Last Thursday I packed up my old Members Only jacket and shipped it off to a new home. To be clear, it is old and it was mine, but it had hung in my closet for not even a year when I decided to list it on a popular clothing resale site. I happened upon it in June last year and was immediately taken back to middle school when anybody who was “somebody” boasted at least one of these jackets with the unmistakable Members Only label stitched across the front pocket. When I saw it listed on a vintage clothing website I felt compelled to add it to my wardrobe for reasons not entirely clear to me then. But in the nearly twelve months I owned it, I never wore that artifact from the 80s. I even started to feel discomfort seeing it every time I reached past it for another coat.
To back up some, I maintain that some of the best humans are people who, as youngsters, occupied the space just on the edge of acceptance or who lived at such a distance from belonging that even a sophisticated GPS system couldn’t help them find it. It is a superpower to be able to recognize and empathize with those who don’t quite fit in, and I think we could learn a lot from those who possess it. In recent years, though, I’ve also recognized that the people for whom popularity came easily can learn to appreciate how different life can be for everyone else. And that popularity isn’t necessarily the golden ticket I thought it was.
On my commute each morning I pass a church that, for the month leading up to Easter, displayed on its marquee the message “Open Every Sunday Besides Easter, Too!” I don’t think a day passes that I don’t see or hear the phrase “If you know, you know,” and for years I would hear gym regulars grousing about the month of January and how they couldn’t wait for all the New Year’s Resolution-ers to lose their momentum so the “rest of us” could reclaim the facility. I don’t believe some people grasp how hard it can be to step into a well-established church family on Easter Sunday and be the new face who isn’t there “every Sunday besides Easter” but who might like to be. Or the person who hears “if you know, you know,” and, in fact, doesn’t know. Or the individual who has gathered up every bit of courage they can to step into a gym on January 1 with the hope of being healthier than they were the previous year.
In an interesting plot twist, I married someone who lived on a different side of the social tracks from me. Intelligent, handsome, and athletic, David would have a really hard time convincing anyone that he didn’t belong anywhere he decided he wanted to. From him I’ve learned that the “other side” wasn’t necessarily the Utopia I’d imagined it was, and that possessing membership to the “in” crowd doesn’t solve all of life’s problems the way teenaged me thought it did.
Come to find out, no matter where we ranked in the social hierarchy in our younger years, there’s always the potential of feeling like, or actually being, a pariah. The luckiest of us live in homes where our families embrace, celebrate, and claim us. We might even have friend groups, church fellowships, or professional organizations that welcome us exactly as we are. It’s impossible to know the life experiences of those we encounter each day. But knowing how darned tough life can be in general, I just can’t understand why, instead of a “if you know, you know” approach, we don’t all adopt a “if you know, you know; if you don’t know, come sit by me and let me tell you” mentality. Now that would be a club I’d love to join. And I bet the jackets would be cute, too.
PartWolf 