A King Without a Crown

I was Homecoming King.

Sometimes I still can’t believe it. Not in the sense that the idea of my being Homecoming King was impossible or incredulous. It’s more that I am not someone that has ever really been interested in these types of things. I have arduously avoided fads for most of my life. I have always been a nonconformist in most senses. Homecoming King seems to me to be one of the foremost symbols of conformity. It’s like apple pie and baseball, an American tradition. There are people in small towns in this country who at 40 years old, probably still dust off their homecoming crown and reminisce on the day that they outshone everyone else that was running against them.

What is the accomplishment of Homecoming King?

It’s not like you won Class President. It is not like your science project was voted best in show. It’s not like winning a race, or scoring high on a test, or even just the satisfaction of handing your work in on time.

All it means is that people liked you more than they liked some other slug. It’s like being Miss America. As I mention in the football chapter, you have the responsibility of representing the school at various functions. As homecoming king, I had to represent the school at Hispanic Culture Month, Black History Month, International Culture Month (or whatever it was, it was in April, which is actually Asian American Culture Month), and more. It was kind of fun, as I love to be in the spotlight, because that is the pinnacle of modesty. I feel like I am doing a community service, by showing how great humankind can be, taking attention away from the ugly and unimportant. (Ok, I am really kidding. I actually think that this is the pinnacle of selflessness.)

(Ok, I am really really kidding.)

Not that I am planning to relinquish my crown, but I hardly think that is a fair statement. I am not sure what statement my crown was. First, I was up against all of these guys from the football team. I was thinking that they would divide the votes enough that I could use the leverage that I had of knowing a lot of the not so popular people in the school to win. This is not what happened. There was some technicality where homecoming king had to have a certain GPA. I don’t know if this was because the committee reviewing the candidates took pity on me, and realized that this was the only way that I could win, but this measure eliminated all but two of us. The other candidate was and still is one of my best friends.

I campaigned as if I was running for president of the world. I visited each classroom. I campaigned in Spanish. I would have relearned Chinese (which I learned from ages 7- 11) if it was necessary. It could have been that I just knew more people outside of my immediate class than my friend, or that my campaigning actually worked, but I won. The ceremony was horrendous. All high school ceremonies for anything are supposed to be nothing but horrendous. The horror of the ceremony was not the ceremony itself. It was the lack of a crown.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. There was a crown. I just never got it.

The crown was placed on top on this huge chair type contraption that was supposed to be the throne. As soon as I sat down, I was told that not to move because the crowns were precariously placed in such a manner that a slight movement could send it crashing down on our heads.

Obviously, this meant that we were going to be crowned in a figurative sense, as in, just receiving the accolade.

However, I really just wanted the crown.

The whole point of all of that campaigning and extra effort was not so that I could receive some title. I could care less about that. I really wanted the crown. Who wouldn’t want to have a crown in their closet, so that when you are looking back through your yearbook in college or grad school or with your children, you can pull out this gold foiled faux rubied, amethyst jeweled almost hexagon thing from the attic and say, “ I was homecoming king”. There is a certain ridiculous pride that this statement carries. Almost inexplicably so. Winning this has not impacted anything in my life. Not one blasted thing. However, it is always a conversation starter. And you know, somewhere deep inside, no matter how long I am alive, when I reflect on high school with fellow classmates, I can proudly throw in something about my glorious reign and gloat for a minute that I won the vote that means nothing, but that everyone wants to win.

This is why it is most important to understand that we did not even touch the crown. In retrospect, maybe I should have made it fall on me, just so that I could touch it once. They gave me a scepter, but after the ceremony, I was informed that is was tradition (or rather the dictates of budget cuts) for the school to keep the crown and the scepter. The only thing that I retained for my own was the sash, and honestly, no self-respecting man is going to pull a homecoming sash out of his closet without raising questions about when the rest of him will come out of the closet. So, I had a successful, untarnished reign, without scandal, but sadly, my only regret is that I did not fight for my crown.

Maybe when I get to law school, I can run for homecoming intern or something like that.

Give me a break and let me dream.