I'm going back just so I can be petty.
It's the year of the dreaded high school reunion. I can't believe I'm paying this much money to go spend two evenings catching up with people I didn't want to be around the first time.
You have to understand that, for me, public education was equivalent to emotional abuse. As part of the reunion, a "memory book" is being made. Everyone is supposed to either fill out the little form that was mailed with the reunion paperwork or do their own 8.5" x 11" page of catching up on the last ten years. One of the questions on the page was "What's your favorite high school memory?" I thought about this long and hard.
Sometime in eleventh grade, several of us from the Yearbook class were doing some deadly dull duty at a football game and hanging out at a table together. One of us, a girl who'd gone out of her way to pick at me every time she saw me since we ended up in our first shared class in eight grade, made some kind of an off-color joke. It was the first time in my memory that she'd made a joke in my presence, and I wasn't the butt of it. And I realized that someone other than me was finally growing up.
At this point, I realized I would not be filling out the pre-made form.
About six weeks ago, I took my first crack at the bio, pulling out all my writing and yearbook experience. I wrote long and I wrote funny, with the expectation of putting a picture on the page and trimming the content for length. Also, the first draft was not polite, nor did I expect it to be. The second draft wasn't much better. The third was approaching publishable. Then I put it away for six weeks so I could look at it again with fresh eyes and make sure it wasn't as offensive as I feel is really deserved.
I played with a picture today, got it doctored up to where it looks good in black and white, and slapped it into the layout. Then I started trimming again. I have a draft now. I'll post it in a little bit for proofreading and comments.
A friend of mine from high school and I were talking, oh, almost two years ago, now. She said she'd resolved only to go to the reunion if she was in a place in her life were she could look at all the people who'd looked down at her during high school and feel that she was better than all of them. Then she asked me if this was petty. I said, "Petty? Yeah. Is there something wrong with this? Hell no."
I made that same resolution, oh, probably well before I ever graduated high school. It's an extension of the thought that got me through high school, and it can really be attributed to my eighth grade science teacher, Mr. Heilman. (Remind me to tell you about Mr. Heilman sometime).
After some not-particularly-unusual cruelty had me in tears in his class, he pulled me aside. He pointed to the boys who'd been harassing me. "Look at them," he said. I did. "Think about where they'll be in five years." He paused. "Now think about where you'll be in five years."
I did. For the first time, I really did. And it might have been cold comfort, but it got me through things I don't think I'd have gotten through, otherwise. And now that I've come out the other side, yeah, I'm going to this reunion so I can gloat.
Not that I necessarily will gloat, understand. But I want to know that I can, and to be really honest, I want them to know that I can, too. Even if I never say anything. I have a great apartment, a job I love, good friends, my jati, and romantic prospects of several flavors. I didn't peak in high school like so many of those kids did. I was just getting started.
You have to understand that, for me, public education was equivalent to emotional abuse. As part of the reunion, a "memory book" is being made. Everyone is supposed to either fill out the little form that was mailed with the reunion paperwork or do their own 8.5" x 11" page of catching up on the last ten years. One of the questions on the page was "What's your favorite high school memory?" I thought about this long and hard.
Sometime in eleventh grade, several of us from the Yearbook class were doing some deadly dull duty at a football game and hanging out at a table together. One of us, a girl who'd gone out of her way to pick at me every time she saw me since we ended up in our first shared class in eight grade, made some kind of an off-color joke. It was the first time in my memory that she'd made a joke in my presence, and I wasn't the butt of it. And I realized that someone other than me was finally growing up.
At this point, I realized I would not be filling out the pre-made form.
About six weeks ago, I took my first crack at the bio, pulling out all my writing and yearbook experience. I wrote long and I wrote funny, with the expectation of putting a picture on the page and trimming the content for length. Also, the first draft was not polite, nor did I expect it to be. The second draft wasn't much better. The third was approaching publishable. Then I put it away for six weeks so I could look at it again with fresh eyes and make sure it wasn't as offensive as I feel is really deserved.
I played with a picture today, got it doctored up to where it looks good in black and white, and slapped it into the layout. Then I started trimming again. I have a draft now. I'll post it in a little bit for proofreading and comments.
A friend of mine from high school and I were talking, oh, almost two years ago, now. She said she'd resolved only to go to the reunion if she was in a place in her life were she could look at all the people who'd looked down at her during high school and feel that she was better than all of them. Then she asked me if this was petty. I said, "Petty? Yeah. Is there something wrong with this? Hell no."
I made that same resolution, oh, probably well before I ever graduated high school. It's an extension of the thought that got me through high school, and it can really be attributed to my eighth grade science teacher, Mr. Heilman. (Remind me to tell you about Mr. Heilman sometime).
After some not-particularly-unusual cruelty had me in tears in his class, he pulled me aside. He pointed to the boys who'd been harassing me. "Look at them," he said. I did. "Think about where they'll be in five years." He paused. "Now think about where you'll be in five years."
I did. For the first time, I really did. And it might have been cold comfort, but it got me through things I don't think I'd have gotten through, otherwise. And now that I've come out the other side, yeah, I'm going to this reunion so I can gloat.
Not that I necessarily will gloat, understand. But I want to know that I can, and to be really honest, I want them to know that I can, too. Even if I never say anything. I have a great apartment, a job I love, good friends, my jati, and romantic prospects of several flavors. I didn't peak in high school like so many of those kids did. I was just getting started.
posted by Journey | 1:54 PM
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