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Rejection is a powerful word, one of the most hated in the English language. It never, ever means something good: The body can reject a transplanted organ; an ATM machine might reject a user’s card; thousands of loan applications are rejected weekly; and people reject other people all the time.
The writer of CHS’s one act play "The Art of Rejection," Christian Kiley, depicts it in a very creative yet oh so truthful manner. His situational analogies with the character “R” constantly being rejected by an array of numbers are brilliant. Who else would think of such things as trying to marry “R” off to a nice vowel; losing his girl, dozen, to “13”; and “2” throwing out all odd numbers because they’re not divisible by him?
Kiley manages to make the art of rejection appear comedic, yet also gets people to thinking about the powerful consequences of this phenomenon. The play perfectly captures those all-too-typical scenarios of rejection like always being picked last for sports and even then very reluctantly, never accepted into the “in” crowd (or any crowd for that matter), passed over for job promotions and “let go” for no good reason, and being rebuffed by potential love interests.
While it’s unfathomable that anyone could go through life being as totally rejected as “R” – never once experiencing acceptance until the very end, and even then with dreadful results – there are those who seem to be on the receiving end of rejection much more often than others. But even the seemingly most popular, well-adjusted and have-it-all people do, from time to time, feel the pain of rejection. And as everyone knows, rejection does hurt – a lot.
You might find this hard to believe, as I’m sure everyone thinks I’m one of those self-assured, utterly perfect souls, but I, too, have experienced the pangs of rejection. Actually, I’ve felt them quite often in my 40-plus years. Because I am such a strong-willed (in other words, stubborn), albeit good-natured (wimpy) person, I’ve been able to handle these instances with grace and finesse, never letting on in public that they did, in fact, truly bother me.
People may be shocked to find that I’ve never been the athletic sort. Apparently, I was born with two left feet and arms, not being able to throw a ball much past my knees or run more than 10 feet before pooping out. So it would go to figure that I was one of those kids picked last when teams were formed in gym. There was one student I usually managed to beat out for dead last place, one who had some physical, emotional and mental disorders. It was therefore small consolation that the team captains hemmed and hawed before picking me second to last out of 32 kids.
Knowing that I was destined to be a failure in terms of athletics, Mom consoled me by explaining to me that the kids were not rejecting me personally, just my lack of abilities. So why were the athletic kids the most popular, I queried, to which she had no answer. She tried playing up my strengths, like my creativeness and somewhat braininess. This was small consolation, as year after year what I deemed stellar my artwork was passed up for display at the Fertile Fair. Finally, my dream came true in fifth grade when my fish picture made it there. It didn’t win any awards, which I was disappointed at, but just being there was an accomplishment I was rather proud of, even though I felt like every other kid in Crookston had already had his/her stuff at the fair.
The worst kind of rejection is when people you thought were your friends and guys/girls you thought loved you personally reject you, for reasons only they can comprehend. It gnaws at your heart and soul to think that they can be so cruel and uncaring, with no regard whatsoever to your feelings.
In my school days, I was treated cruelly by friends who at times dumped me for better prospects. It made me feel like dirt, but when these friends came around again and acted like nothing had happened, I was putty in their hands because I wanted to be accepted. And I was, until the next time they rejected me. The circle repeated itself many times over.
The only guy who ever officially dumped me said it just wasn’t working out after dating a couple of months. I agreed, but somehow it didn’t make me feel that grand when he asked my good friend out the next day. What was worse, she accepted and they ended up dating. I felt rejected not only by this cad, but by my good friend as well. Of course, I never outwardly showed that it bothered me, instead acting like they made a great couple.
Although I still feel those twinges of rejection from time to time, the situations are different than when I was younger. They tend to be less personal and much easier to put into perspective. I’m now finding myself in the same position as my mother, consoling my girls when they feel rejected. Whether perceived or true rejection, it’s always real to them, and therefore, they need help getting through it. Sometimes it’s comforting when I relate a similar experience. Sometimes they just need a shoulder to cry on. But they will, just as I did, just as most everyone does, come out of it as stronger people.
