It's that time again.
Every five or ten years, it happens. Some industrious types from your high school class get to work and begin organizing a reunion. It's like Leap Year, if Leap Year fills your heart with a tarry, black ball of anxious loathing.
My class, the esteemed Class of '85, is having our 30 year reunion this weekend. I'm still on the fence about going. As I told a friend a couple of days ago, it's a matter of the desire to see a few old classmates outweighing the dread of seeing the rest of them.
I blame some of my indifference, and hesitation to commit, on social media. Although I'm not on it 24/7, Facebook has become the water-cooler of my generation. We gather there, share weepy videos about dogs, commiserate with friends who are struggling and learn, courtesy of countless Buzzfeed quizzes, which Disney Princess or member of Entourage our classmates really are (I'm Mulan and Turtle, if you're wondering).
"Seeing" these people day in and day out, liking their statuses and wishing them Happy Birthday has lulled us into a false sense of familiarity. We have some idea of what they look like, who they partnered up with, how many kids they've had (if any), who lives and breathes Fox News and who has serious wood for Jon Stewart. We virtually celebrate with them during graduations and milestones and comment "yum!" and "recipe please!" on pictures of their meals.
We know who has married well, and who has married often. Who is living the single life and who is solo parenting. We see everyone's dogs and cats, and every single one of us knows which friend to mute during elections. Everybody knows who likes to celebrate Fridays with a martini (ahem) and who bikes 50 miles before the sun comes up. Everyone knows who's selling essential oils and LeVel and OMG yes we get it, you're a blogger. We know who found God, who found Bill W. and who found Lululemon.
We all know a little bit about a whole lot of people.
This internet-friendship makes sense for classmates who have ended up in far-flung corners of the country. Facebook, and other forms of social media, are a godsend in these cases.
But what about the rest of us, some of whom live blocks away from each other? A short drive down a highway or two? For a lot of us, we still depend on this odd invention to keep connected. It has convinced some of us into truly believing that despite the busyness of our lives, we're still in touch with one another.
Are we, though? Does seeing someone's cherry-picked existence through a screen on a computer or phone equal keeping in touch?
I've kept in real contact with a handful of former classmates. Some I see once or twice a year, a few more often than that. At my birthday last year, I was lucky enough to be surrounded by women I've called friends for almost 4 decades.
|Looking good, Billy Ray! Feeling good, Louis! (name that movie)|
And earlier this year a whole gaggle of us had an honest to goodness slumber party, complete with Shrinky Dinks, pizza from our hometown favorite and retro candy (I still have some chunks of Now and Laters in my teeth).
|I love these ladies!|
But sometimes, I think of people I walked down the same high school hallways with and think, "Ugh." Sorry. I'm being real here, folks. And yes, I'm fully aware that for every person who makes me cringe, there's someone else who is saying, "Yeah well I'd go but there's bound to be people like, Jenny there. Ugh." I get it. I understand it.
Growing up isn't all it's cracked up to be, but one of the best things is we now have the freedom to not be around people we don't like. I mean, yeah, some of us have coworkers who incite the Ugh Reaction but I'm talking about the days when our educational system forced us to be in confined spaces with assholes. And bullies, and bitchy mean girls. (again, in somebody's mind I am all three of those things so I'm not claiming sainthood here)
That's what I'm wrestling with. I've had several messages from old friends, asking if I'm going. One of them bought my freaking ticket (Chuck you are going to get a check from me in your mailbox, I'd cash it real quick if I were you). A few of my closest high school friends are getting a hotel room and are planning on bailing if the reunion is awful.
And I should mention, all of this- the reunion, the hotel rooms- is happening within 2 miles of my house. That, along with the paid-for ticket, should make my decision painless and easy: GO.
Then why am I feeling such animosity towards the whole thing?
Sure, part of it is insecurity. Thirty years is a long time and while nobody is going to look exactly the same, some of us look a whole lot different. You can tell who's been playing with the Botox, which ones have hair plugs and who spends their life in the gym. Flip side of that, you can also guess who has spent a good part of the past several decades giving birth, getting divorced and eating their feelings.
"My upper arms? Yes, I finally said 'screw it' and got Easter Ham implants. Want to touch them? They feel so real!"
But that's me thinking with my withered self-esteem. I had it both ways in high school: being completely ignored, and also, being on the receiving end of particularly cruel behavior. Neither one was fun. It's hard to decide which left the bigger mark.
I talked to my best friend from those days for almost 2 hours on the phone recently. It had been five years since we'd last talked. And within minutes of hearing her say "Hi Polly!" (our old nickname for each other...it involves Joe Piscopo so please don't ask) I was transformed back into that unfortunate teenage girl, curled up under the dining room table, the phone cord twisted and knotted and pulled taut from its perch on the wall.
Talking to her was like a balm on a wound I didn't know I had.
For both of us, high school wasn't a great time. Don't get me wrong, we had some fun. But we were always oddballs. Our humor was something so different from the norm, people kind of got it but more often than not, we were either made fun of, or dismissed altogether. Boys didn't like us, not "like" like us, you know? We were the ones they hung out with until one of the cute girls came along. And there we'd be, waiting, when that cute girl moved on, with our schtick and a pack of Virginia Slims.
We both agreed that had we done things right, we'd have ended up like Tina Fey and Amy Poehler. My favorite quote from the conversation: "What we should have done, is gotten on a bus for New York the day we graduated." I love you so much, my old friend. Dammit, why didn't we?
But one thing she said made me really think about high school, friendships and what it was like to be a teenager. We were talking about the cool kids, the it girls and where we fit into the puzzle that was the Class of 85. "One of my clearest memories is of Homecoming Coronation. Do you remember that?" she asked me. Coronation? Hell yes, I remembered it. I remembered not hearing my name called when they announced the members and I remembered rolling my eyes in the way only an angsty teen can roll them. And then she said:
"I just remember you and me sitting way up high in the bleachers of the gym, watching it, watching our classmates all dressed up and smiling and thinking 'Why the fuck are we even here?'"
And I guess that pretty much sums up my fears about this weekend and all that it entails. Will I be the one sitting in the rafters, looking around at everyone all dressed up and smiling, and thinking:
Why am I even here?
We shall see. I have at least 30 hours to mull it over some more. I'd love to hear some reunion stories, good and bad. Regale me, people!