30th Reunion

30th Reunion

My life moving forward and my mind distracted, I was stopped cold by an invitation on my Facebook page. It was time for my 30th high school reunion. Instantly, my mind paged back through the years to bittersweet memories of accomplishments, setbacks, and the faces that were there to witness all of it. Though three decades have passed since I sat on that stage with them, I still see them clearly, no yearbook needed. More than that, I still see me clearly as I was back then. I see me standing at my locker, afraid to walk into the cafeteria that was our senior class homeroom. I see my uncertainty for what life had in store for me and how clueless I was to think I could ever underestimate my strength to overcome all of it. So unconnected I was to those in that room, that they had no idea how fragile I indeed was to their arrows. Such a liar I was that I did not even tell my friends or family how much I needed help, protection, and understanding. I stood alone, no matter who stood next to me. I stood broken, no matter who launched the attack or offered kindness.

Skipping any of the past reunions, I was somehow drawn to this one. I wanted to see if the boys everyone wanted to see were still the same. Did their eyes still carry the unyielding confidence many found so attractive? Has it softened with age? Has their stare acquired a hint of humility or even, dare I hope, contrition? I also wonder about the girls I used to know. So beautiful were they that I felt unsightly standing next to them. My hair didn't shine like Tiffany's. I wasn't as pretty as Penny. I didn't have the same confidence as Heather, or as smart as Erin. I was so busy adding up everyone else's virtues and attributes that I neglected to value my own. I forgot to value myself. It was not until I left that school, moved away from that place, and got all of their insults out of my head that I finally looked myself in the mirror and saw who I truly was. It was not until I granted myself value that I stopped allowing others to diminish me.

So why go back, why see them if the damage left still had a scar? I would answer that the scar, though visible, did not define me as it once did. No matter what our current titles are: mom, dad, lawyer, doctor, or any of the letters that may follow our names, something is lasting about our connection with those few who knew us when. It is most likely the reason some memories from that time of our lives still sting. Though we may pride ourselves at how far we've come, we will always have a connection to those who knew us before we had boobs, before we needed to shave. And we will ever wonder who they are now.