My twentieth year high school reunion is this weekend, and it brings about a mixed bag of feelings. On one hand, I am happy to not be going. Glancing over the list of people who will be attending, there are only a few that I remember. The fact that a good portion of my classmates’ names, coupled with their Facebook photo, leaves me completely stumped as to who they were just makes me feel old. Twenty years since I graduated is enough to make me feel my age, but add to that memory loss…well it’s all downhill from here.
Also, I wasn’t a big high school fan. Not that I had a horrible experience during those years, but I’m just indifferent to that whole time in my life. My husband has scores of memorable tales that he relates to me often. My reaction to high school is a mere shrug of the shoulder. What happened during high school that was worth reliving?
So I began reminiscing.
I loved dance class. Mrs. Stanton’s sharp voice (for a diminutive woman she could sure belt it out) directing us to walk, prance and glide across the gym tickles my memories. I learned how to gracefully sit on the floor and then stand back up without using my hands…a useful skill. I remember lying on the floor with my friends and stretching our legs. When our legs trembled slightly it caused us to dissolve in uncontrollable giggling.
High school is where I fell in love…with literature and writing. My passion for writing exploded in Mr. Davenport’s class. One of our assignments was to read a piece of our work in front of the class. I wrote a fictional story about a nun and a priest. It was a symbolic depiction of my struggle between becoming a nun and having to give up marriage and motherhood. Others broke down in tears while reading theirs, and subsequently got out of reading it. I thought about faking it and letting out a sob or two. Wouldn’t that have been a jaw dropper? But in the end, I had to read it. It was my first experience with sharing the inner rumblings of my imagination with others. An experience I became obsessed with.
I also fell in “love” with a boy across the crowded B building locker area. I remember waiting breathlessly for a glimpse of…of…I can’t even remember his name. He was a tall, dark-haired young man, with a gangly girlfriend. I remember thinking he would wake up and find me more appealing compared to her awkward and ungainly stature. Afterall, I did know how to sit without using my hands…it never happened.
Ah, the pain of young love. My friend fell down C building stairs while looking back at a guy she liked, and then moments later ran into a pole because of that same guy. High school love is a dangerous thing.
There are other scattered snapshots of high school.
My friend posing as a question mark after we learned about schizophrenia in psychology. Our teacher called us Frick and Frack and we were. The thought of her makes me smile.
A large group of us (and a balloon bouquet) crowding into my friend’s green VW bug at lunchtime. There were lots of laughter and giggling going around that day.
And more come to mind. But that is when it hit me, and made me long to attend the reunion. The laughter shared with friends is what’s worth reliving. And though I can’t make the reunion, I can share that laughter. So if we shared a moment together that made you chuckle, post it in the comments so we can smile once again.