Where This Meets That
This past weekend, Christy and I attended my 20-year high school reunion.
My sister had asked me beforehand if I was excited, and I answered that “curious” was a better word.
I was never “popular” in high school. Not that I didn’t try. I wore flashy, baggy workout pants, dressed up daily in a football uniform (ahem, after school) to sweat and grunt with the cool guys and occasionally even got to play a down on Friday nights. Hell, in my darker, more fanatical 90210 days, I even experimented with shaving myself a receding hairline to compliment my carefully constructed sideburns.
Hey, it got chicks on TV.
I certainly wasn’t disliked; nor did I dislike most of my class. I like to say that my coolness was simply under-appreciated.
So, what did 20 years do to the rest of my classmates? Who else would prove to have suffered undervalued coolness back when mullet-sporting boys and big-haired girls walked the halls of our windowless Stone Mountain High School? And whose coolness would prove overvalued?
Facebook has reunited me with many former classmates over the past couple years, but it lacks dimension. There’s nothing like breaking bread and making merry with people in real-time, so yes, among my curiosity was excitement, as well.
Approaching the parking lot of the 5 Seasons Brewery Westside in Atlanta, I started suspecting every not-so-young-looking pedestrian I saw, wondering if I would recognize him at the reunion. It was an odd feeling that our class was a living time capsule about to be cracked open after two decades.
I must say I was impressed with how we have aged. From entrepreneurs to pilots, photographers to proud fathers and mothers, we have grown to fill great and diverse roles in our world.
I wouldn’t necessarily compare us to a fine wine, but neither would I call us a rotting corpse. In fact, rejoined, we found an evening full of life.
I was unexpectedly overjoyed to intersect with all those in attendance again after so many years. Many of those present had also gone through elementary school with me, and I was so proud to see how we’ve navigated this road of life in our own separate ways.
And more than anything, I was thankful that the road had brought so many of us back together for but a few short hours.
Long live Stone Mountain’s Class of 1991!