Overcoming the Limits of Labels

There are some new labels kids have created for one another since I was in school. When I grew up, there were no skaters or noobs. No one was goth or emo. In my day, kids who wore collared shirts and madras were preppy. Kids who smoked cigarettes and listened to Led Zeppelin were burnouts. Jocks were still jocks, although the jocks of my youth were all-inclusive. Today, they separate themselves by sport. 

Each year I ask my students to list the different social groups in our school. It’s amazing how effortlessly they do this and how universally they agree. These group names have never been discussed or voted on, yet every kid instinctively knows where every other kid belongs. Things get sticky, however, when I ask them to classify themselves. It’s interesting that how they see themselves (most of them say they are in the “normal” group) is often inconsistent with how others see them.

With few exceptions, middle school kids do not like to stick out. Identification with a group brings security and, in the tenuous world of adolescence, security is hard to come by. Like the feudal caste system, everyone knowing their place means everyone has a place.

Human beings classify things. This is how we learn and make sense of chaos. Classification brings order to our disorderly world. We seek like-mindedness and familiarity and then (perhaps unconsciously) label everyone else as “other.” Other is not inherently inferior or negative. It just means “not like me.” We may be the same on some levels, but on others, we are radically different.

Unfortunately, that “other” label drags negative connotations in its wake. A label often reduces an entire person to a single word. I’ve yet to meet the person who could be effectively captured by a single word. (Though “Elvis” somehow embodies an entire sequined persona!)

Instead of trying to eradicate labeling, perhaps we could try to help kids become more conscious of how labeling limits them and the person they’re labeling. Perhaps we can encourage them to open up their labels to allow for more flexibility. Why can’t a kid who wears spikes and black leather be a jock? Why can’t a cheerleader bang her head to heavy metal? Why can’t a kid who spends four hours a day playing videos games like Call of Duty also get straight A’s? 

My world is certainly larger and richer because there’s lots of room in the labels I use. I am constantly adapting them, letting people define themselves. I may subconsciously label strangers or people I’ve just met. But as I get to know someone, who she is replaces the label I used to classify and sort her at first.

So I tell my students that they can judge other people by what they look like as long as they’re prepared to be wrong. After all, the most frightening people in history usually look like everybody else.

Sofen is a middle school writing teacher in New Jersey.