52 New Things -- Week 23 -- Twenty-Year Reunion

First off, the big question: how on earth can it be possible that I've been out of high school for twenty years? I mean, back when I was 18, I never thought about things like a twenty-year reunion or how my classmates might look twenty years after graduation. Oh, the ignorance of youth.

I've seen plenty of movies about reunions, all of which generally have the same theme: looking good is the best revenge (or something like that). Two things though: one, I had a pretty great high school experience and don't feel the need for revenge, and two, I've never quite grasped that whole "looking good" trend, so I wouldn't even know how to use it if I wanted to.

Nevertheless, I stopped by the mall on Friday, the day before the class reunion. It was on my way home from the library. I can't remember the last time I stepped into a mall -- probably because I generally hang out at places like the library instead -- but I popped into Dillard's and was taken aback by what I saw. There seemed to be just two options: 1) clothes for older ladies (I picked up one shirt and honestly said to myself, "Eldona Hornor (my high school BFF's mom) would just love this!" and 2) clothes for strippers. (The sign over that section said, "Juniors," but I didn't see a single shirt that wasn't see-through, so you tell me. You poor parents of teenagers.) 

Which of those two sections are thirty-eight-year-olds supposed to shop in? We're stuck between a rock and a hard place -- too young for elastic waistbands but too old to be strippers. I didn't even bother trying anything on. Leaving the mall, I remembered that people also freak out about their weight before reunions, but since I wasn't going to wear a see-through stripper shirt, I wasn't too worried. The only part of me I'm semi-ashamed of are my starting-to-look-like-bat-wings upper arms. I thought about doing some sort of tricep exercises, but I didn't figure they'd make much of a difference twenty-four hours before the event, so I didn't bother.

I'd say we look pretty darn good for as old as we are!

So anyway . . . the reunion itself was really fun! We toured our old school and relived happy memories. I'd forgotten the power of collective memory -- we instantly rebonded, sharing stories of what happened in this classroom or that one: a stapler flying through a window, paint thinner flicked into a teacher's coffee mug, a student running away from the teacher and out to the playground. Fourteen years together, from preschool through twelfth grade, gives you lots of options for reminiscing.

I heard a story about me being part of a three-person prank that I have absolutely no recollection of. Supposedly we snuck into the teacher's lounge and opened the door of the old-fashioned glass-bottle pop machine, popped the lid off a bottle, drained the contents, jimmied the cap back on, then closed the door and left an empty bottle to surprise the next teacher who came along and paid for a pop but got nothing but an empty bottle. How would I not remember being a part of that? I insisted it must have been someone else, but Bryant and Carrie both insisted I was bandit number three. Maybe I've wiped any wrong-doing from my memory in preparation for a career in politics someday?

Five hours later, I left Albert City, Iowa, feeling grateful. I know a lot of people can't imagine having a graduating class of just twenty-five people, but those guys were like brothers and sisters to me. You couldn't keep a secret from anyone, but you always had someone to talk to. We fought like siblings sometimes, but someone always had your back. For all I've seen in the world, it's pretty clear that our upbringing was unique. I wouldn't be who I am without that foundation. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Oh, and guess what? I didn't look at anyone's arms to see if they were bat-wingy or not. I don't know if anyone looked at mine. And really? It wouldn't matter if they did. I was blessed to have been raised up in a place that made me feel good about who I was, even when I didn't feel good about how I looked. I don't know how you ever repay that. How do you thank every teacher who encouraged you? How do you thank every towns-person who cheered at your game? How do you show gratitude to a community that has changed so much in twenty years that folks you used to know have moved away and you don't recognize many of those who took their place?

Volleyball, school play, and drill team...with all-purpose bangs.

I guess you just go with the "pay it forward" concept. Those people who lived in Albert City twenty years ago may not have any idea how it made my heart swell to hear them clap during our school musical, but I know, and I can be the loudest clapper in the auditorium next time I go to a school play. Some of my old teachers may not know if I'm successful or living under a bridge, but I can make a kid today feel great about herself. And if someday I'm on the wrong end of a high school prank, I'll remember that I was a kid once, too . . . even if I don't exactly remember the details of it.