I realized something astounding last night as I poured through my senior year-book with my brother. I didn’t feel ashamed, left out, awkward. . . Even my horrendous grad pic only inspired momentary revulsion.
I’ve done it. Without having a magnificent career or life, or suddenly figuring out how to do my make-up so that I am drop-dead gorgeous,. . . I’m okay with high school me.
Now you have to understand, this requires a great deal of re-interpretation. I was pretty much a pariah until senior year, when everyone kind of stops caring, and then I had this weird well known, not-cool, but okay to speak to exhistence. That’s kind of me still. But most of high school, and junior before that was (intro Psycho theme). Kind of bad. Socially.
But last year I went to the 20 year reunion and between several beers and my lovely friend Dawn. . . and my cleavage enhancing top. . . I felt acceptable. Of course, I was like Cinderella, back to pumpkin time for me.
I met with another high school bud earlier this week. He and I actually were friends, albeit closer after high school. We hung out with his best friend in high school and suddenly, it was like I had an actually life in high school! Or was connected in a way (I really wasn’t).
I dunno if I’ll go to this next reunion. Seems the class of ’93 had to overlap a few classes to get enough people to show up i.e. ’92-’96. I know that if I should up, and sit, with the right people, I’ll be someone to say hello (not so rhymy as “in like Flynn). It also reminds me that I am a number 2 (which is something I need to address in another blog). . . and that means I have been side-kick to some A-plus folks.