A Blast with the Past

Last night, I went to a second mini-reunion with folks from my grade school.  It's funny how the years fall away and we are friends again.  Funnier still how some of us weren't actually friends in the first place but are now all thanks to the great uniter that is Facebook.

Amazing how the years fall away and I'm returned to a state of mind where plastic necklaces with plastic charms, shaker sweaters, Stacey Q and Maverick in "Top Gun" were my big obsessions.  My main criteria for which boy I liked was that he had to be taller than me (a tall order, pardon the pun, in 1987 when my class procession partner was invariably another girl, usually my friend Megan who was as tall as me.)

Some of my classmates moved away and went to different high schools including my two best friends which caused me much heartache and fear at the thought of going to high school without them.  Most of my other classmates disappeared into the halls of our very large high school, rarely to be seen again.  If I did happen to pass them in a corridor, we never spoke as I recall it.  I'm not sure why.  I was probably afraid that they wouldn't remember or acknowledge me which would have been a major embarrassment.  Maybe they had the same worry, maybe they really didn't remember me.  My life was ruled by a fear of being humiliated in those days, a sad state that I imagine more teenagers than not feel on a daily basis.  Now, though, we're "adults" and no longer worry about who is popular and who might shun you or whatever.  We're young enough to still hang out in a bar past 1:00 a.m. (to the worry of this preggo's husband) but old enough to feel the first flickers of nostalgia and a need to connect with the past that comes with growing older.

Although I now go to McDonald's and the library with my kids rather than my BFFs and the search for the ultimate Tall Guy is over, I am so glad to have these old classmates/new friends in my life.  They remember me "when" (remembering some things I would probably rather we all forget!) and it is a special kind of fun when we get together, laughing about the old days and sharing stories about the new, learning about ourselves from stories (I have no recollection whatsoever of the bows Amy insisted I wore in my hair) and the views of who we have become (apparently I am a potty mouth!)  I feel lucky to have grown up in the neighborhood I did and I am grateful to still have this connection to my past.