The Schmucky Years.

[That's me. Somewhere between the ages of 17 and 18. Note the child-sized t-shirt, luscious hair, the 'hip' teenage demeanor.]






In high school, I resembled a coat rack.


My body consisted of a gangly assortment of limbs that somehow managed to get safely from A to B.

Along with my flimsy, yet athletic skeletal structure, my eyes decided they would stop working around second grade so I was outfitted with the ugliest, chastity-insuring pair of glasses ever manufactured. Along with that nine year curse and a two-year sentence to braces, my only source of coolness was my participation in athletics. I played soccer for all of my life and decided to run track in high school, but any popularity rights derived from participating in varsity athletics was trumped by the fact that the third uniform in my closet was for the marching band. Ultimately, I was a mainstay in the Friend Zone for the lion's share of the crucial pubescent years.

Looking to improve on my abysmal (read: nonexistent) dating record in middle and elementary school, I entered the emotionally and developmentally tumultuous halls of high school. It would be two years until I could confidently say attractive women actually noticed me, what with the glasses and trombone and all. Sure I had a couple girlfriends freshman and sophomore year, but those were band relationships, so let's just leave it at that.

All that said though, I got through high school virtually unscathed. I successfully fit the role of the uber-social kid who proceeded to be everyone's friend. I had a mainstay group of friends, but belonged to numerous cliques through band, sports and my otherwise friendly, outgoing demeanor. I was never in a fight, never was even close for that matter, and would have been severely damaged both physically and emotionally if violence found its way towards my spindly frame.

I started playing guitar around sophomore year, so my coolness & sexiness increased rapidly. At this time I was also heavily into Dave Matthews Band and John Mayer love ballads, and the hyper-emotional and sensitive lyrics of Coldplay. Basically, I was a complete wuss. I tended to refer to myself as a 'hopeless romantic' during that period and would correlate bad romantic scenarios to the songs I butchered on my guitar and the others I clicked over to on my Discman.
This unrealistic, hyper-romantic interlude included, but was not limited to: writing chintzy three-chord love songs, writing terrible lyrics that luckily never turned into songs, recording an entire album of songs for one particular female, writing an awesomely bad, proclamatory love letter to a former girlfriend, and otherwise being a pushover.

Fast-forward to late last year, my first 365 days in Adulthood. I was living and working at an independent school and one day in May, I moseyed over to the campus post office to check my mail, and picking up an envelope with strangely familiar handwriting, I had a panic attack.

In my hands I held the letter I wrote to myself as a senior in high school which my English teacher, holding her promise, mailed to us five years after. Rushing back to my apartment, I placed it on my dinner table and stared at it unnervingly, the way people do when receiving mail from prison, the IRS, or test results from a free chlamydia screening at the hospital. I picked a block of time where I would be completely alone with zero distractions. I laughed, I shook my head, and I cringed in embarrassment even though nobody was in my apartment. It was a tough read.

So without further ado, I submit to you every single painstakingly juvenile word written from the uncomfortable desks of Spaulding High. Included is every pathetic attempt at a joke, exceptionally limited social commentary from 2004, a pathetically projected looking-glass into the 'future', a glimpse into the naive, unadulterated, undeveloped mind of an 18 year-old.

(Sidenote: Some names have been changed, but everything else is unfortunately real. Any other commentary from 23 year-old developed, adulterated, worldly Alex is in red.)


Godspeed.

Dear Alex (In a couple of years), May 17, 2004
Bear with me, this letter will be over a few days. Today in class, we went to the auditorium to practice our 30-lines of Shakespeare for Tuesday. We just got back and since I hadn't started my letter, I thought I might as well. Shannon just pulled up her pink Victoria's Secret underwear. It was nice. Kristen's wearing some capris and a sorta low cut shirt, but hey...what's new?
I hope all is well with you. I hope college turned out the way you wanted and I trust that you are well on your way to getting a good job. I just said 'hi' to Emily Sanders. She's a really nice kid. Kevin was just telling me about Viva La Bam and WildBoyz on MTV. (This might be the worst introduction in the history of literature.)

