Nate Street
At fourteen I was enormously impassioned and did not smell particularly good. Conversations and public places often became ruled by my ramblings on whatever could hold the attention of my adolescence for a week. This ruling presence can be passed off as childish naivety, but at such an age criticism of my brash chiming is still easy in retrospect:
Why are you talking in the lunch line about Molly Ringwald? Why do you know who that is?
Stop claiming Paul McCartney is the greatest vocalist of all time. You are fourteen.
No, Alabama is not going all the way this year, and that nice waitress hearing you out doesn’t care who Jalen Hurts is.
This flavor of social self-propulsion proved unsustainable, as one might imagine. I remember a day drowned in dixie heat in which I followed (likely yapping) a group of admired seniors into an on-campus club meeting. As they carried themselves throughout the motions of their meeting with what I considered to be the utmost nobility, I blabbered and bumbled without any evidence of social aptitude. When they quieted down and looked at me, disheveled and sweaty, I died twice over. I went home and ordered anti-perspirant deodorant.
That day changed the way I thought about carrying myself. When I wasn’t stumbling over myself in public, thoughts of others' perception of me snaked around my mind like a vine. I came to figure I was throwing myself into a wall; so quick to passion and loud about what didn’t seem to matter. When I could harness myself, though, I found myself engaged completely with others about things that built us both up.
This engagement was epitomized in my term as the mayor, or head student leader of my school. Heading a student government of twenty six students, I saw the school I’ve come to love over the past five years grow into one characterized by interconnectedness and passion, and I was proud to be at the forefront of it. In each meeting with the school’s administration and each interaction with my underclassmen I was happy to have a hand in the culture of my academic home.
As solemnity replaced impudence and Old Spice filled a reeking void, I found myself fulfilled in a way I had never thought possible. Though a seemingly drawn-out process, my self improvement turned my worldview around in what seemed to be an instant. My calendar was full and my engagements meaningful. My mom would tell me I smelled great before I left her car in the morning, and mothers just don’t lie about things like that. I wasn’t the same, and I was happy about it.
Having spent five years at my current school means people know what I was and what I am now. Distanced mentors from my eighth grade year like to pat me on the back, say, “Nate, I never believed you’d turn out the man you are. A leader in any capacity? Never!” to which I usually respond, “Ouch,” but they’re not wrong. It’s no secret that I was untamed and without purpose. Still, it’s no use pretending like I’m a man detached from my past. I still am ruled by passion, still self-propelled, still enchanted by that redhead from 16 Candles. My deepest cuts come from people hinting that I have any body odor.
I’m not slowing down again anytime soon. In the grand scheme of things, I’ve touched too few lives, led too few groups, and spread too little happiness to do so. By combination of that childhood passion and the fulfillment of my teenage endeavors, I have fuel enough to in some small way be a wholesome part in the lives of others and a dedicated leader in whatever communities I come to call my home.