By Kathleen M. Muldoon

When I was in junior high and high school, not quite as far back as the Dark Ages, my schoolmates were divided into two groups—cool and uncool. I don’t know when this division started or who started it, but I know from my teaching experience that students today still fall into one of these two groups. They might have different names—maybe the cool kids are “popular,” “in,” or “hot,” while the un-cool are “dorks,” “nerds,” “dweebs,” or worse. But no matter what each group is called, all students fall into one or the other; no one is neutral.

There were fewer cool kids than uncool kids. Cool kids wore the latest designer fashions, were smart or at least acted smart, and seemed to be liked even by the teachers. They hung out, went to parties, hosted parties, joined a gazillion clubs, attended every school athletic event and function, and, well, they just looked cool. The guys often were major athletes and the girls usually were cheerleaders.

Uncool kids wore regular, nondesigner clothes, might be smart or brainiacs, but most were average, played in the school orchestra or marched in the band, joined the chess club, wrote for the school newspaper, blended into the masses, and generally hung out with other uncool kids.

As you might have guessed, I was an uncool kid. If you had a picture dictionary back then, you’d probably have found my picture next to the word “Average.” I didn’t even try out for cheerleading because I knew it was a hopeless cause. In fact, I didn’t like cheerleaders—not because I wasn’t one but because it seemed like they thought they were “all that” and that the rest of us were beneath them. But for the most part I was happy in my “uncoolness,” happy with my uncool friends and my average, uncool life.

So when one English assignment we received in ninth grade was to write a persuasive essay on something about which we felt strongly, I decided to air my frustrations in a blistering essay I titled “I’d Rather Be Uncool.” I poured it all out, not naming names but including specific incidents to support my thesis—the main thought with which I wished to leave my readers—that being cool was not all it was cracked up to be and that often cool kids were cruel to the uncool. After writing my essay, I felt as though I’d been freed from a cage. The “cool” thing in my mind was that no one would ever see this essay, except the teacher.

We handed in our essays on a Friday and the teacher handed them back in class on Monday. Everyone’s except mine. She clutched one paper in her hand when she returned to her desk.

“I’m going to read to you one outstanding essay,” she said. “I won’t tell you who wrote it, but I want you know that this student understands what a persuasive essay is.”

I felt my face blazing as I tried to maintain my uncool status and pretend I was listening along with the other kids. I tried to put on an “I wonder who wrote that?” expression while praying that no one had noticed that I hadn’t received back my paper. When the teacher finally read my final sentence, “So that’s why I’d rather be uncool,” something amazing happened. Most of my classmates applauded. All except the cool kids.

I’m sure the kids in your school are divided in a similar fashion. How do you feel about being in whichever group includes you? If you’re in the cool group, congratulations—I guess. If you’re in the uncool group, hip-hip-hooray! If you’d like to share your cool or uncool thoughts on this, e-mail them to action@unitedspinal.org or mail them to:

KIDS IN ACTION
United Spinal Association
75-20 Astoria Boulevard
Jackson Heights, NY 11370-1177

In the meantime, if you’re like me, celebrate your uncoolness.

Kathleen M. Muldoon is a children’s book author and writing instructor for the Institute of Children’s Literature. She lives in San Antonio, Texas.