Either Hollywood has been lying for years or Memorial High School’s Class of 1993 has no sense of drama!



Saturday night was Salomé’s 10 Year High School Reunion and I was fully expecting to enjoy some of the stereotypical dramatics I’ve seen in the movies. A redeeming fight between the jock and the geek; indiscretions in the bathroom; shocking revelations on the dance floor; long-lost love found in the parking lot. Something! Instead, it was a night of old friends and acquaintances, many of whom hadn’t seen each other in a while, enjoying a rare night out together. I’m sure there were some intense moments being played out in the room but nothing that broke out into the public view.

Salomé and Andrea had a good time, while Frank and I kept the bartender busy, played photographer when needed and shook hands with people whose names I’ve mostly forgotten. It was a lot of fun – especially for the simple fact that it was a night out with adults, with no curfew, and the kids were safe at home with Grandpa and Abba – but it was a little anti-climactic. Damn you, John Hughes!

The night made me vaguely wistful about my own reunion. Well, maybe not wistful, as I likely wouldn’t go if they had one, but it got me to wondering what happened to many of my own classmates. From both high schools. It’s been 16 years (HOLY SHIT!) since I graduated from Lakeland High School – where I arrived against my will from Mt. Vernon High School in the last few months of my Junior year – and I’ve been in touch with all of two people in the past ten years, one from each school, maintaining the barest of contact with each. I don’t have a yearbook from either school and doubt I’d even recognize anyone if I passed them on the street today. There’s a handful I’d be curious about, how their lives turned out, whether or not they’d successfully pursued their teenage dreams, and in Mt. Vernon’s case, whether they’d escaped being the statistics many of us were expected to be.

Thing is, I’d probably be happier just hearing about it secondhand than dealing with the awkward attempts at reconnecting to a mostly forgotten past. I’m pretty hardcore about “out of sight, out of mind” and, once enough time passes, just plain out of my life.

That’s probably a bad thing but it’s how it’s played out every time there’s a significant shift in my life. That whole “Started over more times barefoot than clothed” thing, I guess.

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