I’m the cool one, he’s the cool one, she’s the cool one, we’re the cool one, wouldn’t you like to be the cool one too?

The other day I was talking about that little red number over the facebook message icon.

How you never know what lies behind that number.

Well, just recently, that number lit up again.

But before I get to that, let me backtrack.

I grew up in a seriously loaded town in Connecticut.

Lots and lots,

and lots,

of rich kids.

If there was a “hood” in my town, well, I lived in it.

Of course, it’s all relative.

The hood of my town is no Boyz in the Hood kind of hood.

But still.

It’s not easy to come from one of the very few blue collar families in a town full of lawyers and doctors and stock brokers and sportscasters and actors and rock stars and other kinds of  bazillionaires.

Not when you’re in high school, anyway.

Not for me, anyway.

So I never really felt like I fit in.

I was much more Molly Ringwald in Pretty in Pink,

than Molly Ringwald in The Breakfast Club.

I never really felt like I was as “good” as most of the other girls in my school.

Those thin, pretty, Polo and Guess and Benetton wearing, popular girls.

I always thought most of the other girls in my high school were confident.

Strong.

Brimming with self esteem…

There were two cafeterias in my high school

The cool kids sat in one.

And the really cool kids sat on the radiator in that cool one.

I worked my way up to cool cafeteria status in high school.

But never to radiator status.

Now, I do think there are a handful of high school girls who are pretty and popular and also really confident and secure.

Most of the time anyway.

A handful.

And then there are the rest of us.

Yes, I say us.

Because no matter what you are wearing, no matter what your waist/dress/pant size, no matter how big your bank account,

I think you never feel like the “cool” kid.

Maybe you play the part on the outside, but on the inside, it’s a whole different story.

I was friends with a girl in high school.

I always wanted to be in her inner circle, but I just never got there. If high school was a venn diagram,

well,

I was in Circle D. (yeah — there is no Circle D)

At least, that’s how I felt.

It bothered me for a long, long time…

Now…back to that message icon.

It lit up the other day.

I clicked on it,

and it was that friend from high school whose inner circle I just never managed to infiltrate.

Her message started like this (published with her permission):

I want you to know how much I enjoy your blog…I find something to relate to in each of your posts about each of your children and your life.

Huh.

I knew she read the blog sometimes.

I thought more out of an occasional curiosity than anything else.

I continued reading.

I know I was never your favorite person and I am not naive enough to think that this email will change any of that but I have wanted to write this email for some time…so here goes…

Hmmm.

I wasn’t really sure what direction this message was going to go…

I am very sorry for being such an incredible bitch in high school.

Whoah.

I didn’t see that coming.

I kept reading.

Specifically, I am sorry about a stupid comment I made about cancer before a final we had our junior year. 

I should backtrack again.

I had a little brother who died from leukemia when I was in high school. He was three when he died, and he spent the second half of his life enduring chemotherapy, radiation, and ultimately, an unsuccessful bone marrow transplant.

So he had lost his hair. He was pale. He looked bloated. And weak.

I don’t remember exactly what my friend said way back in 1986, but she made a comment about someone, and it was something along the lines of  she  looks like a cancer patient.

I remember being upset by the comment.

Really upset.

At the time, my brother was either terminal, or he may have already passed away. So things were still pretty raw.

That comment hurt a little. Maybe a lot.

Now I thought my friend never gave that comment a second thought.

I mean, do “cool” people really even worry about what they say to other people?

Isn’t that one of the things that propels you to “cool” status? Not giving a shit?

Over time I forgot about it.

Graduation from high school,

and then college,

came and went.

I lost all contact with that friend.

Of course, until Facebook came along. Eventually we ended up Facebook friends.

If you had asked me, I never, ever, in a million years would have thought that she remembered even saying anything way back when that might have hurt my feelings.

Like I said, I didn’t even really remember it.

And then I read the rest of  her message:

You have no idea how that comment has haunted me for years and years. I have no explanation for being so insensitive and heartless but to say I was tragically insecure, and stupid. From the bottom of my heart, I apologize for saying that. I know that had to hurt your feelings and I still feel awful and ashamed about it. I think I felt awful at the time but I was too stupid, insecure, mean, prideful, entitled…pick a an adjective that means awful, insensitive and bitchy…to know how to apologize properly.

Many years removed from high school, I am a very different person today. Humbled by life and what it brings. I dunno, You might even like me today…. Reading your blog has inspired me to be better…to my husband, my son, my friends but most of all to myself. So thank you …and thank you for being so real…and for swearing…and for making me laugh.

Wow.

One of the coolest things anyone has ever said to me.

From someone who I really thought didn’t even like me.

Awful, insensitive, and bitchy?

No.

She wasn’t awful, insensitive and bitchy. Maybe her 25-year-old comment was, but her?

No.

I mean, what the hell?

She was only 16.

I don’t even want to be held accountable for shit I said yesterday.

16? Forget about it.

I used to use all kinds of horrible words.

I said “retard” on a pretty consistent basis.

It never occurred to me that someone who had a son or daughter or brother or sister or friend  who had Down Syndrome might find that extremely offensive.

I also used to use the term “fag” and “gay” pretty regularly.

I’m sure I did some damage with those too.

So the cancer remark?

As far as I’m concerned, it’s understandable. And excusable. We all possess a certain amount of ignorance.

We all say some regrettable things.

I don’t know why.

It happens.

Owning that is hard.

Acknowledging it and apologizing? I think that’s even harder.

And when someone does that?

Even if it’s five, or ten, or 25 years later?

Well that, I think, is pretty fucking cool.

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