I was watching some MSNBC post-election coverage, albeit not voluntarily, under the tutelage of Matthews, Olberman and Maddow and found myself asking, er, myself, “Where have I seen these people before?”. The giddiness of Matthews, the phony rage of Olberman and the I-Can’t-Believe-You-Are-Talking-To-Me look of Maddow, I’d been in their presence before, but where? Where? When I was attending my University studies? When I was teaching at a University? Was it while working in Hollywood for TV and film? No. That’s not it. But, where? Or when? That’s it!

Then it hit me. Junior high school! That Bastian of pre-educated insecurity. I can see it now. Matthews as the hyper-active, non-athletic, fawning boy pal to the captain of the basketball team (let’s say, Obama). Olberman as the brooding angry young man  ready to die on any hill just impress himself. And Maddow as the snearing teenage girl who pretends to be impressed with nothing, which secretly includes herself. I hated Junior High.

These characters played out in every junior high in every blue and red state across the land. And in film. Think John Hughes’ Breakfast Club. If I close my eyes and transport myself through the ages, OK not that far back, I can see the halls of the government school of my youth. The bell rings. Classes empty.

Here comes Chris, just nano-steps behind the lanky Barry, who says, “Let’s do something different this weekend.” To which the slightly pudgy Chris replies, “That sounds great Barry, let’s do it!”. Barry doesn’t really like Chris. But he is a good errand boy and knows intrinsically when Barry doesn’t want him around. To Chris Barry can do no wrong. He is a god to him. And when he is much older these will have been the best years of his life.

Look out here come Keith. Don’t make eye contact. Because he’s looking for any excuse to take someone down a notch. Except his father, the only person he’s afraid of. He’s energized because he just told his teacher to go F herself after she told him to sit down in the middle of his diatribe on why Stalin was the best ruler in recent history. A statement he knew was malarkey but made solely to shock. As he walks by you in the hall he says something falsely maligning like, “You! Have you told your parents you’re a gay yet?”. These aren’t the best years of his life. He will not keep in contact with anyone from these days, but will occasionally run into someone from these years, to whom he’ll reply at some point in the reminiscence, “I didn’t really say that did I?”. Statements not believed are rarely remembered.

Rachel wants to be cool. She wants to be spoiled like the princesses in her class. She wishes she were pretty. You think Rachel is cute, but you don’t have the guts to talk to her until the end of the school year. The thought of not seeing her again all summer hurts. So you invite her to the weekly Young Life meeting. Something she would’ve considered had you been one of the rich boys, a group she mentally categorized all school year. Instead she looks at you as if you were her little brother, making you feeler small, and says laughing with a confused look on her face, “Um, thanks? But, heh, no thanks”. She walks away chuckling on the outside and angry at herself on the inside wondering why she was so mean to you. Years later, if she grows up, at a reunion, she’ll apologize. If not, she’ll make some man very unhappy. Or she’ll become a lesbian, cause it’s cool.

These three would never hang out together while in the system. And neither do these MSNBC commentators I speculate. But never has a group of people been more degreed and more emotionally stunted than the American left in the 21st century.

Now this post may say much more about me than about this trio of post-elementary terror. That’s the risk I take willingly. I hated junior high. I admit it. The self-doubt, over self-awareness. The confusing class schedules and locker combinations. But I loved high school, where identities were more forged and groupings less cliquish.  And everything beyond has been a grand adventure of seasons designed by time itself to coach, train and guide one to a state of proper, realistic perspective. At least for some of us.