I was the new kid a lot growing up. Ft. Logan, Harder Rd., Sunset, Allen, Harrington, and Vivian—those were all the elementary schools I attended. Making friends and feeling like part of the school community? That was tough. Like most kids, I just wanted to belong, to be noticed. But that never really happened.
There is one friendship that stuck, though. Bruce. We met at the last school I attended, and we’ve been friends since 1970. Over fifty years later, we’re still in touch. We’ve walked very different paths in life, but our connection never wavered. Bruce’s friendship taught me something big: it’s not about how many friends you have—it’s about the quality of those friendships.
Being the new kid usually meant being seen in a certain light—and not always a good one. We didn’t have much money, so I was also “the poor kid.” And since I wasn’t part of the group that had been together since kindergarten, I was always on the outside looking in. It stings sometimes when I see high school friends post pictures of their elementary school classes. I know I won’t be in any of them.
When my daughter was growing up, I promised myself she’d have a different experience. One elementary, one junior high, one high school. And we managed to do that. Ironically, even with that stability, she ended up with just a handful of close friends—not some big high school clique. Maybe that’s just how it goes.
School social dynamics are brutal. For me, the only way I felt like I could survive was to play the role of the bully—the jerk no one liked. I figured if I owned the label, at least I had some control over the narrative. It was an easy role to slip into, but honestly, it never fit. I’ve always been more soft-spoken and deeply introverted. People are surprised when I say that, but it’s true. I’d much rather be curled up with a book at home than out in a crowd. As bullies go, I was pretty bad at it. I never got violent. I relied on bluster more than anything—and failed at that more often than not.
By my thirties, it finally clicked: this persona wasn’t helping me. People didn’t like being around that version of me. I still have moments where that old attitude creeps back in—usually when I’m doing tech support for other teachers. Apparently, I can come off as a little intimidating. I don’t mean to. I’ve spent the last three decades trying to be kinder, softer—someone people feel safe around. That part’s been easier with age. It’s like I’ve finally grown into the role of the kindly old guy.
I hope I came across that way to my students. I know I can have a bold presence, and I’m aware it can be a bit much—especially for kids who are introverts like I am. But they mattered to me, every single one. I hope I helped them deal with the kind of people I used to be in my youth.
One thing I do regret is not just being myself in school. I wonder what kind of friendships I could’ve built if I hadn’t played a role—if I’d just shown up as me. But there’s good news: I’ve reconnected with many of my high school classmates over the years. At our 20th reunion, I offered a blanket apology to everyone: “I’m sorry for anything stupid I may have done to you in high school.”
They were incredibly gracious. And now, I really enjoy those relationships. Better late than never.
Edited for clarity using AI – Randy