I recently attended my thirtieth high school reunion. I can’t believe how much time has gone by since I threw my white mortarboard into the air; my insides filled with the helium of elation and the possibilities life would unfold at my feet.
I went to a small high school. There were only 210 graduates in my class in a school that accommodated four shore towns. You can imagine having a small class brings good things and bad; you know everyone in your class and most of the school. Wherever you land in the popularity hierarchy is pretty much where you stay until the end. For teens, your status is often very important. Even though I really didn’t care what people thought of me (still don’t) and my big mouth was proof of that, I still wanted to find the place where I fit in. Four years is a mighty long time to wander the halls staring at the same faces. I was absolutely not popular in high school – I was a baton twirler – need I say more? No one was looking to follow me anywhere, but I did have “friends” in many of the cliques. And thankfully I had a few good friends who let me sit with them at lunch.
Despite my lack of popularity and boyfriends (someone at my twentieth reunion asked me why we didn’t date in high school. Really???? I wasn’t on your radar, dude. You never asked.) I didn’t have the worst time in high school. Sure, while I was there I hated it. I begged my mother to let me go to a new school which only garnished her squealing laughter in reply. But with the benefit of the beautiful and powerful hindsight, I realized high school wasn’t so bad. No one tied me to the flag pole during gym class. Yup, that happened. I bet that kid doesn’t attend his reunions.
Sure, I had people who didn’t like me, and made sure to tell me on a daily basis. I’ll leave them nameless. Thanks to the healing powers of time and Facebook, I’m now “friends” with them. I got into a few fights – all verbal. I knew I could never win a fist fight, but I absolutely could outsmart someone with my big, scary, mouth. Which was the tactic I employed when Paulette wanted to fight me in the bathroom because my guy friend beat up her guy friend on my behalf. As if I had anything to do with that – and just for the record; her guy friend was a jerk.
So, I look forward to attending my class reunions. Who cares what happened thirty years ago? It’s time to get over it, seriously. We’re all adults now and every one of us has realized whatever we made a big deal out of then doesn’t mean squat now. We’ve all been in the path of mistakes, bad choices, life’s sense of humor. We understand what’s important, and if we don’t, well sucks to be you, I guess.
You know what else is great about reunions, you get to see everyone still has the same personality just with less hair, more weight, and highlights. It was nice to watch my classmates interact with the same flair and genuine caring of each other they displayed long ago.
Okay, not everyone was caring back then. I’m sure I wasn’t either. (I should apologize to everyone’s head I bit off during 1983-1987. Forgive my immature, hormonal, over reactive, no filter comments.) But those of us that repeatedly show up to our reunions, who are excited to catch up with each other, were basically all friends back then too. My sister’s grade has never been able to pull off a reunion. I really do believe those of us who show up all got along. It’s special.
Reunions are for forgiveness. Forgive yourself for worrying so much about everything back then. Forgive those that said stupid things that hurt your feelings because they were trapped in brains that hadn’t developed logic or reasoning yet. Forgive yourself for not doing things that weren’t cool because you didn’t want to be judged, but really wanted to do.
Find the moments of joy; football games on Friday nights, parties, good friends, the prom; hanging in the Wind Mill parking lot (okay, you’d have to have been from my area). Focus on those times and forget the rest. The less than pleasant stuff doesn’t matter thirty, twenty or even one year later. Really, it doesn’t and it had nothing to do with you anyway. Let it go. (Unless you were the kid tied to the flag pole. That mattered, but you still need to work on getting past it. Don’t continue to give the bullies the power. They suck. Not you.)
I will tell you: I walked into the reunion with my BFF. Almost immediately, she dashed off to speak with someone and I stood there in the middle of the room alone. For a brief moment, fear dragged its cold hand down my back. I was back in high school sticking out like a sore thumb. I didn’t know what to do. Run for the bathroom? I took a deep breath and shook it off. Hell, it was thirty years later. I might look older, have a few more wrinkles, but I had this. I marched over to Ginger and we hugged as if no time had passed at all.
I was home and this crew shared some of my best times.
Thanks for the memories, Shore Regional Class of ’87. I love you tons!