Rejection is a powerful word, one of the most hated in the English language. It never, ever means something good: The body can reject a transplanted organ; an ATM machine might reject a user’s card; thousands of loan applications are rejected weekly; and people reject other people all the time.
The writer of CHS’s one act play "The Art of Rejection," Christian Kiley, depicts it in a very creative yet oh so truthful manner. His situational analogies with the character “R” constantly being rejected by an array of numbers are brilliant. Who else would think of such things as trying to marry “R” off to a nice vowel; losing his girl, dozen, to “13”; and “2” throwing out all odd numbers because they’re not divisible by him?
Kiley manages to make the art of rejection appear comedic, yet also gets people to thinking about the powerful consequences of this phenomenon. The play perfectly captures those all-too-typical scenarios of rejection like always being picked last for sports and even then very reluctantly, never accepted into the “in” crowd (or any crowd for that matter), passed over for job promotions and “let go” for no good reason, and being rebuffed by potential love interests.
While it’s unfathomable that anyone could go through life being as totally rejected as “R” – never once experiencing acceptance until the very end, and even then with dreadful results – there are those who seem to be on the receiving end of rejection much more often than others. But even the seemingly most popular, well-adjusted and have-it-all people do, from time to time, feel the pain of rejection. And as everyone knows, rejection does hurt – a lot.
You might find this hard to believe, as I’m sure everyone thinks I’m one of those self-assured, utterly perfect souls, but I, too, have experienced the pangs of rejection. Actually, I’ve felt them quite often in my 40-plus years. Because I am such a strong-willed (in other words, stubborn), albeit good-natured (wimpy) person, I’ve been able to handle these instances with grace and finesse, never letting on in public that they did, in fact, truly bother me.
People may be shocked to find that I’ve never been the athletic sort. Apparently, I was born with two left feet and arms, not being able to throw a ball much past my knees or run more than 10 feet before pooping out. So it would go to figure that I was one of those kids picked last when teams were formed in gym. There was one student I usually managed to beat out for dead last place, one who had some physical, emotional and mental disorders. It was therefore small consolation that the team captains hemmed and hawed before picking me second to last out of 32 kids.
Knowing that I was destined to be a failure in terms of athletics, Mom consoled me by explaining to me that the kids were not rejecting me personally, just my lack of abilities. So why were the athletic kids the most popular, I queried, to which she had no answer. She tried playing up my strengths, like my creativeness and somewhat braininess. This was small consolation, as year after year what I deemed stellar my artwork was passed up for display at the Fertile Fair. Finally, my dream came true in fifth grade when my fish picture made it there. It didn’t win any awards, which I was disappointed at, but just being there was an accomplishment I was rather proud of, even though I felt like every other kid in Crookston had already had his/her stuff at the fair.
The worst kind of rejection is when people you thought were your friends and guys/girls you thought loved you personally reject you, for reasons only they can comprehend. It gnaws at your heart and soul to think that they can be so cruel and uncaring, with no regard whatsoever to your feelings.
In my school days, I was treated cruelly by friends who at times dumped me for better prospects. It made me feel like dirt, but when these friends came around again and acted like nothing had happened, I was putty in their hands because I wanted to be accepted. And I was, until the next time they rejected me. The circle repeated itself many times over.
The only guy who ever officially dumped me said it just wasn’t working out after dating a couple of months. I agreed, but somehow it didn’t make me feel that grand when he asked my good friend out the next day. What was worse, she accepted and they ended up dating. I felt rejected not only by this cad, but by my good friend as well. Of course, I never outwardly showed that it bothered me, instead acting like they made a great couple.
Although I still feel those twinges of rejection from time to time, the situations are different than when I was younger. They tend to be less personal and much easier to put into perspective. I’m now finding myself in the same position as my mother, consoling my girls when they feel rejected. Whether perceived or true rejection, it’s always real to them, and therefore, they need help getting through it. Sometimes it’s comforting when I relate a similar experience. Sometimes they just need a shoulder to cry on. But they will, just as I did, just as most everyone does, come out of it as stronger people.
