Honestly, I can't remember which side of the fence I started on in my great decision of whether to go or not to go to my class reunion.
Fact: I have never attended a high school class reunion before.
I was actually aware of my tenth reunion prior to the event. My mom was working with a guy I'd gone to school with. He got an invitation or information packet which included a "Where Are They?" list of names. My name was on the list and, since he recognized my mom's last name as my maiden name, he asked if she knew anything about my whereabouts. She claimed me as her daughter (thanks, Mom!) and got a copy of the info. for me.
Around that same time, my best friend ran into one of our former classmates at a gas station. It so happened that this former classmate was on the reunion committee (or whatever it's called) and, as my friend was also among the missing, she was given similar information regarding who to contact, what was happening when, etc.
We put our heads together and hashed out whether we should attend. She said she would go if I would go and I said I would go if she would go. She didn't want to go because she had actually dropped out in our junior year. I didn't want to go because I had recently left my first husband and didn't want to make an appearance without a man on my arm. I wasn't far enough removed from my high school self and felt like everyone would just see the same old loser I'd been back then, no husband, no boyfriend. . . I think we ended up ordering pizza and watching movies instead.
The one and only reason I regret not making it to my ten year reunion is that I actually looked better then than I had in high school. I had finally made (temporary) peace with my hair and - while I was an awkward, clumsy, skinny kid during my school days, I was pretty much HAPPY with my body when I was 28. I had gained about forty pounds during my marriage, then lost it all plus after we split up. Then I discovered working out (it was the 80's, after all!). So, in retrospect, I could have been the hot, single chick at that reunion. Or at least the hottest I personally have ever been! I had no idea that in just a few short years, pregnancy, childbirth, quitting smoking, fast food and lack of exercise would send my body to hell in a handbasket.
I was completely unaware of my twentieth reunion and I'm assuming there was a twenty-fifth, but not really sure. Maybe there was even a fifteenth. . .I don't know if they do those but, if they did, I would have been done with my second husband already and deep in mommyhood at the time.
I kind of had my thirtieth reunion on the back burner of my mind as the one I might attend. Right around the time of my tenth class reunion, I had a conversation with a client who had lost quite a bit of weight in anticipation of her own thirtieth reunion. The first time I saw her after she got back to town, I asked her about it. She said it had actually been really fun. She went on to tell me that all of the reunions leading up to this one had kind of been just like going back to school; the same cliques hung out together and people tended to be just as critical and catty as they had always been. By the time of the thirtieth reunion, though, people seemed to have changed. Some of them had grown children, they'd gone through divorces, lost jobs, bought houses, buried loved ones, had grandchildren, filed for bankruptcy. . . Pretty much everyone had experienced great joy and great sorrow. It was like they were on a more even playing field - like it didn't matter as much who had been a cheerleader or who had been a stoner, a jock, a geek, a brain or a loser. . .now they were all just people who had gone to school together and were maybe genuinely a little happy to see each other. That sounded really good to me - and I never forgot it.
Fast forward twenty more years - seriously! How fast that twenty years went. And I was confronted with that thirtieth reunion that had been simmering on the back burner.
Fact: We already know that I did NOT go. And, because I can only allow myself so much time per day for this blog, I guess the process of how I reached that decision will have to wait. . .
Until tomorrow -
Goody
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Why I'm Here
This is the weekend of my thirtieth high school reunion.
So, why am I here, in a stained old tee shirt and sweats, with bare feet and wet hair, sitting in front of my computer and starting a blog. . .instead of out, catching up with old friends - or at the very least hung over from last night's no-host social? Why do I cringe at the thought of even walking outside my front door, let alone going to Costco where I might run into a gaggle of in-town-for-the-weekend, giggling forty-something "girls" who might recognize me?
Where do I begin?
I hadn't even really given much thought to the fact that the reunion was coming. I was not terribly social in high school - at least not with the people who I thought counted at the time. . .but more about that later.
Anyway, a few months ago, I started a Facebook account because I needed to get in touch with one of the other mom's from my son's wrestling team. I didn't know her phone number or e-mail address, but I knew she had a Facebook account. No biggie. It worked like a charm. Then, one day when I was e-mailing myself a note from work, the mail bounced back stating that my home in box was full. Say WHAT? I knew I had a lot of junk mail waiting to be deleted, but. . .
When I got home and logged into my account, I was surprised to find friend request after friend request from people I had gone to high school with. The most surprising part was, most of them were from people who never would have given me the time of day thirty years ago. Although they might have thrown some food at me if I caught their eye. . .
The most amazing friend request of all was from the boy (now a man, of course. . .a DIVORCED man!) I had a crush on in seventh grade. Visions of people who go their separate ways after high school, then find each other again and wind up living happily ever after together during the second half of their lives danced merrily through my head for about fifteen seconds. Then I remembered what I look like and I snapped back to reality.
During those early days of my Facebook membership (you know, six months ago), I was unaware that the number of "friends" you have is like a status symbol or something. I thought the people who had sent me friend requests literally wanted to be my FRIENDS. Weird concept, I know. I don't consider myself dumb or even terribly naive. . .but I have some issues with confidence and self-worth (more about that later, too). I'm embarrassed to admit that I may have actually spent a little TOO much time thinking about whether to accept some of those friends requests. I may have even lost a little bit of sleep over it. Pathetic, huh?
I went so far as to discuss it with my beloved son. You'll be hearing a lot about him. He's seventeen, headed into his own senior year of high school and SO different from my teenaged self that I sometimes wonder where he came from. Had he gone to school with me, he would have been part of the crowd that made my life miserable. Then again, if he was the same person he is now, I'll bet he would have changed the dynamic of that crowd and come to my defense. He is a special and wonderful person and has turned my lifelong hatred of "jocks" on it's head.
