Guys, I really love this book. And not just because the protagonist is a garbanzo bean (although that part is pretty dang delightful). As a middle school teacher, and one-time middle schooler myself, I have been dealing with “the popular kids” for a long time. I can’t tell you how many times a student has said, either in confidence or as a casual remark, that they are no longer friends with someone because that someone recently became “too cool.”
Oftentimes, and even when they’re trying really hard to pretend they’re fine, the “regular kids” who were left behind by the “cool kids” feel pretty resentful about it. There’s a special mixture of jealousy, sadness, and wounded self-confidence that follows the one-time friend of a popular, and it’s pretty easy for me to spot. That’s because when I was in middle school, I was that wounded kid. In fact, I have some pretty distinct, and wildly embarrassing, memories of getting into a much-too-loud fight in the girls bathroom about how my best friends had abandoned me by (gasp) developing new relationships on the side.
Now I’m no psychologist, and I do not have pre-teen kids of my own (yet), but during my time as a teacher I observed that a lot, if not most, of kids’ relationship issues were driven by one emotion: fear.
When kids laughed at a classmate, or new kid on the playground, they were usually trying to deflect attention from something about themselves that they were insecure or embarrassed of. When a clique of girls refused to include someone new, they were usually afraid that the newcomer would somehow usurp their own place in the group. Whenever a left-behind friend complained about how his or her elementary school bestie was now sitting at the popular table, I would try to respond with, “why don’t you go over there too?” To which, the kid would most often respond with some version of, “because I’m afraid.”
Afraid they’ll reject me, or they’ll make fun of me, or talk badly about me after I leave. Afraid that I’ll say the wrong thing, or not be liked, or feel like even more of an outsider than I already do. All of these fears, and the overwhelming desire to avoid loneliness and discomfort, are what drive kids to isolate themselves, or others, and cling so steadfastly to their “group,” or position (no matter what it is) in the social hierarchy.
The Cool Bean by Jory John and Pete Oswald is so lovely because it illuminates this very real process of fear-based exclusion, but adds a little levity by replacing human teens with a diverse crowd of personified beans. In the story, the garbanzo bean has a bit of a chip on his shoulder, due to the fact that the friends he used to have so much fun hanging out with, seem to have become “too cool,” for him. However, one day, when the lonely garbanzo falls victim to a very embarrassing spaghetti incident in the cafeteria, one of the cool beans gallantly comes to his rescue. This sets off a chain of events in which the garbanzo bean begins to realize that his old friends, the cool beans, are still the kind, friendly people he once knew, and that his exclusion from the group might have had more to do with his own reluctance to engage, than any overt judgment or dislike on their part.
My own story didn’t end as well as it did for the garbanzo bean, and I ended up losing those middle school friends. My resentment about being “left behind,” as well as my reluctance to make an effort with the “new additions” to the group caused me to walk away from the situation, and the friends I had grown up with. In the end, it all worked out, and I found myself a new group of friends who I still love and value very much today. But it took me a long time to be able to reflect on the situation and realize that the whole fiasco may not have been all their fault.
There are so many things going on during the middle school years that make it difficult for most kids to maintain a real sense of self-confidence. So many kids are like the garbanzo bean, in that they just sit back and allow relationships to move away from them, without really putting up a fight, or questioning their own role in the situation.
When I was in my 20s, I had a run-in with one of the most popular popular kids at my high school. And by run in, I mean we ended up spending a lot of time together at a weeks-long, work-related event. Even as a married woman in my 20s, with a career, and a life full of people who I loved, and I knew loved me in return, I found myself sincerely afraid to be around this person. I clammed up when he walked into the room, and purposely tried to work in groups that he was not a part of. Eventually, my incredibly immature avoidance techniques failed me, and we were forced to converse. And guess what happened? Shockingly (or not), we got along pretty well.
It turned out that this person, who I had always imagined was so different than me in high school, was actually very much like me. We had similar interests, and work habits, and respected each other’s opinions. We even had similar memories about, and feelings towards, high school, despite the fact that I had always viewed us as living in parallel, but also vastly different, teenage universes. When I walked away from this interaction, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret regarding my former self’s reticence to engage, and a newfound realization that the categories we put ourselves into (even as adults) don’t really make a lot of sense.
Looking back on it all now, I wonder what I missed out on by assuming that certain people wouldn’t “like,” me. The people we surround ourselves with fundamentally change us, for the better, or the worse, and while I am SO lucky to have stumbled upon some truly wonderful friends, I know that I have also, albeit unintentionally, pushed others away. Others who may have pushed me, or challenged me, or taught me something important along the way.
So, am I trying to say that all the cool kids are actually way nicer than you think they are? No, not really. Because some popular kids are still just jerks. But what I am trying to say is that our insecurities, or fears about the judgment that may or may not be passed on us should never prevent us from reaching out, taking a risk, and holding on to a relationship that seems, for whatever reason, “out of reach.”
I love this book so much because it teaches kids that people, and relationships, are almost always more complicated than we try to make them out to be. It also reminds readers that even if you look and feel like a measly garbanzo bean (or, as in my case, have very frizzy hair and also play the oboe), you are in control of your relationships, and your life, and that self-confidence is a choice that we both have the power to make for ourselves, and the responsibility to help nurture in others.
The Book
You can order The Cool Bean, or these other books on popularity, self-confidence, and fitting in by clicking the links below. Happy reading!
