20 years...
Last night was my 20 year high school reunion.
I was begged to go by a rather recently reacquainted friend. To guarantee my going she bought my ticket. 85 beans (I, of course, paid her back).
After buying a new shirt with my very talented assistant, I cleaned up and received final prepping by said assistant. I was off.
Buffet dinner at 7, then dancing and schmoozing at 8 'til 12, all taking place at the Hiller Aviation Museum. All pretty standard.
Strangely enough, after 2 weeks of dreading and whining about the evening, I arrived at the entrance unusually calm. Strolled in, met my friend, put on the badge, then quickly but thoroughly scanned the room. I did not recognize a single person. Rescanned, but still no jarring of the cranium. Then my friend turned to me and said, "I don't see anybody I know. They all look so old. Are we at the right place?" Staring at the boundless mass of unfamiliar faces I quietly said, "Honestly, do I look that old?" Quickly my friend said "No. Not at all. Do I?" I uttered, "No. Not even close." That turned out to be the theme for the evening.
After standing at the entrance for a minute or two I suddenly realized my year(or 2) of whining and complaining about how old I was washed away in one simple viewing of a hall full of grey-haired, over-weight, half-drunk, drained-of-life zombies trying to sell their life's story to each other.
It was the next 3 hours of small-talk that completed my 20 year quest to understand my disdain of high school. I must have heard "And here are my 3 kids, Tiffy, Timmy, and Tammy" fifty times. I must have heard "Yeah, I'm an account manager at Fat Cat Money Sucking Middle-man Insurance Company" about twenty-five times. It was the most concentrated dose of "status-quo lifestyle" I've ever been exposed to. It was with this that I realized my dislike of high school is not the standard "I'm a geek and no one understands me" or "Kids are always making fun of me" or "I just don't fit in". It was feeling that people, in general, are pretty afraid to try anything different and pretty quick to criticize those who do. It was the next 20 years that turned that feeling into the bitter, foul-mouthed, SUV hating, childless person I am today.
I did see a couple people that I've see around town* that were glad to see me again, as I was them.
Another hour and a half of standing outside, hitting on the Lung Dummies (smoking), I said good-bye to my friend and went home.
The sentences going thru my head during the drive home were simple: "I'm glad I avoid status-quo lifestyle. I'm glad to embrace things that go in the *opposite* direction of normalcy. I'm glad to be around people who do the same."
It was a good night. Not for what its intentions were, but for what I learned.
*I moved back to the town I grew up in. It's a small, tight town where it's pretty easy to see a familiar face.
...
I was begged to go by a rather recently reacquainted friend. To guarantee my going she bought my ticket. 85 beans (I, of course, paid her back).
After buying a new shirt with my very talented assistant, I cleaned up and received final prepping by said assistant. I was off.
Buffet dinner at 7, then dancing and schmoozing at 8 'til 12, all taking place at the Hiller Aviation Museum. All pretty standard.
Strangely enough, after 2 weeks of dreading and whining about the evening, I arrived at the entrance unusually calm. Strolled in, met my friend, put on the badge, then quickly but thoroughly scanned the room. I did not recognize a single person. Rescanned, but still no jarring of the cranium. Then my friend turned to me and said, "I don't see anybody I know. They all look so old. Are we at the right place?" Staring at the boundless mass of unfamiliar faces I quietly said, "Honestly, do I look that old?" Quickly my friend said "No. Not at all. Do I?" I uttered, "No. Not even close." That turned out to be the theme for the evening.
After standing at the entrance for a minute or two I suddenly realized my year(or 2) of whining and complaining about how old I was washed away in one simple viewing of a hall full of grey-haired, over-weight, half-drunk, drained-of-life zombies trying to sell their life's story to each other.
It was the next 3 hours of small-talk that completed my 20 year quest to understand my disdain of high school. I must have heard "And here are my 3 kids, Tiffy, Timmy, and Tammy" fifty times. I must have heard "Yeah, I'm an account manager at Fat Cat Money Sucking Middle-man Insurance Company" about twenty-five times. It was the most concentrated dose of "status-quo lifestyle" I've ever been exposed to. It was with this that I realized my dislike of high school is not the standard "I'm a geek and no one understands me" or "Kids are always making fun of me" or "I just don't fit in". It was feeling that people, in general, are pretty afraid to try anything different and pretty quick to criticize those who do. It was the next 20 years that turned that feeling into the bitter, foul-mouthed, SUV hating, childless person I am today.
I did see a couple people that I've see around town* that were glad to see me again, as I was them.
Another hour and a half of standing outside, hitting on the Lung Dummies (smoking), I said good-bye to my friend and went home.
The sentences going thru my head during the drive home were simple: "I'm glad I avoid status-quo lifestyle. I'm glad to embrace things that go in the *opposite* direction of normalcy. I'm glad to be around people who do the same."
It was a good night. Not for what its intentions were, but for what I learned.
*I moved back to the town I grew up in. It's a small, tight town where it's pretty easy to see a familiar face.
...