The High School Reunion
I'm at the Houston airport, having arrived four hours early for my flight, and it has just been delayed by an hour. I've got just over two hours left, so I decided to go for a restaurant meal and have a seat for a bit. I'm not sure if the delay is because of the storm that is going through or those computer problems someone just messaged me about. Ah, well. Whatever the reason, I'm here waiting for a bit more. At least pay for a wi-fi daypass now feels worth it. I've answered all of my email messages and gone through everything on Facebook. Quite a bit of Facebook activity, I must say!

That is to say that the reunion was a blast. There were only about twenty or so people there from the one hundred or so in the graduating class. It would have been nice to see more, but it was great just to see those I did. I didn't hear about the ten-year reunion until after the fact, so this was my first chance to catch up with people. See, I started kindergarten in this school system in 1975, and so did a fair number of other people. And most other people in the graduating class started well before high school. Whether they were friends, enemies, or frenemies, I grew up with these people. I've wondered about them all over the years.

Tria and I were nervous. She started out nervous, and I got there by the time we'd arrived. Her husband and I threatened to throw her out of the car and drive off, but we didn't. We walked in and looked at each other to say, "What in the hell are we doing?" But we walked down the hall and through the doors. We'd skipped the afternoon family time with horseshoes and dinner and had arrived at the time the dance was to begin. Everyone turned to look, and one woman yelled out, "Nels! Tria!" And people started coming up to us.

As is typical in such a situation, some people looked exactly the same, and some were unrecognizable. Right away, a guy with a shaven head and goatee stuck out his hand and said, "Nels!" Turns out it was the quarterback whose name was right before mine alphabetically. We spent years with lockers next to each other and together in some classes. We also played trombone for years and constantly switched first and second chair between us. I would have lost money on a bet to recognize him.

And that's how it went for the early part of the evening, just the standard questions and lots of hugs and handshakes and smiles. The "dance" started, though the DJ preferred a lot of country (no surprise) and Guns 'n Roses, who weren't even around until after graduation. We grabbed a couple of our CDs so we could dance to "West End Girls" and "Wild, Wild West." Someone put on "Just Like Heaven," which was perfection, at least for us. By the end of the night, we were all sitting apart in our groups just like in high school. No surprise, though. Our friends are our friends. We weren't there to make new ones but to find out what had happened to these people who were a part of our daily lives for so long.

The only really uncomfortable moment, for me, was when the wife of someone I hung out with seemed a little obsessed with finding photos of his ex-girlfriend in the yearbook. She was hoping she would be there to thank her for breaking up with him. This was the same wife who asked me if I had a PhD and was voted Most Likely to Succeed. I didn't wany anyone to think I was lording my education over anyone. Earning the degrees was the right move for me and no comment on anyone else, so I wasn't sure what to do with that one.

Another neat but odd moment came between Tria and the quarterback. He'd mentioned that someone had brought up some of the bad things that happened, typical high school stuff. And the quarterback said it was amazing Tria and I survied all the crap. That was a nice thing to hear. I mean, high school was typcial. We hated a lot of it. But we got through, and I wanted to see who else had gotten through, too.

Twenty years ago, a group of about a hundred teenagers finished high school in a very small town in south Texas. We had complained for years that all we wanted to do was get out, and it was time to do it. We were scared. I feel comfortable speaking for most of the group when I say that. It's one thing to talk about getting out and moving on, but it's another thing to do it. Three from our class didn't make it (one suicide, one car accident, one rare brain disease), but most of us did. I'm sure many of them lead lives that would drive me crazy, voting for candidates I find reprehensible, thinking things I could never think. And they would say the same about me. But here we are, or there we were, twenty years later, adults living our lives.

And that's kinda cool.
- posted by Nels @ 6:42 PM | | | Link |