|
|
|
|
A few months ago, my brother texted me something like “I redeemed some of my Southwest miles and here’s a link to the reservation I made for you, so you can go to your high school reunion.”
When I told a couple people about that text, they were offended on my behalf. Like, did he even ASK you if you wanted to go? And why the hell would anyone want to go to their high school reunion?
My answers: No. And it’s complicated.
We grew up in Washington, DC and both went to elite, private, Catholic high schools. His was all boys and mine was all girls (similar and connected to the ones mentioned in recent SCOTUS scandals). Because these schools are so small and all-consuming, you know everyone in your graduating class fairly well, and there’s this, I won't call it brainwashing, but it’s sort of like the military, where you survive a very intense experience with a small group of people, so once you’re out of Privileged Boot Camp, there’s a certain degree of affection for the institution that had such control over you during your formative years, and the people you shared those experiences with.
My brother still lives in DC, with his wife and kids. I’m pretty sure he goes to most of his high school reunion events, homecoming football games, alumni “smokers,” etc. That stuff is more important to him than it is to me.
So when he told me he got me a plane ticket, I recognized that he was being kind and generous, because he wants me to be able to spend more time with his kids, because he loves and excels at logistics and travel planning, and because he assumed I have the same loyalty to my high school that he does to his.
Except he got that last part wrong.
This weekend is my 30th high school reunion. I’m not going. I almost didn’t go to my 25th either. I was in town that weekend, but not for reunion. I’d spent the entire day at Children’s Hospital with a baby nephew fighting for his life. (He’s doing pretty good now, but that first year was terrifying for his parents.) My family practically pushed me out the door that night (“Get out of here and go to your reunion!”) so I rolled up to the middle-aged prom in the high school gym without a ticket. I crashed the party. Wearing jeans. It was kind of funny, and I was glad to have a break from family stuff.
Anyway, here’s a partial list of reasons I won't be at #30:
- No family members are in the hospital right now. #knockonwood
- I hate leaving my dog at this late stage in her life.
- Some people love airplane travel. I am not one of those people.
- I’m a completely different person in my 40s than I was in my teens and 20s. I didn’t like teens/20s me and I don’t particularly want to relive that part of my life unless I can start-the-fuck over.
- While some DC area private Catholic schools did a fantastic job of communicating with alumni during the shitshow that was the Kavanaugh hearings, what came out of my alma mater was tone deaf at best, so I'm not in a hurry to return to that campus.
- There were 57 or 59 people in my graduating class. Two of them are already dead. I'd be wondering who was next. And hating myself for thinking such dark thoughts.
- I already keep in touch with my closest high school friends. Seems like social media can take care of the rest.
- And what no one wants to admit: There will be unspoken pressure to perform, to show everyone else “I am successful! I have my shit together!” But I’m not and I don’t. At least, not according to "normal" standards. And I don't have the energy (or ability) to fake it.
To the handful of high school friends reading this: I genuinely hope you have a fantastic time this weekend. I hope you drink all the wine and take all the photos and laugh as hard as you can. And maybe by #35 I will have changed my mind – about airplanes, reunions, and myself – enough to join you. Maybe we can do it someplace stupid and fun, like Vegas?
Good stuff
For next week
The last few questions haven't gotten much traction, so let's try something different. Last week I looked down at myself and laughed because almost everything I was wearing came from organizing clients' Goodwill piles. All my "new" clothes are old. Which made me think about the oldest items of clothing I own, "vintage" and otherwise. Years ago in a Chicago thrift store I found a 1950s green satin opera coat (sort of like this one) that I wear maybe once a year. And I still have my school uniform skirt, which I got used the week before 7th grade. It probably carbon dates back to 1980. I can't fit into it, but at the same time I can't bring myself to get rid of it. What about you? What are the oldest items in your closet? And do you still wear them? As always, you can reply directly to this email and anything I share will be anonymous.
Pass it on
If you know someone who might like these emails, you can forward this to them, or they can subscribe here.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
