words mean so much.

It was up to me.

These words stayed with me as part of a tapestry of experiences pushing me to make the most of situations. Throughout college, into my adventurous 20s, as I sought a career in my 30s and settled with a family in my 40s, I’ve often reminded myself a situation will only be as good as I allow it to be – and I will only go as far as I allow myself.

Personal responsibility. Perhaps not always given its due.

It’s not always easy. We all have our inescapable down times, trying episodes, and unfortunate events directing any person into a dark abyss. But in those situations showing potential, I must prompt myself to embrace a moment and not simply discard it. Missed opportunities are always labeled with regret. There are countless brilliant experiences one can have, easily soured when not welcomed.

“Just get through this,” we often tell ourselves.

The cheerleader may never know the relevance of this one small moment, but for me his words were very moving. (Side note: There is a friend I knew in later years who was a head cheerleader at the time, and I do wonder if it was him). Now, as a parent and teacher, I remind myself those seemingly insignificant comments could be a turning point for a young person in my midst. It’s important to be careful about how we manage ourselves and what we present to a young mind waiting for guidance. For youths, clichés may actually mean something. Even in our advanced years, we can look to them for comfort.

Perhaps consider them next time you’re telling yourself, “Just get through this.”