Have you ever come across the term “F.O.C.K.”? No? That’s probably because I just invented it. F.O.C.K. stands for Fear of the Cool Kids, a condition that often develops during childhood when one feels overshadowed by the popular crowd. The symptoms typically emerge when insecure individuals find themselves near those they perceive as cool, leading to behaviors like stumbling over words, struggling to communicate clearly, or acting out to mask their own perceived lack of coolness. While this affliction often arises in late elementary or middle school, it reaches its peak during high school and generally fades as one transitions into adulthood.
You might assume I’m about to share how my teenage son or my daughter dealt with F.O.C.K., thanks to my brilliant parenting skills. But the truth is, I am the one still grappling with a lingering case of it.
If I recall correctly, my struggle with F.O.C.K. began in junior high but really intensified during high school. I don’t need to rehash all the specifics, but suffice it to say that my F.O.C.K. was the only thing that peaked during those years. I was constantly perplexed by the cool kids. How did they stride confidently down the hall, seemingly occupying more space than everyone else? How were they able to enjoy life so completely, every single moment? How did they effortlessly gather on weekends for exciting adventures that I could never dream of? The mere presence of those cool kids sent my F.O.C.K. into overdrive.
As high school ended, so did my acute case of F.O.C.K. College introduced me to friends who would have easily fit into the cool category back in high school. Although I still occasionally felt the old insecurities creeping back, I mostly left that affliction behind after graduation.
Fast forward ten years post-graduation, and feeling secure in my life as a married woman with a career and a baby on the way, I decided to attend my reunion. However, since drinking heavily while pregnant is not advised, I found myself completely sober amidst a sea of inebriated classmates. Perhaps it was this clarity that reignited my full-blown F.O.C.K.
As I stepped into that party room, the music pulsing, my heart raced. In one corner, the cool kids gathered; in another, the guy who had bullied me throughout high school. I made a beeline for the bathroom.
Inside, I encountered a few women who looked somewhat familiar. I smiled and greeted them before retreating behind the relative safety of a stall. One of the women started recounting a wild night filled with drugs and escapades. I recognized her voice; she was the same girl who had tormented me during freshman year. She was the epitome of both cool and intimidating.
Emerging from the stall, I made my way to the sinks where the cool crowd had congregated. They clearly saw me trying to wash my hands but continued to block access. I swear, they were purposely preventing a pregnant woman from using the sink. Overwhelmed by my F.O.C.K., I was unable to utter the words “excuse me.” Eventually, I squeezed past them and rushed out.
Once I regained my composure, I heard one of the cool kids giving a welcome speech. “It’s great to see everyone! Last time we were all together on a Saturday night, we were probably running from the police!” The room erupted with laughter. Meanwhile, I must have been home babysitting or indulging in a wild night of takeout.
Due to this unexpected resurgence of F.O.C.K. at my 10-year reunion, I skipped my 20-year gathering.
Recently, an invitation to my 25th reunion appeared on my Facebook feed. Here I am, a survivor of F.O.C.K. in remission, pondering whether to attend. The child I was pregnant with years ago is now a high school freshman himself. How can I tell my kids that popularity doesn’t matter? How can I encourage them to overcome their fears and disregard what others think when I still struggle with my own insecurities?
As a mother, don’t I have a responsibility to model positive social behavior by attending my reunion? But let’s be real—my kids probably won’t care if I go. This is more about me than them. In truth, there are friends from high school I genuinely wish to reconnect with. I refuse to let fear dictate my decisions any longer. After all, does it truly matter who was deemed cool two decades ago? That term feels so arbitrary when viewed through the lens of adulthood.
In high school, athletes and cheerleaders were usually considered the cool crowd. But what defines coolness as adults? Some might say it’s the car we drive or the vacations we take, while others might argue it’s who can hide their gray hairs or wrinkles more effectively. I contend that true coolness comes from overcoming challenges, conquering fears, and finding contentment in life. By my own definition, I’m pretty cool now.
So, 25 years later, I’m finally telling my F.O.C.K. to take a hike! Look at me—I’m so cool now that I can casually drop an F-bomb.
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In summary, high school was a challenging experience for many, and the insecurities that linger can impact us well into adulthood. However, with time, perspective, and a bit of courage, it’s possible to confront those fears and embrace our journey. Attending my reunion is not just about revisiting the past; it’s about showing growth and resilience.