You should know that I’ve never been one for sports rivalries. Perhaps this is due to frequent exposure since childhood to uncles lined up on the couch yelling at USC and Notre Dame before family dinners. Glued to faux leather, they pulled at their hair whilst devouring the clam dip that I was always too shy to consume myself. Personally, I’d rather spend my time going to the beach, enjoying a taco somewhere—not yelling at a TV screen. But hey, that’s just me.
A few days ago I found myself arguing to a teacher that my senior class is by far the best and strongest class at Santa Barbara High, possibly even the best class within the last decade. He laughed and said that the senior class claims that every year. It must be some crazy, uncontrollable human trait, he said. But I wasn’t going to back down. I found myself stuttering with reasons why we truly are the best class. I was foaming at the mouth, listing seniors I know that are unlike anyone else I have ever met, listing all the ways Santa Barbara High will be different without us, and of course listing the faults of current juniors.
Then suddenly it hit me. I have become a team-spirit loving, biased, violent jock. I realized that my team of choice was not the Lakers but my senior class, rivaled by underclassmen and alumni.
Have I somehow managed to be that competitive? Is my teacher right, or am I right about the SBHS Class of 2010? With my newfound competitiveness, I want to say I am. But in all seriousness, the matter is best left a mystery. The truth is, you cannot measure a class of 580 talented and diverse students and form a statement so simple.
Over the course of my four years at Santa Barbara High I have come to know well a pronounced diversity, thick and textured, that our class represents. I am overwhelmed by the volume of remarkable athletes, singers, actors, artists, and politicians. Not only this, but my class contains people who have continually turned days around for me, provided me with humor, and given me stories to save for special occasions and slightly awkward dinners.
I believe I wouldn’t have found these people anywhere else. Sometimes I worry that when I leave high school I’ll become completely depressed by the lack of interesting people that surround me, and I’ll be forced to comfort myself with memories and daytime sitcoms. However, I get over it when I remind myself of my class’ potential. There is no need to exaggerate the accomplishments my peers will be recognized for in ten years’ time—I would probably end up doing them a disfavor by trying to elaborate. Yet I can’t resist sounding by admitting, at the high risk of sounding clichéd, that I cannot wait for their potential to unfold into action, even if it does mark me as a sappy teammate.
Does anyone have any Class of 2010 socks for sale?