Okay, everyone in this thread: *You HAVE to make these stories part of Your Big Story! *
Busted for porno art? Become a serious artist and start off your “Artist Talk” at your big gallery opening with "Well, I’ve been making unsettling art since middle school. In fact…"
And everyone reading this who isn’t married, track down that crush that you embarrassed yourself in front of. I mean, you already have the perfect story to tell your grandkids…
I wrote a 3-page letter to a girl (on yellow pad, front and back) inviting her for a date to the junior prom.
If you’re curious, I lucked out. 
Sixth grade and the prettiest girl in my class was going to have a boy-girl birthday party, the first one in the group. The invitations were carefully planned, and I got one.
It came to be the day of her birthday, but there was a snowstorm and school was closing early. She came over to my desk and said that because of the storm, her party would be on Saturday instead. I had completely forgotten about the party, so I was glad for the snowstorm.
Monday, back at school, she asks me why I wasn’t at her party on Saturday. I completely forgot about that one too.
She became the beauty pageant queen, homecoming queen, lead in the musical, etc. She had quite a reputation by the time high school ended (something about being at a party where she and her boyfriend both walked out of a bedroom stark naked, stared at the crowd, and dashed back into the bedroom).
At the high school reunions, she “found Jesus”, married a preacher, had great looking kids, and looks pretty much the same. I wonder what might have happened if I wasn’t so clueless about birthday parties.
I wasn’t adolescent, I was young. I got put on the train down to Bunbury to stay with some friends of my nanna’s (they had an hotel, and a daughter about my age). The conductor on the train supervised me and another kid also travelling alone. I went to the toilet, and when I came back, the other kid told me that she had stolen the spending money my nanna had given me and that she’d spent it on lollies so I couldn’t get it back.
I’ve never forgotten that terrible, terrible child and wonder which prison or asylum she ended up in. 
Part 2: my mother completely abdicates responsibility
I had gotten shy to cope with bullying. I had also hit puberty. My (single) mother shrugged and turned me over, completely, to my grandmother. I was not allowed to wear shoes bigger than my grandmother’s. I was not allowed to wear a bra bigger than my grandmother’s. I was not allowed to shave anywhere, because whores do that and she didn’t have any body hair naturally. Tampons are, likewise, for whores. She didn’t sweat or smell, so no deodorant.
I was sent to sleepaway camp, the only one in the bunk that had breasts and body hair. I started refusing to strip down. The (17/18 year old) counsellors in charge of the bunk pulled me up on this. In front of the whole bunk, saying how they knew I was fat, hairy,smelly and miserable but I was bringing everyone else down.
Part 3: I actually get fat
I was always told to go get a cookie instead of any real affection or concern. So, in addition to being shy and hairy/busty, I set myself to work getting very fat. Which helped a little, because the fat can be and often are invisible to the population at large.
My grandmother attended my parents’ night in 10th grade. And discovered, to her glee, that my English teacher was also the track coach. And she requested, she told me that night, that I be drafted into the track team to ‘run the fat ass off you’. I thought I was safe, though, because it wasn’t in front of the other kids.
Turns out, parents reported that particular request to their kids. Who then repeated it to me- Smelly, hairy, fat and miserable me, who walked funny because her shoes and bra were several sizes too small.
Well, I did meet Sabrina by chance in a train years later (I think we were both about 25).
She was as pretty as ever, but she sounded insecure and exhausted, speaking low and very slowly. I’m sure she wasn’t on drugs, but she definitely looked a bit washed-up and I remember thinking that I felt comparatively better off. I’d gained a lot of self-confidence since then and she seemed to have lost hers.
MickNickMaggies, I sincerely hope your life has improved immeasurably since those days! That’s way beyond cringe!
The worst bit of adolescence is that combination of power/powerlessness. You’re at the mercy of everyone and everything. You create your little fiefdoms where you can.
And, yes. I live abroad, have a couple degrees, did some teaching and am married with kids. I still hang with the freaks, geeks and goths. No plans to go to my high school reunion (20! Years!).
Still don’t really shave :o
What…
that’s terrible.
@MickNickMaggies, what upsets me most about your story is not so much the actions of the other clueless “kids”, but the actions of your own family. 
But big props for turning out great! Living abroad is wonderful, but the “not shaving” line proves you’re truly* livin’ tha dream…*
This is maybe a little out of the range, as I was 18 at the time, but it’s definitely adolescent-type behavior.
In my Freshman year in college, I took a class in which the professor had us sit around in a circle of chairs as we discussed the material. There were only about a dozen of us in the class, so it was a small circle.
One of the young women in the class was, shall we say, extremely well endowed in the mammary department. She was also very pretty in general. She and I had talked casually a couple of times, but didn’t generally hang out in the same circles. One day she came to class dressed in a white shirt of very thin material, with no bra. Her nipples showed through the shirt like a pair of headlights. And that day she sat directly opposite me.
As an 18 year old male with all the normal hormonal urges, there was no way for me not to look at that magnificent sight. Every time I tried to look anywhere else, a magnetic force would make my gaze redirect itself toward every teenage male’s vision of heaven. I struggled mightily, but could not keep my eyes elsewhere for any length of time.
She was very aware of my attention. She never spoke to me again after that day.
A friend of mine had a crush on some older woman his mom worked with. So, to let her know, he went to the store and picked a card to send her.
He picked a sympathy card! :smack: You know, like, "My thoughts are with you at this time" kind of thing.
He clearly didn’t understand the meaning of sympathy. Cool thing is, his mom told us all about it, and we had a good time making fun of him for a few years.
He’s still way-fuckin’-clueless. He regularly falls for nearly every email and phone scam there is.