My high school reunion is fast approaching. There is no way in hell I’m going.
The reasons are obvious: the cringing awkwardness, the burning mortification of being reacquainted with people you could barely stand to look at decades ago, the screaming wish to not be there, the horror, the horror.
I’ve skipped all of my high school reunions and have no plans to attend future ones. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoyed a coterie of close friends in high school, not to mention several satellite buddies and many gal pals. I was popular with all kinds, even though I generally abhorred the conceited, pathetically delusional jocks and cheerleaders.
I had the time of my life with those friends, especially my best friend, Ian. The two of us even went to the same college, where he met his future wife, gleaned new interests (like money), then our paths began to diverge.
We were doomed to lose touch. By late college and beyond he’d become something of a boor, intellectually incurious, cerebrally inert. His cultural immaturity, which manifested itself as an irrational hostility towards the arts, books, fine food and world travel, made him a hopeless philistine, a materialist contented with easy mediocrity and smug conventionalism. (I can only imagine how he’d deem my very different life.) Except for wine, women and song, so to speak, we had zip in common.
It’s a shame. We’ve exchanged occasional emails over the years, but nothing’s clicked. We are different people, only vaguely relatable, and that happens. Still, if there’s one person I’d go to a high school reunion with, it’d be him.
But that won’t happen. From what I’ve gathered, I think he’s also boycotted the reunions, those sad, saggy assemblies of forced jollity and shattered dreams. Now, I know oodles of people genuinely enjoy these things, going so far as to head organizing committees and track down fellow alumni and all that crap.
What a dismal business. High school was mostly rotten, with the exception of my friends and our extramural activities (huh-hum), the rock bands I played in, and my junior year English teacher, who taught me about 80 percent of what I know about art, life and literature. Recently I wrote this about those days:
“My California high school was a miasma of mediocrity: Clorox-white, suburban, middle-class, filled with dullards and animated by cliquey teen clichés — jocks, stoners, nerds, punks, cheerleaders — ‘The Breakfast Club’ writ eye-rollingly real. This callow pimple-verse was of course dominated by the chest-thumping jocks, those entitled, vainglorious meatheads, who actually believed they were special and that anyone but them gave one goddam about a Friday night football game.”
I was an angry teen, see, which is scarcely uncommon. And it sounds like I hold a grudge, which I kind of do. Yet I’m not blaming anyone for my misery. People are who they are, and who they are as teenagers isn’t necessarily who they become.
But all I know are the characters I knew in high school. And yet maybe that bullying jerk is a benevolent, cherub-cheeked pastor now. And maybe that overbearing chirpy cheerleader is an amazing New York sculptor. Could be.
I’m not chancing it.
GNASHING. 
Agree I haven’t gone to any of mine either–always said I never would and have stayed true to it. My class was smaller than 200 people–many of the folks I saw from K-12 every day so mostly felt like I never wanted to see them again except for my small group of friends–we duly grew apart and lost touch as well. Many classmates recognize me though and it is duly awkward. Just before the 20 year, after I voted, and checked out — this woman came up to me and said: I hear you’re not going to the reunion. And I said no, I had dear friends coming to visit that weekend from New York/college (true). Walking out my dad was like: Who was that? — “No idea I think someone from my reunion committee.” Weirdly, I connected with a grade school classmate/his dad my 5th grade teacher, he and I both worked in the same building for awhile. He went to the 20th and sent me photos but mostly I had to look for the name tags–I could not recognize anyone! He moved out of state but went to the 30th but came to see us before (his mom still lives in our town), and I was like that’s right tonight’s the party…he stayed for tea then headed over there, and told me later via email some folks including a former friend were asking for me–which I found ironic. Folks do grow apart and take different directions, but I have to say over the years people I have run into randomly–are mostly friendly and I try to recognize voices and generally be nice/generic–like how’s the family and then keep it short and sweet–since they have no clue about me and that is fine. My high school self is long gone but I think she would approve!
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Hi Dena! Thank you for that great response. I find it hilarious that you couldn’t recognize anyone without looking at their name tags. I just think these reunions are horror shows, something I have no interest and no business going to!
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Yes well it was the 80’s -so a lot of hair spray pouf/hair height on the ladies. Some of the guys less hair/more gut although I did vaguely recognize a couple of folks/needed the name tags to make sure. Sadly in person I don’t do much better–former close friend once cornered me in the bank to introduce her hubby/baby son–she dyed her hair blonde so at first I thought it was her younger sister/who was blonde back in the day…but then I recognized her voice! It was all very weird–and also in my defense I am vision impaired. PS I never did the hairspray/pouf hair so I guess perhaps that is why folks recognize me…basically have the same style just shorter/same color, etc.
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