WHO INVITED THE OLD PEOPLE TO MY REUNION?

As my 50^th high school reunion was rapidly approaching I reluctantly read through the enthusiastic posts on the Facebook group thingy. “I’m counting down the days!”, “oooh can’t wait!”, “sounds like so much fun!”, “send your money in now!”.

You want me to go to a FIFTIETH reunion? You can’t make me. Who do these people think they are? Also… who are these people?

I don’t like them. Them meaning high school reunions, not the people I don’t know. C’mon, I made it to my 10^th, subsequently showed up at my 20^th, plus dropped in on my 30^th…

…I think that’s been quite enough.

FRosh OUT OF WATER

Back in 1968 we moved from city to suburb… a far cry from the Southside of Chicago. Having graduated the eighth grade with a total of fifty+ students, walking into a school filled with far more than 2000 teenagers that first day must have been chaotic. And terrifying.

And I didn’t know a soul.

But when those upper class jokesters strongly advised me to take the elevator I am quite pleased to say I did not fall for that stunt. They thought they had an unsuspecting novice, but I showed them by summoning my urban street smarts.

The first person I met was my locker partner… clearly a member of the clique labeled as “greasers”. He seemed nice enough, but not who I was expecting to share that locked container with for four years.

And, on day one, when it was time to find a seat in the cafeteria I approached a kind-looking girl and perkily introduced myself, “Hi, I’m a freshman, may I sit with you?”. Her friendly response, “I’m a JUNIOR.” I guess that was a hard pass.

Not to worry, I quickly made friends, found my way into the theatre and dance goings-on and graduated alongside hundreds of fellow students. Although I still have a bone to pick with whomever was in charge of proofreading names both spoken aloud at the ceremony and printed for posterity on my diploma. MUNN IS NOT MY MIDDLE NAME!

Since graduating, it’s three dear friends I have remained close with all these years later. What’s more, I’ve kept a number of others under surveillance. Facebook.

As far as reunions…

THEY WILL SIZE. YOU. UP.

Checking out old flames and getting wind of exaggerated accomplishments – that was the 10th reunion in a nutshell.  And aside from pointing out those I’ve gossiped about to my spouse and the “popular” kids still hanging together… there were people who had birthed children!

One of my classmates found success as a paramedic. Were it not for the fact that there was an over-served situation in the bathroom and need for medical assistance he never would have made it to the gathering. With a quick how-you-been, he entered the building, took charge of the situation and loaded our fellow schoolmate into his ambulance. We bid him a sentimental see ya in ten years. 

(Note: schoolmate survived).

Not much else to report, except for an old boyfriend asking my husband if he wanted to smoke some grass in the alley. People looked pretty much the same. So far so good.

THE DOG ATE MY HOMEWORK

I showed up at my 20th totally unprepared. It was like I hadn’t read the book, didn’t take notes or even bother to attend the study group. I’m talking about my yearbook.

There were a number of people asking if my parents still lived in the same house, while others chatted about shared classroom anecdotes I pretended to recall. You were at my house? And by the way… who are you? 

And how about the guy I apparently dated? (For my sake I was hoping it was only a fleeting relationship).

Ultimately I put two and two together. Two days later. Well his name-tag said Richard instead of Ricky so how was I supposed to know??

It was brain fart after brain fart. I was out-of-my-body, flustered and anxious to get home, open my 1972 Spectrum and jog some memories. For the next week I scoured that yearbook from front to back hoping to suss-out some recollections. And that’s when I pieced together conversation after conversation. Oooooo – that’s who that was. 

Reviving those memories left me feeling relieved and, likewise, quite melancholic. If only I had done some preliminary work by reading up on who’s-who and what-was-what back in the day… if only. 

It was then and there I vowed never to subject myself to future HS reunions.

POP QUIZ

When my 30th was closing in, a quick call to my dear friend offered up the chance to mutually turn up our noses. No way. Not in a million years. AS IF.

Meanwhile, we decided to make an appearance. 

The morning of.

Recalling my experience ten years prior, I immediately dug out the “book”. And with no time to lose tried to cram all four-years-worth into my brain. But beyond the six people I knew would be there (and would recognize) it was a longshot that I had retained any of my so-called cramming.

Upon arrival it was blatantly clear I hadn’t succeeded in remembering a thing from my research. Hardly recognized a soul… who were these old people? So I improvised. And pretended. And smiled.

Talking about old times I casually mentioned that I never consumed alcohol, ingested drugs or even glimpsed it being offered during high school; confidently airing my assumption that most of us were hand-in-hand in that regard. Apparently not… as others were high every day of senior year, while I was ummmmm… high on life?

What’s more, there was a skeptical guy asking if I had actually made out with the eagerly grinning fellow he was standing next to. I responded with a conclusive, “er, um, hnn ”… I did not remember and I did not know who the heck he was.

And then, much later, I flashed back to the Richard/Ricky situation at my 20^th. Same person. Brain fart.

But more importantly – how did everyone look?

I know, I know, none of us are getting any younger. But some… perhaps in disguise?

Hairs had receded or ceased to function. The breadth of body parts had spread. And the popular jock, cutie patootie? Patootie no more. On the flip side, I was thrilled to see that my geeky biology lab partner was looking gooood. He was a nuclear physicist or some such thing. Bravo.

Dancing with some old friends was fun, but no more reunions for me. I’ve seen enough of all those other people… especially the ‘I haven’t a clue who you are’ types. 

you haven’t changed a bit!?

I did not attend the 40th. Saw the pictures. And all I wanted to say was – IDENTIFY YOURSELF.

The 50th? Not on your life. Saw pictures. Shared aforementioned pictures with my three besties. And once we assured ourselves that mostly everyone looked waaaay older (than us), we turned our attention to putting names to faces. Boy was it a struggle. And boy did lots of the guys look mature, old… UNRECOGNIZABLE. You know I’m right. Forgive me.

Future high school reunions? I think not. Not for me. No thank you. Don’t hold your breath. When hell freezes over. I can’t.

But a gathering of my eighth grade school chums? So much FUN!

We were awkward and naturally there were cliques. Although atypical – I loved that period of time. The memories from those days are clear as a bell and since there were only 50+ of us we knew one another quite well. Which means I would obviously, without doubt, probably remember EVERYBODY!

Including who I dated and made out with. 😉

Now that’s a reunion I would enthusiastically attend.