I still hadn't explained to my mother. I wasn't exactly sure she would warm up to the idea of her daughter riding off on the back of a pickup truck with a group of high school girls headed to a football game. But this is the way the sororities did it: if you were accepted into the sorority, they came to your house the Friday night after Rush week, picked you up in a truck along with all the other new girls, and you went to the high school football game together with your new "sisters."
Sounds so collegiate, doesn't it? I was but a high school sophomore in a city loaded with old money and abounding with history. Camden SC to be exact, one of the most beautiful cities I have ever set my eyes upon. Camden....
A city known as the Steeplechase capital of the World. It is the oldest inland city in the state of South Carolina, the site of the worst American defeat of the Revolution. I challenge any of the readers who have never visited this lovely little city to go there, drive through the down town area, and tell me where else you could go and see the plethora of colonial houses that line the streets. Those aren't run down shanties. They are occupied, lovingly restored, Charlestonian inspired mansion styled homes. Not just one street of them. Multiple streets. Christmas time is amazing in the downtown area. And I fell in LOVE with the place when I first moved there as a teenager. 
With all the history came the equally highbrowed culture, even in high school. I can remember the curriculum guide for the technical school classes (brick laying, drafting, etc) having a disclaimer at the bottom that read something like: If your parents are millionaires, the following classes probably will not interest you. Perhaps they were joking. After all, that was before the days of political correctness. However, I do remember as a student parking beside Jaguars, and there were students that were children of millionaires. So, in the broad scheme of things, sororities were not out of place in a high school like Camden High. To this very day, I have never heard of another high school that had them.
I had moved to Camden from a small town in North Carolina. We lived in a mill village, right across from the cotton mill. The village was made up of quaint little houses, but most of the people didn't take alot of pride in them, leaving the neighborhood looking run down. When my mother remarried and we moved to Camden, I was thrilled to be getting out of the mill village. I was "moving on up" in my opinion!
Now, I didn't particularly love the snobbery that was so evident in Camden, but I, like so many teenagers, wanted to be accepted. As a freshman in high school, the buzz words towards the end of second semester were, "are you going to rush for a sorority next year?"
I wasn't an incredibly popular person. I wanted to be. I craved friendship. Not just attention, but genuine friendship. And I wanted to reciprocate that friendship as well. So, my mind was made up. Even though I thought some of the sorority chics were snobs, I would go to the rush parties (IF I was invited) and HOPE that I could get in one of the three sister societies that would secure what I hoped would be long term friendships.
There were three sororities. Their breakdowns are as follows: Beta Gamma aka, "BG's" - open to the richer kids; Kappa Omega, aka "K O" - open to "good" girls, middle class, not too wild; Gamma Gamma Gamma, aka "Tri Gamma" - open to the WILD girls, some of the rich, even some of the not so rich, but mostly middle class. Of course, that is just my estimation. I'm sure all three were comprised of all sorts of girls!
I loved watching the sorority girls, they all had their shirts with the Greek letters on the front and the sorority name on the back. Girls were given names like "Spaz" or "Wilder." I yearned to be a part of a sisterhood that would accept me, give me a pet name. When my sophomore year rolled around, I received a rush invitation to "K O" and "Tri Gamma." I decided to go to the "K O" rush.
I was so thrilled. I put on my best face when I went to the rush party. I was chipper, even fake. The party was at a HUGE historical home, right up my alley. I left the party that night feeling 100% positive that I would be voted in with "K O." My sister Roni was good friends with one of the sorority sisters, so I felt like I had an inside line.
Friday could not come fast enough. I couldn't even concentrate on my school work. During Geometry, my mind would wander; how would I react when the truck load of "K O" girls pulled up at my door as a token of my acceptance into their sisterhood?? The game and sorority bids were all the talk that day at school. I was beside myself! The bus driver couldn't drive fast enough to get me home!
I hurried up with all my Friday chores. I did everything Mom expected me to do in record speed. I changed into something to wear to the game, and I waited very impatiently for 6 pm to roll around. You see, that was how you found out if you were accepted. There was no letter of acceptance or otherwise. If you were picked up you were in; if you weren't, you were not.
I kept looking out the window. I kept playing the scene in my mind. I knew a few of the "K O" girls, and I could picture us hugging and screaming and laughing. I had not quite worked out the situation with Mom, but I figured I would let my sister Roni tell her once I was gone.
Six o'clock was quickly approaching, and I couldn't keep my face out of the window. Roni kept doing the chores while I kept pulling the blinds apart waiting for my ride. Roni was trying to hide her disgust over my lack of willingness to pitch in with the chores. But there was a look on her face. It was a look of reserve, one that closely resembled pity. And I didn't like it.
She finally spoke up, and it shattered my dreams.
"Rita, do you honestly think that the "K O" girls are gonna come rolling through this trailer park to pick you up???"
I didn't say a word.
I didn't have to.
I didn't look out of the window anymore either.
I had somehow forgotten that socially, I was completely outclassed. I lived in a 12 x 60 tin cracker box, and many of those girls lived in colonial styled homes. Those that didn't live in historical homes lived in respectable homes. For the most part, their houses didn't have wheels.
In my zeal to make friends, I had forgotten that to most teenagers, especially to anyone with even a trace of snobbery, a trailer park was a thing of shame and embarrassment. I was so glad to get out of the mill village, I had forgotten that I lived in a dingy trailer park on the wrong side of town.
I had forgotten that most would fail to see who or what lives in the house. I felt I was as charming and friendly as any of the other girls. I just wanted a chance. But I knew I would never get it because of where I lived. I was even ashamed of it; as soon as my sister had made that comment, I decided that if the "K O" girls did come for me, I wouldn't go to the door. I would pretend I didn't live there.
But, I never had to lie because they never came. I knew Roni never meant to hurt me; she only meant to make me see the folly of my actions. I finally changed out of my super fabulous clothes that were meant to impress the sorority sisters and accepted the fact that I would be spending the evening at home.
I spent the rest of the weekend closed up in my cracker box, hoping and praying that none of my friends would call and tell me they got in a sorority. Sure enough, those that were my close friends spent Friday night at home as well.
I did find out on the following Monday (through Roni's "K O" friend) that I was only one vote short of not making it into the sorority. After three black balls, a candidate is "out." I had two black balls against me, and the last person to vote black balled me. My sister's friend asked her to reconsider, but for whatever reason, she wouldn't.
Admittedly, that news did make me feel a little better. But more than that, it set me on a new path that I continued on through out high school and college. It's a path that has taught me that the colossal historical home can house a vacant individual that offers only judgement and a small tin trailer can hold a person who can offer true friendship.
It's the path that has taught me that it's not the house, but the inhabitant who dwells inside.
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