High School Reunion

What is it about those four years that compels us to reunite every ten years in a place we couldn’t wait to escape while there? A place where, at least for me, all physical evidence points to two facts: 1) I had hair like Farrah Fawcett. And 2) Anytime there was a camera around I had a massive pimple on my chin, nose, forehead or all of the above. I believe there was one stubborn piece of acne that surfaced before the Algebra regents exam in 1981 and didn’t subside until after a Chemistry lab class in 1983.

We work jobs for more than four years and don’t feel the need to congregate with co-workers every decade. College reunions don’t create the fervor of a high school event, but I guess spending an evening reminiscing about how we slept through sophomore year would not be all that titillating.

No, high schools reign and I’ve got the big twenty-year reunion rapidly approaching. I have mixed emotions about attending. Sure, I’d like to see people I haven’t seen in many years but I’m plagued with questions and insecurities (I blame the nuns). What if no one remembers me? What if they do? What if my greatest accomplishment since then is that I still have my Farrah hair?

Maybe it’s not the showcase I’m building it in to. Perhaps it will be a night of looking back to a simpler time and saying, “we made it” despite the predictions of several guidance counselors. Yes, we’ve all crossed over into adulthood. We know this because we’ve passed what sociologist refer to as the “grownups litmus test” that is, we no longer enjoy getting dizzy and our fathers find it acceptable to tell us dirty jokes.

I suppose the whole thing has caused me to reflect on my life and the decisions I’ve made thus far. We leave high school with the entire world at our finger tips -then everyday life sets in and you know what, we still have the entire world at our finger tips! That’s right, no whining here. Sure I’ve made some mistakes (cow tipping in Danbury, CT.), questionable choices (taking a year off to work on my tan) and utterly stupid moves (getting a job). In the end, I’m the one who evaluates my success or failure. And considering I wake up every morning next to the same beautiful girl I escorted to the senior prom and I hide in the bathroom from the three beautiful daughters we have, I declare….success!

Granted, I’m not living the life that I scripted back in high school. There have been several re-writes and the editing is ongoing. But how could a seventeen year old anticipate the joys of home ownership, taxation and potty training? No one likes to know the ending of a book before they read it. Life is the same way. I embrace every detour and every bump in the road as a great excuse to drink beer.

So maybe I’ll never write the Great American Novel and I know I’ll never pitch game seven of the World Series and that’s OK. Laura and I will attend our reunion this summer and people will say “that pimple faced kid did alright for himself.” Now if I could just teach one of my daughters to throw a curve ball,
there may be a game seven in my future.

Sean Ellis attended St.John the Baptist High School and eagerly awaits the institution of a Hair Hall of Fame.