“Rejection is merely  
a redirection;  
a course correction  
to your destiny.”
Bryant McGill

I was fourteen years old. It was my freshman year of high school. Wanting to experience my high school years to the fullest, I decided to attend the Rally Mixer, the first dance of the 1968-69 academic year. Mixers were dances which did not require dates. While some couples attended the dance, most of those in attendance were there solo. St. Ignatius High School was an all-boys institution, but there was no shortage of girls at the dance. At that time, there were nine all-girls’ high schools. Tickets to the Rally Mixer were sold at these schools. I bought my solo ticket on campus.

The night of the dance, I found my comfort zone standing against the back wall of the gym on the Stanyan Street campus with a number of other freshman guys. Some of the guys may have summoned up the courage to ask a girl to dance at some point, but I was not one of them. I had no confidence in myself when it came to dancing. Nor was I comfortable asking a girl I didn’t know to dance, even though I was well-aware that many of the girls who were there that night were hoping to be invited to dance.

As the evening went on, I noticed a young girl sitting alone on the bleachers on the west wall of the gym. She was quite attractive, so I assumed that she was with someone. I thought that, perhaps, her date had gone to use the rest room or to pick up a snack or drink from the concessions stand in the gym lobby. Periodically, I would glance back over at her. She was still sitting alone.

As the dance was winding down, the band (yes, a live band) leader announced that they were preparing to play the last song of the evening. Then, much to my embarrassment, he called us out. “Hey, all you freshman who’ve been standing against the back wall all night, get out there and ask someone to dance.”

Again, I glanced over at the girl sitting on the bleachers. She was still alone. I took a deep breath, walked over to the bleachers, and climbed up three rows. “Would you like to dance?” I inquired.

She looked directly into my eyes. The expression on her face was pleasant. So I was a bit caught off-guard when she responded, with no malice in her voice, “With you? No thanks.”

Ouch! I didn’t know how to respond, so I just turned, climbed down the three rows of the bleachers, and returned to my safe space against the back wall. 

In September of this year, it will be 58 years since that awkward, painful experience. At the end of that academic year, S.I. moved from the Stanyan Street campus into the new facilities on 37th Avenue in the Sunset District. I have not set foot in that gym since May 1969, yet I remember the encounter vividly. In the years since that time, I’ve learned that we should never let one rejection make us feel like a failure. It’s just one chapter of a much bigger story. I understand this, yet when I had the opportunity to stop by the Koret Health Center of the University of San Francisco on Wednesday afternoon, I had a strong desire to go back to that gymnasium. The Stanyan Street classroom building was razed many years ago to make room for the Health Center, but the old gym was spared and is now connected to the newer facility. I entered the gym and walked over to the back wall, my comfort zone, with crystal clear memories of the events of that night.

I find solace in the words of author, entrepreneur, and speaker Jamie Kern Lima who said, “Rejection is just a reminder that you are putting yourself out there and trying new things, which takes courage.”

I didn’t attend another high school dance until the end of my sophomore year, when I was invited to the Presentation High School Junior Prom. That’s right,… a sophomore going to the junior prom at one of the all-girls’ high schools. That changed everything!