Professor Kasey Grady
College Writing 1
8 September 2014
I’m not sure what I thought would happen when I let my mom gel my hair before going to school that day. It was the sticky, goopy type of gel, the type that hardened and froze into thick, matted curls when it dried. When she was done, the stickiness leaked down to the edge of my forehead and my hair stood unwavering and stiff in the open air. I knew it was a mistake as soon I walked into my Spanish class and the girls struggled to hide their giggles. “What is that?” I remember one of them asked her friend, who grimaced as she turned to look. In the halls, I got called a “greaser” by some kid and his group of friends as they walked by. My hair stood eternally solid and …show more content…
In between first and second period, I spotted my group of guy friends on my way to class and attempted to dart past, unnoticed. Using a nice, large tree as cover, I angled myself perfectly so that their view would be blocked, and they would have but a split second to see me before I got to the staircase. Alas, that split second was enough. My loudest friend, John, squinted and his face opened up as genuine surprised entered his voice upon recognition and he called my name: “Jared?” I turned around as every curse word in existence entered my …show more content…
When I saw my group of friends they were already onto new things—new girls, new music, new sports games. My school day ended up being extraordinarily average, filled with average social interaction and average conversations that were completely unrelated to hair. To my relief, hair was a distant topic, lost in the vast obscurity of yesterday, an event with details that were mine alone to remember.
As the conversations with my friends faded out, I began to ponder my classmates’ apparent amnesia, and my ears became suddenly attuned to sheer number of times I heard the words “I” or “me” in a regular conversation. Every other sentence began with one of the two words. And suddenly, it was obvious why I had blown up the devastation of my bad hair day to such ridiculous proportions. Nobody cared that much about me. We all primarily think and talk about ourselves; every one of us is the star of his or her own show.
With a jerk of the head in my fourth period physics class, I realized that the mistake of my previous night had not been crying because I was sad. My mistake was attributing my failures to my sensitivity, instead of realizing that I cared so much about what other people thought of me, despite the fact that they very rarely