In high school, I rarely bothered with boys. I couldn’t understand my friends’ boy band posters on the walls or fantasizing about a celebrity crush. Furthermore, I went to a small, K-12 school, and I’d known the majority of my classmates since kindergarten. They felt familial and therefore, entirely un-kissable. I wanted to kiss a boy, just never one that I’d met. But when the Whiffenpoofs came into town an activate button was triggered, and like Yogi Bear, I really wanted whatever was in that picnic basket.
Who are the Whiffenpoofs? The Whiffenpoofs are one of the most prestigious, collegiate a cappella singing groups in the country comprised of 14 Yale seniors. And not only were these 14 Yale Seniors coming to town, but also my family was hosting them in our home. The group magically appeared in Northeast, Ohio to sing at my high school, as well as sleep in my basement.
This was a pre-Glee, pre-Pitch-Perfect world, but even without the guidance of Anna Kendrick, I celebrated the geeky, cool, under-appreciated culture of a cappella choir. So, when 14 Yale seniors gathered in my living room for an evening of improvisational song, I made up for lost time fantasizing about boys.
Surrounded by tenors, bases, leads and baritones, I had a speculator musical backdrop for my imagined debutant ball. My 15-year-old self, harnessed her inner Ann-Margaret with a low cut, fitted, fuzzy, sweater, complete the with a tasteful, snakeskin-patterned, silk scarf, which I wore knotted around my neck and shifted slightly off-center. I was an MGM starlet walking into the studio lot and there was no competition for the leading role. I also made cookies for the occasion because no one says no to a girl with cleavage and freshly baked treats.
In truth, I didn’t have a clue what I wanted from these boys. My imagination couldn’t travel beyond a PG13 rated film. Funny enough, I would go to the movie theater to see my first R-rated film with the Whiffenpoofs and my brother during their visit. We saw Traffic, but all that I remember is lots of sepia tone, Cathrine Zeta-Jones, and boys, lots of boys.
I don’t recall a single conversation with a single Whiffenpoof, but I do vividly remember my surprise when I did attract attention. I hadn’t thought that the fantasy I played in my head would actually manifest itself into reality, but imagination is a powerful thing. I had flirted and been flirted with in return. I think they call that “looking at first base.” My imagination brought me into the stadium, and that is exactly where this story ends because I wasn’t ready to handle any balls at that particular point in time.
That girl shouldn’t have been so surprised when she attracted attention because she is worth paying attention to, and that worth extends beyond cleavage and cookies. I would like to tell her to hurry up and not take so long to become a champion of her own value. You are more powerful than you know, little girl, and rather than go out swinging, go play some tennis instead.
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