Reunions

I received one of those forwarded emails from an old high school friend (maybe I should have said "a friend from years ago in high school?") regarding an upcoming high school reunion. They are starting the planning for next year - 'our' 40th.

Amazing.

I, of course, disregarded it immediately. I was part of a graduating class of many hundreds (over 1000?) right in the leading bubble of the baby boom. There were so many people crowding my high school hallways that I didn't know a soul. Or so it seemed at the time. Evidently I did know someone, though, or I wouldn't have this "old friend from high school" to contact me about a reunion. Still, a reunion with a cast of thousands? I don't think so.

I only recognize the names. I can't remember if I actually knew any of these people... or more disturbing, if any of these people would have known me. I think I was a quiet kid without a lot of 'star' quality who drifted through those years with very little impact. Certainly my lack of lasting contact with anyone from that time is a testament to that notion.

(Even so, I did get a notice for the 20th reunion, somehow. At that time they wanted to prepare a 'yearbook' sort of thing with notes from everyone about what they are doing now. I was going to write in to say "I am alive and well and living on an island in Alaska" but even that seemed like too much trouble with not enough interest... so I didn't. I still wonder how they got my name and address.)

I might have been friends with a few people in Choir. I probably talked to kids in my art class and knew a few of the people in various other classes. But I wasn't 'popular' and I don't think any of the people I knew would be the type to go to a reunion either. As far as I know, none of us is now famous. We probably wouldn't even be considered 'successful.' Honestly, I just don't remember anyone particularly.

But, back to this email that I got. It quoted one of the people in 'our' class as saying:

We were a part of changing generation, historical events, and a camaraderie that seems to have stuck. We were a part of a very special time.

Well. That's the part I missed. Yes, I technically grew up during the Viet Nam war, civil rights marches, the onset of rock and roll, the assassination of a president, the Cold War, and avocado green appliances. But I never wore a flower in my hair. I never marched for anything. I spent summers reading and being in a church youth group. I spent evenings with my family. I learned to love PG Wodehouse and Kurt Vonnegut Jr and chocolate parfaits in pretty little dessert glasses instead of politics and feminism and activism.

So I'll give this a miss. I have enough trouble with self-concept without going to a reunion to admit that mostly what I did with my life was indulge my sweet tooth and move around a lot. I only have bragging rights to two spectacular successes in my life - my son and my third marriage. (And there's just a hint of farce in that last bit, isn't there?)

OK, yes. I am being too hard on myself - call it literary license to make a blog point. Yes, I have reasonably respectable personal as well as professional resumes. But the classic reason to go to a reunion of a bunch of people you probably didn't know very well 40 years ago is one that just doesn't appeal to me: to boast. To impress someone. To see if you turned out better than they thought you would.

I'm sure it would be different if it had been a small group in the first place. But all I can clearly remember of high school is those crowded hallways full of strangers.

I just don't know how other people do it. But in any case, they'll have to do it without me.