Sidnote: I apologize about the writing!
(Sidenote: I apologize about the pointless sidenotes)

5/19/04 Here's day 2 of the letter.
I'm almost done with track season. I'm glad that Doria finally has realized my strength as a 400-runner. Coach Dave has helped me out a lot as well. Our track meet in Exeter last night was a bomb, but I PRed two more times! I got a 56.2 in the flat 400 and my 4x4 split was a low 55. I'm proud of myself and how I can run sorta fast.
I still love Dave Matthews and John Mayer. If, God forbid, you are not playing guitar by the time you read this, pick it up again! (I'd probably still be a virgin without it.) That'd be pretty cool if The Simpsons was still on Fox, but you never know. I still like my own styles, such as...well I don't really have a style. I'm going to try and walk on to the Siena men's soccer team, so I've been trying to get in shape/keep my skill up. (Quick back story: One Saturday night, after a townhouse party I returned to my dorm only to violently throw up for the next four to five hours. All of Sunday, I was either in bed, in bed drinking ginger ale or in the bathroom with diarrhea. That Monday, the division one team I was trying out for had an intense practice and conditioning test; suffice it to say my soccer career ended in high school.)

Since it is getting down to graduation time, a lot of stuff has been through my mind. I worry about the days you live in now, I hope I'll be successful and enjoy my life. I hope I find that perfect woman...or maybe I already have, and so much other stuff. I think a lot about who I am going to miss. I sorta know that I'll be good friends with Mark and Justin for a long time to come. They are both going far away to college, but they are the people that you can pick up where you left off. I know I'm going to miss Kristen, Shannon, Katie, Tom and a lot of others. If you've been out of touch with them, this is a reminder to make contacts again. (I keep in touch with maybe two from that list. Thanks Facebook!)

One of my fondest memories of high school had to be that summer at St. Pauls. I really hope you interned! I miss playing guitar with Nate and just chilling out and learning stuff. It really opened my eyes to a lot of new things. I never knew anyone until Samantha that had a baby while in high school. I hope she's doing well. She's an amazing person. If you haven't talked to her in a while, get in touch with her. Same goes to Nate, Justin, Bridget and Jennifer.

I had a big talk with Rachel the other night. We sorta told each other feelings were still there and that we don't exactly know what we can do about it, but that it was comforting to know someone...someone very special is thinking of you. I never really stopped having feelings, but for some reason, last weekend was really amazing. That was the weekend that I met Allison Turner's little sister (Kayla) because I was going to prom. Sidenote: if you haven't kept up with Abby Gagnon, try to get in touch with her. I'm really glad that Rachel and I still have a thing and even though it's hard to think about college and how she'll be at UNC, me at Siena I know that everything happens for a reason...and maybe the future will be a better opportunity for our relationship. I am going to include a picture from my house (ASP reunion in October) of Jennifer, Samantha and Rachel. I might have some more in there. So in the unlikely event that you haven't talked to Rachel in a while...Alex...get in touch with her. She's too special to let go, honestly. I've never felt this way about someone before her...
(She's a lesbian.)

Although I do worry about the future a lot, I think that in the whole scheme of things (to quote Bob Marley) "Every little thing's gonna be all right." Because I know that I am a hardworker and I am intelligent, handsome, charming and (occasionally) funny. With all these attributes I will succeed in that thing called life. My quick predictions are that the world will be a lot different and hopefully more efficient (I have no idea what that means). I think the economy will be more stable (I must be Nostradamus) and, although I doubt I'll be living in a world akin to Star Wars of the "futuristic" stereotype, I do think technology will have advanced more. (We can now watch, and I guess make, pornography on cell phones)
I hope the President will be someone who is fair and just. Sidenote: Mr. Clauson would be mad because 'President' is capitalized. So my apologies. (Too many sidenotes to discount the potential of ADD) I hope that I will be well on my way to becoming successful, etc. I wish I could write more, but the English block is ending in five minutes and my hand is getting really tired! So I wish you the best of luck and I'm very intrigued as to how you are going to turn out. (I am currently without health insurance or a steady paying job) Never forget your past, it is what has molded you into what you are today. Never forget Samantha or Rachel or anyone else who had an impact on your life. I hope you lived up to the Dave quote..."The future is no place to place your better days." (Cry Freedom)
Good luck!
Laugh a lot, have an open heart and mind. You're the man, never forget that.

Take care.
Sincerely,
The Old Me.

Alex J. May
"Don't let your dreams be dreams..." Jack Johnson



For those who skimmed, I don't blame you; for those who read every word, I'm sorry. Looking back through this I realize how young I actually was (for the ability to legally operate a motor vehicle and participate in national elections). It's almost like I was another person five years ago, and that brash, self-assured 18 year-old was nothing more than a foolish projection by a young man searching for himself.
Do I write another letter and open it when I'm 28? What kind of knee-jerk reaction will that bring when reading it, I wonder? Certainly my writing will have improved, but how big a margin will my perspective have changed? Will I have a tattoo by then?




And Boom goes the philosophical dynamite...