I graduated high school twenty years ago this year, which means that I have a 20 year reunion coming up in August. It’s an interesting feeling, the idea of seeing those people again. But then I’m struck by a thought; I didn’t see most of those people IN high school.
It wasn’t a horribly large high school by today’s standards: roughly 3400 total student, 637ish seniors, but it was sizable and swelling at the seams. One entire baseball diamond had already been converted to blacktop to hold a dozen barracks-style portables and even those were beginning to get full. But that’s not really the reason I didn’t talk with most of my graduating class, or at least I don’t think it was.
Either way, I spent a lot of time with the band. Marching, Orchestra, Symphonic, you name it; thems wuz my peeps.
We weren’t as age clique intensive as some of the other activities. I’m good friend with 7 years of graduates, ranging from the class of 88 through the class of 94. Those are the people I spent trips with, went on overnighters with, spent countless hours trapped in busses with. Even the people I learned to change into our marching uniforms with while avoiding getting a 14 year old chubby from all the girls in their underwear around me.
I look through the photos on the website of people now, hoping for a clue as to who they are and I find myself even more confused than before. Not only did I not talk to these people when I was in high school, but everyone looks freaking different now and half of them have different last names.
I mean seriously, back in high school I looked like this:
Look at me, just a raving jackass of 17 years old. Ready to do anything for a laugh, with a vaguely glassy and somewhat stupid look in my eye.
But that was 20 years ago. I’m 37 now. I’m a grown man. I look like this:
Well anyway I suspect a great deal of the evening will be spent saying, “Who the f$ck are you,” while handing out Vote Simpson/Hemstead propaganda.
Yes, you’re Goddamned right I’m bringing buttons and stickers and shirts.