Anyway. . .
I basically ranted at my son - why would I want to accept a friend request from someone who was not only NOT my friend, but was actually one of the people who was mean to me? I then proceeded to share with him a very rude and mean comment this one particular girl (now a woman) had made to me in ninth grade. I more or less told him that I would be deleting all friend requests but those from people who actually had been my friends. Then I went to work.
By the time I got home that night, I had calmed down and remembered it's more than thirty years later. We're all grown ups now and these people either don't remember how they treated me (whether it was ignoring me, being rude to me or going out of their way to hurt and humiliate me), or maybe they were even sorry or embarrassed at the way they had acted. And I accepted all of their requests.
Up until this time, I hadn't been spending much time online. Back in the day (late 90's through mid-2000's), the Internet provided me with a social life that I didn't need to leave home for while I spent time with my son. I have some of the same online friends that I "met" in 1997! But, once I bought my own home and my son started high school and sports, my Internet time had dwindled down to paying bills; I barely even checked my e-mail.
After wrestling season ended, my son started spending more time out of the house with his girlfriend and I found myself logging into Facebook more often. The reunion was only a couple of months away and there was lots of chatter about it. For the first time, I actually considered. . .(gulp). . .GOING.
Well, I think that's enough for my first blog entry. I actually am going somewhere with this. I have a story to tell and a long-term goal in mind and this blog is my lifeline. If it all goes as intended, I see a happy conclusion to my tale, five years in the making. I hope you'll join me - maybe even cheer me on.
Until tomorrow -
Goody
So, why am I here, in a stained old tee shirt and sweats, with bare feet and wet hair, sitting in front of my computer and starting a blog. . .instead of out, catching up with old friends - or at the very least hung over from last night's no-host social? Why do I cringe at the thought of even walking outside my front door, let alone going to Costco where I might run into a gaggle of in-town-for-the-weekend, giggling forty-something "girls" who might recognize me?
Where do I begin?
I hadn't even really given much thought to the fact that the reunion was coming. I was not terribly social in high school - at least not with the people who I thought counted at the time. . .but more about that later.
Anyway, a few months ago, I started a Facebook account because I needed to get in touch with one of the other mom's from my son's wrestling team. I didn't know her phone number or e-mail address, but I knew she had a Facebook account. No biggie. It worked like a charm. Then, one day when I was e-mailing myself a note from work, the mail bounced back stating that my home in box was full. Say WHAT? I knew I had a lot of junk mail waiting to be deleted, but. . .
When I got home and logged into my account, I was surprised to find friend request after friend request from people I had gone to high school with. The most surprising part was, most of them were from people who never would have given me the time of day thirty years ago. Although they might have thrown some food at me if I caught their eye. . .
The most amazing friend request of all was from the boy (now a man, of course. . .a DIVORCED man!) I had a crush on in seventh grade. Visions of people who go their separate ways after high school, then find each other again and wind up living happily ever after together during the second half of their lives danced merrily through my head for about fifteen seconds. Then I remembered what I look like and I snapped back to reality.
During those early days of my Facebook membership (you know, six months ago), I was unaware that the number of "friends" you have is like a status symbol or something. I thought the people who had sent me friend requests literally wanted to be my FRIENDS. Weird concept, I know. I don't consider myself dumb or even terribly naive. . .but I have some issues with confidence and self-worth (more about that later, too). I'm embarrassed to admit that I may have actually spent a little TOO much time thinking about whether to accept some of those friends requests. I may have even lost a little bit of sleep over it. Pathetic, huh?
I went so far as to discuss it with my beloved son. You'll be hearing a lot about him. He's seventeen, headed into his own senior year of high school and SO different from my teenaged self that I sometimes wonder where he came from. Had he gone to school with me, he would have been part of the crowd that made my life miserable. Then again, if he was the same person he is now, I'll bet he would have changed the dynamic of that crowd and come to my defense. He is a special and wonderful person and has turned my lifelong hatred of "jocks" on it's head.
Anyway. . .
I basically ranted at my son - why would I want to accept a friend request from someone who was not only NOT my friend, but was actually one of the people who was mean to me? I then proceeded to share with him a very rude and mean comment this one particular girl (now a woman) had made to me in ninth grade. I more or less told him that I would be deleting all friend requests but those from people who actually had been my friends. Then I went to work.
By the time I got home that night, I had calmed down and remembered it's more than thirty years later. We're all grown ups now and these people either don't remember how they treated me (whether it was ignoring me, being rude to me or going out of their way to hurt and humiliate me), or maybe they were even sorry or embarrassed at the way they had acted. And I accepted all of their requests.
Up until this time, I hadn't been spending much time online. Back in the day (late 90's through mid-2000's), the Internet provided me with a social life that I didn't need to leave home for while I spent time with my son. I have some of the same online friends that I "met" in 1997! But, once I bought my own home and my son started high school and sports, my Internet time had dwindled down to paying bills; I barely even checked my e-mail.
After wrestling season ended, my son started spending more time out of the house with his girlfriend and I found myself logging into Facebook more often. The reunion was only a couple of months away and there was lots of chatter about it. For the first time, I actually considered. . .(gulp). . .GOING.
Well, I think that's enough for my first blog entry. I actually am going somewhere with this. I have a story to tell and a long-term goal in mind and this blog is my lifeline. If it all goes as intended, I see a happy conclusion to my tale, five years in the making. I hope you'll join me - maybe even cheer me on.
Until tomorrow -
Goody
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)