The Boys’ Breakfast

The following reflection was written in 2003, when I was between 25 and 26 years old.

There was no event I was dreading during senior week more than the Boys’ Breakfast. I could count the number of male friends I had in my grade on one hand. Most of the people I’d be spending that morning with were guys who’d spent countless hours picking on me, threatening to beat the piss out of me, or guys who had once been my friend before they got too cool for me and were now ashamed to even look in my direction.

They had a shitty comedian. I remember that. It was at a hotel in Westford, the Regency maybe. All I know is that it didn’t take long to get there from my house.

I was glad when it was over. Even finding a table felt like gym class. I basically got the last pick of a seat, wherever there wasn’t a clique big enough to fill up a table by itself.

The food wasn’t good either.

I am really feeling my negativity from that day swelling back to me. I think I’m going to stop talking about this now.