High School Confidential: 25 Years Later & Who Cares!

I’ve often wondered what the purpose of high school reunions are? What’s the sole reason of getting together with people who didn’t care about you to begin with? Sure, reality TV shows us differently, but that’s TV and of course they are going to ham it up for the cameras.

High school was by no means a pleasant time for me. In fact, it was a terrible time. I don’t remember too much from those four years; just enough though to have a sense of who I was growing up to be. For some reason or another, it is supposedly said that these years are the best years of our life, but whoever said that was just plain ignorant!

Throughout my years in high school, I was labeled a weirdo, loser, zombie, creep; the list goes on. I never got involved in the usual stuff associated with high school with the exception in my freshman year (1976) as a member of the audio-visual department, owning a real live “elevator pass,” that occasionally I rented out. I had one solid friend and a bunch of pseudo friends that never did pan out in the long run.

The teacher’s union also went on strike in the fall of that year & I, along with a few other brave souls, marched with a bunch of organized students down to the administration building in support of our teachers. We waved our little signs and fists in the air, as one usually does at a demonstration when a leader or designated speakers state their purpose or intent.

Strikes were commonplace when I was in high school, as teachers would hold a strike vote and walk out every three years.

But anyway, such is life in high school when you get to pick your own friends instead of your parents picking your friends for you. I always felt uncomfortable during this four-year period, especially when I was constantly referred to by my teachers as either Louie’s or Naomi’s little brother.

My older brother Louie was a year or two ahead of me and I could never take the same class as him, even I signed up for it before him! My sophomore year (1978) was a blip on the screen, but in spring, 1979, that all changed. I joined a campus outreach program that brought in outside speakers to speak to students in an assembly kind of format. I also had my first poem “Death” published in the high school literary magazine, Opus. Creativity began to blossom within me, like rising dough in an oven.

But that didn’t last too long, for the fall brought me tragedy, terror and tears all within 30 days. My grandmother (Mother’s Mother) passed over the universe and into the next world; two high school (female) friends of mine were murdered for witnessing a drug deal, a crime to this day that has never been solved; one of my favorite high school teachers & leader of the campus outreach group I was involved with died from a freak oven-cleaning accident & the teacher’s union all went out on strike for approximately three weeks, this just as my senior year began. I opted to stay home and not cross the picket lines, as my own mother was a teacher (elsewhere) and decided to honor their desires.

I barely graduated from high school in spring, 1980, as I came in as student number 592 out of 600 eligible graduating seniors, but I didn’t care, I just wanted to get out of high school.

In 1990, when my first 10-year reunion came up, I thought about going, but it was such a weird time of the year to have it; in the middle of April & I, still a student journalist was covering a major music festival for three publications, including my college newspaper, a Yugoslavian magazine and my internship, which also included writing reviews of concerts & an occasional feature. The reunion was scheduled for the same weekend of the event, so I passed it up and opted for the music festival.

In 2000, my 20-year reunion I couldn’t afford it, as I was drowning in an ocean filled with debt & decay. Now, it’s 2005 and soon I’ll receive an email or postcard reminder for my reunion and how much I really want to see all of my high school buddies & how much they really want to see me.

Horseshit!

If any of them really wanted to contact me, they could have a solid effort to find me. Some have found me over the years, but it seemed kind of superficial. Some of my old classmates I still see from time to time & we say “hi” to each other in passing, but that’s about it.

In all honesty, my life began in mid-stream during college & it is those days and beyond which I truly relish.

Despite what television or Hollywood portrays this (high school) as the best years of our lives, haven’t got a clue as to what they were talking about. It is the most miserable, excruciating & painful periods of our lives when growing pains matter most, when cruelty is predominate and egos are vulnerable to personal attack.

What’s the point in seeing people who didn’t care about you to begin with, only to see the same people 25 years later and see them still treat you the same way? Even though that time in my life is over, the cruelty is still as fresh as this evening’s garbage heap. There’s no purpose, what-so-ever.

Dwelling on the past regarding people you attended high school with that didn’t care about you as an individual is pointless. Focusing on the present & future with those you devote your energies, spirits & love to, are fruitful.