Reunion...
The wonders of Myspace never cease...a friend from high school found me and reminded me (aside from the 1,002 flyers sent from the school and the two annoying emails) that there was a reunion this weekend. Now I went to a super small high school, graduating with twelve other people, so when they have reunions, it's a reunion with anyone who ever went to the school and eventually, I'm told as the older folks leave it just becomes a raging kegger. I say this all from second hand knowledge, because I've never been to a reunion and I probably never will.
I listen to people talk about their high school experiences and they sound like the stuff of movies...take the love of my life for instance, he had parties that are legends, he had girls that followed him around and basically acted as his harem and he was the captain of the football team in his high school forray. Me? I was just treated badly...and to this day, I'm not quite sure why--although I have my suspicions.
It's true that I wasn't a vegetarian, unlike 95% of my school community...and unlike the remaining 5%, I made no bones (hee, get it? no bones...ok, I'll stop) about eating meat in front of them. Oh and then there's that little thing about body fat. In high school, I was a rock...I played four varsity sports, I was athletic...but, I had breasts, hips and my period--all things my animal-loving,-not-eating compadres did not have. And apparently, the boys although they liked to look at said breasts, they liked the non-meating girls better...and that's ok, because those boys didn't like to use deodorant unless it came in "natural rock crystal form" and I might've said something about that at one point. Ok, Strike One against me.
It is also true that my dad was covered in tattoos, picked me up from school on his motorcycle, or when he picked me up in his car he was blaring (what is now) classic rock--not exactly the soothing pan flute sounds that were lilting their way out of other parental unit's cars. It's also true that he was slightly more amputated than most of the dads there, which led to me having to explain why my dad had a hook for an arm...I don't believe that they believed that my father had been a Marine...they seemed to think it happened in a bar fight. I didn't dissuade them of this after awhile and I heard many a rumor that made me giggle. All the things I thought were pretty cool, and all my friends growing up thought were cool, or at the very least fairly normal--apparently, these things just earmarked me as 'weird'. Strike Two.
I chose not to bother. I chose not to conform. When I liked punk music and they were all listening to the Grateful Dead, I kept listening to what I listened to. Instead of dressing like a Woodstock reject, I looked like "a public school kid" (that's a true quote). When girls went to the few dances that our school could muster up, I never bothered hoping that someone would ask me...and I made other plans with my friends who actually went to...dare I say it...the public school. And I guess my lack of trying signified that I didn't care (which was completely untrue, I cared)...and from then on out...things were different. Strike Three.
In concentrate, these things all make my whole experience seem horrible. But it's not the case. I wasn't picked on. I was pretty, that went a long way...except...because I was "white trash" I was expected to lay down in the hay bales and put out, while the other girls weren't harassed (which, I'm proud to say, I made it out of that school without kissing a single one of those boys). It was all much more subtle...the underlying sentiment of, "You don't belong here, so don't get comfy." I went to an awesome school...I learned things and experienced things that I would've never had the opportunity to do elsewhere.
I genuinely liked the people in my class...they put up with my quirks and the quirks of my family and 'outside' friends. The people in other classes were a little more brutal and a little quicker to judge. But even liking my class (the WHOLE twelve others), I knew on graduation day that I'd never go back there...I'd never silently let them judge me and that I'd find my own path, my own voice and that I would be happier that way.
And so I have done this--am doing this, it's a process right? While they've globetrotted (I almost said, "spending Daddy's money" but that would be pretty judgemental too, eh?), and had some of the craziest experiences you can possibly dream (for example, one person is an architect in Germany and has been commissioned to create a soon to be landmark...mark my words), I became me. I've had my high points, and my (self inflicted) lows but I'm me. Hips, boobs, quirks...I don't feel bad about it anymore.
So what I'm saying is...I'm damn glad I'm going to a picnic with Johnny and possibly to the beach rather than a stupid reunion. Boy, I sure can ramble huh?
I listen to people talk about their high school experiences and they sound like the stuff of movies...take the love of my life for instance, he had parties that are legends, he had girls that followed him around and basically acted as his harem and he was the captain of the football team in his high school forray. Me? I was just treated badly...and to this day, I'm not quite sure why--although I have my suspicions.
It's true that I wasn't a vegetarian, unlike 95% of my school community...and unlike the remaining 5%, I made no bones (hee, get it? no bones...ok, I'll stop) about eating meat in front of them. Oh and then there's that little thing about body fat. In high school, I was a rock...I played four varsity sports, I was athletic...but, I had breasts, hips and my period--all things my animal-loving,-not-eating compadres did not have. And apparently, the boys although they liked to look at said breasts, they liked the non-meating girls better...and that's ok, because those boys didn't like to use deodorant unless it came in "natural rock crystal form" and I might've said something about that at one point. Ok, Strike One against me.
It is also true that my dad was covered in tattoos, picked me up from school on his motorcycle, or when he picked me up in his car he was blaring (what is now) classic rock--not exactly the soothing pan flute sounds that were lilting their way out of other parental unit's cars. It's also true that he was slightly more amputated than most of the dads there, which led to me having to explain why my dad had a hook for an arm...I don't believe that they believed that my father had been a Marine...they seemed to think it happened in a bar fight. I didn't dissuade them of this after awhile and I heard many a rumor that made me giggle. All the things I thought were pretty cool, and all my friends growing up thought were cool, or at the very least fairly normal--apparently, these things just earmarked me as 'weird'. Strike Two.
I chose not to bother. I chose not to conform. When I liked punk music and they were all listening to the Grateful Dead, I kept listening to what I listened to. Instead of dressing like a Woodstock reject, I looked like "a public school kid" (that's a true quote). When girls went to the few dances that our school could muster up, I never bothered hoping that someone would ask me...and I made other plans with my friends who actually went to...dare I say it...the public school. And I guess my lack of trying signified that I didn't care (which was completely untrue, I cared)...and from then on out...things were different. Strike Three.
In concentrate, these things all make my whole experience seem horrible. But it's not the case. I wasn't picked on. I was pretty, that went a long way...except...because I was "white trash" I was expected to lay down in the hay bales and put out, while the other girls weren't harassed (which, I'm proud to say, I made it out of that school without kissing a single one of those boys). It was all much more subtle...the underlying sentiment of, "You don't belong here, so don't get comfy." I went to an awesome school...I learned things and experienced things that I would've never had the opportunity to do elsewhere.
I genuinely liked the people in my class...they put up with my quirks and the quirks of my family and 'outside' friends. The people in other classes were a little more brutal and a little quicker to judge. But even liking my class (the WHOLE twelve others), I knew on graduation day that I'd never go back there...I'd never silently let them judge me and that I'd find my own path, my own voice and that I would be happier that way.
And so I have done this--am doing this, it's a process right? While they've globetrotted (I almost said, "spending Daddy's money" but that would be pretty judgemental too, eh?), and had some of the craziest experiences you can possibly dream (for example, one person is an architect in Germany and has been commissioned to create a soon to be landmark...mark my words), I became me. I've had my high points, and my (self inflicted) lows but I'm me. Hips, boobs, quirks...I don't feel bad about it anymore.
So what I'm saying is...I'm damn glad I'm going to a picnic with Johnny and possibly to the beach rather than a stupid reunion. Boy, I sure can ramble huh?
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