The hallway was a frenzy of life, at first glance a normal agglomeration of teenagers anticipating some long-awaited event, with chaos that rivaled the aftermath of the Big Bang.  But even the casual observer would notice something different about these kids.  Some sat in corners poring feverishly over thick binders full of text-filled pages.  Others donned t-shirts with unusual academic references, ranging from Warhol-like impressions of Lincoln’s head, to a list entitled “Epithets in Stephen Crane’s The Red Badge of Courage.”  Then there were those like myself, enthusiastically belting the chorus to “Dixie.”  We all paid homage to the Civil War, this year’s theme of study for the Academic Decathlon.  This was state competition, when the young Gateses and Nashes came out of hiding and proclaimed to the world their delight in academia.  This was where the smart kids could bask in the glory of all of the knowledge that they had gathered and nursed assiduously in their minds over the course of a year.  This was nerdfest.
     I find fault with Oxford’s definition of a nerd. “A person who lacks social skills or is boringly studious” does not seem to sum up this collection of devoted thinkers.  The media-encouraged stereotype of the geek in the glasses, concerned with nothing but numbers, books and computers seems almost an insult.  These descriptions show only the outward perception of who we are.  Certainly, many of us have found ourselves socially isolated at one point or another in our lives, but this problem is eventually remedied by banding together, forming unique communities with a culture all our own.  To the untrained eye, we may appear, as Oxford would say, “boringly studious,” but beneath this mirage is a people who have embraced the pursuit of academic knowledge, and cannot resist applying it to our everyday lives.
     The word “nerd” is how I have described myself since I was in elementary school.  During those days, I came as close to the stereotypical nerd as one can get, minus the thick glasses, pocket protector, and affinity for computers.  Even then, I was that kid in the back of the class who raised her hand too much and was already annoyingly aware of subjects like college admissions and the SAT, which would have been foreign to any normal fourth grader.  It never occurred to me to try to conform to the standards of what “normal” children did.  I loved to read and I loved to learn, two self-truths such a prominent part of my genetic makeup that even the social ostracism that often came with it seemed to be a part of who I was.  
     When I started high school, I awakened to find a new, bright and shiny side to my dull little world.  Between the change and confusion of the transition, I realized that I had somehow managed to make a couple of true friends.  I was impressed beyond words by these two young women. One possessed the sardonic wit of Voltaire.  The other devoured books with the gusto of a starving man at a Christmas feast.  Finally, I had found others who shared my passion for academics. Yet, there was a distinct difference between them and me: they knew how to laugh.
     Never before had I realized the value of a well-placed witticism.  Our conversations teemed with academic allusions, making offbeat comparisons and uproarious puns.  Even such topics as the Indian caste system and electromagnetic radiation could not be free from being victims of our extended metaphors.  My dull, academic life transformed itself overnight into a fascinating new way to embrace my delight in knowledge.  We were three nerds, bound together by our mutual admiration of literature, science, history and culture.
     I discovered another sect of nerd society when I decided to join my school’s Academic Decathlon team.  To the outsider, Academic Decathlon would seem to meet the “boringly studious” criterion that Oxford demands that a nerd must fill.  Perhaps to those who cannot understand our zeal for academia our company would seem incredibly dull.   However, to those who can appreciate the value of a well-articulated historical allusion, it can be exhilarating to be a part of this unique society.  We wholeheartedly devote ourselves to learning a certain topic in such depth and spend so much time in each other’s company that the theme becomes ingrained in our identity as a team.  The result is random bursts of song and curricular-themed inside jokes that bring about bellyaching laughter.  
     Above all, to be an “acadork”, as we have proudly coined ourselves, is the ultimate embodiment of nerd pride.  We have accepted who we are, and embraced it to the utmost.  We study unabashedly and loudly identify ourselves as the nerdiest of the nerds.  We do not shun knowledge, but seek it out and adore it openly.  From solitude we band together and find ourselves in a family of those just like ourselves, who understands our odd brand of humor, and lets love of learning permeate every facet of our beings.
     Boring is an adjective that describes very few of my kind.  More accurately, passion is something that defines this amalgam of individuals, each so entirely unique, yet all possessing the fervent desire to learn.  I do not deny that there are those of us who fit the stereotype; one only has to look as far back as my early youth to prove that point.  However, a large sect of nerd society breaks this mold.  We can be charismatic, witty, dynamic people of great emotional depth.  We can be athletes, actors, musicians and artists in addition to our devoted academic pursuits.  To be a nerd, consequently, is not a label I take as a slight, but rather, a designation I wear with pride.  Discarding the often-negative associations of the word, I sport this cultural identity as proudly as some people display their nationalities.  
     There is a dance the last night of the Academic Decathlon state competition.  It gives everyone a chance to let loose, to have fun and forget our beloved academics for a little while.  We are a united crowd, pulsing to the rhythm of the beat like any other mob of teens.  Yet there is a delightful social awkwardness that permeates the atmosphere, some of the braver souls bursting out in odd dance moves while dressed in slacks and loosened ties.  But we are accepting as well, greeting any innovation on the norm with jubilant applause.  We boldly assert whom we are, and are met with overwhelming acceptance.  We are nerds.  And we are proud.