A friend and I were discussing "cliques" in public school. He was a "new kid" and felt invisible. I was also a "new kid" and did not feel invisible. Some of my thoughts on this were as follows:

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"I can offer some thoughts about cliques and, by contrast, being 'invisible'.

I was one of the "in" people, though I'm not sure why. I was a New Kid in 8th grade. "In" came to me from some mysterious outside place I did not understand. Your talking about being "invisible" is of personal interest to me. I was not invisible, and though I did NOT think that "the Invisible State" socially desirable, my deeper inclinations ran that direction.

When I think of someone in a clique - and I didn't see myself as in one - I think of the cheerleaders, football players, class officers, the angry loner who gathers a group of loners together... that sort of clustering. Mutual interests, mutual goals, ...being mutual. And yet, in high school I was close friends with a few of the cheerleaders, ball players, student activists, and loners.

The combination of "types" should've kept me from being identified with A group - therefore with NONE. Instead, I've found people are more comfortable knowing you are a "member" - even if you are seen as the "opposition" - than ANY sort of "neutral" - at least when something of "value" seems threatened. People WANT you to wear A Uniform and salute A Flag. It cuts down on their work jockeying for perceived power.

I hung out at recess, I walked home, I spent my weekends... with different friends. I didn't have the stereotypical factors that make sense for the "clique" idea. This makes me think the "cliques" were more an illusion than a bonded reality.

The school clique "system" was probably loose-knit at best... and much more malleable than we give credit. I don't know, and there may be no way to find out. I wasn't a sport or team guy, I soon rejected the drinking and party scenes, and I wasn't in a wealthy family. I stopped going to dances and other events by the time I was 17. I drove an old VW bug when a muscle car would've garnered the attention. You could've called me an "art jock" - which, by default, was stereotyped as an "outsider", a loner. The urge to put others into team categories was made clear to me then. I lived and breathed Art, but never belonged to The Art Club. In the yearbook, I was listed - "huh?who?ME?!" - as a member. I just shrugged my shoulders. (For all I know, it was Margaret Cash, my first REALLY IMPORTANT Art teacher, who put me on that roster - maybe knowing it could add weight to college applications and scholarships. I would love to ask her, but she died some years ago. I miss her to this day.)

Now when I think of "the gang" in my senior year of hi-skool, for example, I ask if "we" excluded people... I remember a new kid arriving. He'd moved to Denver from Britain. He had short red hair, big teeth, freckles, a goofy and rough-edged demeanor - and was quickly welcomed into the crowd. We gave him his nick name - we were brilliant, you know ~ and Greg became "English".

"Hey English, whadya wanna do tonite?"

"I dunno mate, have a pint at the pub?"

"Yeh, or we could have a beer or a coffee at the bar... and don't call me 'mate', pal." We were friends. It was that easy.

Like you with your Dad - though I didn't have such a singularly insightful moment with mine (and would now feel fortunate if I had) - the more important bondings with anyone were made emotionally. It was to happen over a cup of coffee, a football, a routine, a car, art, poker game, or because of great loss. It was the deep IMPORTANCE of the CONTENT of that MOMENT... and, once THAT moment exists, it sticks.

Relationships form from such incidents, BUT grow and are maintained within a state of boredom. I do NOT downgrade "boredom" here. Call boredom the "casual state" if you'd rather. Whatever. A plant needs down time to grow. 24/7 sun or rain would kill it. I think boredom is important...

You're waiting for me to say I'm joking... but I am not.....

I AM meandering all around your idea, and don't think I'll be able to wrap mine up into a neat little package.

So, here it is. As is."