Have you ever heard of F.O.C.K.? No? I’m pretty certain I’m the one who came up with it, but a quick online search didn’t reveal much. F.O.C.K. stands for Fear of Cool Kids—a phenomenon that many experience during their school years when they feel overshadowed by the popular crowd. Symptoms often include stumbling over words, struggling to communicate effectively, and acting out in an attempt to mask one’s perceived lack of coolness. While F.O.C.K. often emerges in late elementary or middle school, it usually peaks during high school before gradually fading into adulthood.
You might assume that I’m about to share a story about how my teenage son or daughter has fallen victim to F.O.C.K., and how I, in my infinite parenting wisdom, helped them overcome it. But no, it’s me who’s still grappling with a lingering case of F.O.C.K.
If I recall correctly, I developed a serious case of F.O.C.K. in junior high, but it really blossomed in high school. I won’t delve into all the details, but let’s just say that my F.O.C.K. was the only thing that reached its peak during those years. I was constantly bewildered by the cool kids. How did they strut down the halls, exuding confidence and occupying more space than the rest of us? They seemed to be having the time of their lives, while I felt like a spectator. The cool kids terrified me, and my F.O.C.K. flared up every time I got close to them.
As high school wrapped up, my acute F.O.C.K. began to wane. I went on to college and made friends who, in high school, would have been deemed “cool.” While my F.O.C.K. resurfaced occasionally, I mainly managed to leave it behind after graduation.
Fast forward ten years after high school, and with my F.O.C.K. mostly in the rearview mirror, I decided to attend my reunion. I was a happily married woman, well into my career, and expecting my first child. However, being sober in a room full of intoxicated former classmates might have been the catalyst for my F.O.C.K. to rear its ugly head yet again.
As I entered the venue, I was thrust back into my past. The music pulsed, and my heart raced. The cool kids gathered in one corner, while the guy who bullied me hovered nearby. I made a beeline to the restroom.
Inside, I encountered a few familiar faces. I smiled and greeted them, then eavesdropped on their conversation from the safety of the stall. One woman was recounting a wild night filled with drugs and escapades. It was the very girl who had ridiculed me in freshman social studies! For someone like me, with F.O.C.K., she was both intimidating and undeniably cool.
When I finally emerged, I approached the sinks where this intimidating group had congregated. They could clearly see I was trying to wash my hands, yet they stood in my way. I swear, they intentionally blocked me, a pregnant woman, from accessing the sink! I stood there, frozen by my F.O.C.K., unable to utter “excuse me.” Eventually, I squeezed past and hurried outside.
After the frightening encounter in the restroom, I caught the tail-end of the welcome speech from one of the cool kids. “It’s great to see everyone! The last time we were all together on a Saturday night, we were probably running from the cops!” Laughter erupted in the room, while I reflected on how I must have been babysitting or indulging in a quiet night of takeout while they played cat-and-mouse with the police.
Due to my unexpected F.O.C.K. resurgence at my 10-year reunion, I opted out of my 20th gathering. Recently, however, an invitation to my 25th reunion appeared on my Facebook feed.
Now, as a F.O.C.K. survivor, I’m pondering whether to attend. The baby I was pregnant with 15 years ago is now a freshman in high school. How can I tell my kids that popularity is irrelevant? How can I encourage them to overcome their fears when I still struggle with mine? As a mother, shouldn’t I set a positive example and go to my reunion? But the truth is, my kids probably don’t care if I attend; this is more about me. I genuinely want to reconnect with friends I had in high school, and I refuse to let fear hold me back.
Twenty-five years later, does it truly matter who was considered cool? It’s such a subjective term. In high school, athletes and cheerleaders were deemed the epitome of cool. But what defines coolness in adulthood? Some might argue it’s about material possessions, while others might say it involves physical appearance. I believe that overcoming life’s challenges and finding contentment is what truly makes one cool. By my standards, I’ll be a pretty cool person at my reunion.
So, after all these years, I’m finally ready to tell my F.O.C.K. to take a hike! Look at me—I’m so confident now that I can even drop an F-bomb casually.
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In summary, facing my fears about attending my high school reunion has led me to a newfound understanding of what it means to be “cool.” It’s about personal growth and resilience rather than high school hierarchies.
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