The Button Queen

Have you ever looked back at your high school self and just wanted to throttle him or her? Do you wish you could sit that precious little teenage you down and have a heart-to-heart chat; you know, set them straight a little as to what cool really is? I have. And more times than once.

If I could visit my 17-year old self, I think I'd instruct him somewhat on the following episode. It involves the Button Queen. 

During my junior year of high school, I ate lunch in the hallway with one of my best friends. I suppose we were to cool to eat in the lunchroom. At least we thought we were. But that doesn't really matter and is beside the point. 

As we sat next to our lockers one particular Monday afternoon, chatting about quantum physics I believe, a timid, pathetic creature approached. Lumbering toward us, in all her gawky glory was the Button Queen!  

She was a homely little thing. Most likely just as awkward and distant as any other sophomore teenage girl. But she stuck out more than most. You see the Button Queen had long unkempt, dishwater blonde hair, and donned, since it was 90s fashion acceptable, a pair of over-sized round-framed glasses. She wore some unflattering khaki-type pants; once white, now ashen gray dirty deck shoes; and a white long-sleeved turtle neck. But to top it off, the Coup de grâce, an unflattering, bright canary-yellow, home-ec-made vest -- which on its own was a distraction. But completing this uninspiring ensemble, Ms. Button Queen had adorned her puffy yellow nightmare with buttons of differing sizes, bearing cute and clever little messages. You know like, "I Love Kitties" or "I'm not short, I'm fun sized." And I'm sure if I'd looked close enough, through my judgmental teenage eyes, she had a hump too, drooled, and had a tail. 

As the Button Queen neared, my friend quickly composed a little ditty to announce her arrival. It went like this:

"Here comes the Button Queen,
the Button Queen, 

the Button Queen."

And I lost it. I rolled with uncontrolled, unforgiving laughter. But he and by he, I really mean we, we weren't done with her yet. Oh no. While I didn't join this choir of one, there was more to this instant musical hit. Lacking a catchy chorus, the second verse was just as original and creative as the first. You ready for this?   

"There goes the Button Queen,
the Button Queen,
the Button Queen."

Classic.

Oh the hilarity. Now I don't recall my thoughts at the time, but I doubt they were anything of deep respect or profound admiration for the Button Queen. I didn't exactly request my own custom fit yellow vest. With the show over and order restored we resumed our deep, intellectual conversation. And no doubt we also lauded own stylish looks and hallway superiority. 

Well, Tuesday we were again in the same spot, this time discussing international politics and foreign diplomacy when who should appear? That's right, none other than the Button Queen herself. And you guessed it, the choir of one-audience of one, began part two from the previous day. Not as funny as Monday's show, but still good for a laugh.

The next day our discussion on Pre-Columbian art was interrupted with a Button Queen return performance. And the crowd went wild. But a bit subdued. 

Naturally Thursday found us in our usual location debating the finer points of Keynesian Economics. And for the fourth day in a row, we received our daily Button Queen visit. But something was different this time around. Different about her . . . and different about me. Sure, she still donned the same yellow abomination. And she was still alone. But this time I actually looked at her. Looking past her absurd buttons and her vest, and looking beyond the rest of her ensemble, I actually saw her face and I will never forget what I saw. You see, up to this point it hadn't occurred to immature me that she really might not be enjoying all this attention. I mean she kept returning. And I suppose I was also thankful I wasn't on the receiving end of all her "fun." No what I saw was a face long with sadness, embarrassment, and humiliation. She didn't find any of this funny. And really, neither did I. 

Friday rolled around. We were again eating lunch, leaning against our lockers, no doubt enbroiled in some deep exacting discussion as we attempted to reconcile quantum mechanics and general relativity in particle physics and its role in the formation of the universe, when guess who returned? No one. No yellow vest. No buttons. No Button Queen. 

I never saw the Button Queen again. I never learned her name. I never had the chance to say hello. And I never had the chance to apologize. While it is of little use now, I'd like to take a moment and apologize to her. The odds of her ever reading this are slim, at best. And she doesn't need to accept my apology, but I am very sorry. I am sorry I didn't stand up for you. I am sorry, I laughed at you. And I am sorry I never had the chance to actually meet you.

Now I don't want to be too harsh on us. We were seventeen and in high school. We did plenty of other stupid things after that day. And find me a high schooler who didn't behave at times in foolish and obnoxious ways. Heck we all did.  

I don't know why she crossed our paths that week. But while I didn't write the lyrics or sing the song, my behavior was no less excusable. I made no attempt to defend her. My character took a hit that week. I only hope that she is successful in life, successful in love. While I'm sure the vest is stored away somewhere, if styles change dramatically, maybe successful in fashion too. Why not?

I believe each of us knows a Button Queen. Some of us may have been a Button Queen (or King). If she hand't worn her button embellished yellow vest, she most likely would have slipped by, undetected and unknown. We wouldn't have even noticed she was there. We all know those types. Those kids who come and go and never leave a mark or make an impression. Here one day and gone the next.

My wish is that we could all walk a mile or two in another person's shoes, or yellow vest. Let's stop and say hello to these souls and then invite the uninviting, encourage the downtrodden, and share ourselves with the lonely and lost. Especially those who we feel the least welcome. Imagine that day if we had said hello to the Button Queen instead serenading her. 

As I look back on our encounter with the Button Queen, it has become all too painfully clear to me who the pathetic creature that day really was. I know him all too well. Hopefully I've changed since those days. I think I have. 

Be Good!

Representation