High School Class Reunions: A Special Form Of Torture
Things I would rather do than go to my high school class reunion: run a cheese grater up and down my buttocks while pouring rubbing alcohol over it. Listen to a ten hour speech from Al Gore. Let Bill Clinton babysit my beautiful 20 year old niece. Have George Bush give public speaking lessons.
End of rant. Sort of.
I know what most people think a high school reunion is. They consider it a chance to see people you care about but haven't talked to in a decade or more. Let's be real here. You kept in touch with the people you truly, truly are concerned for. You've hung out with them many times since high school.
The more optimistic would argue that it is impossible to keep in touch with everyone, and that there are people they care about that they just didn't have time to keep in touch with.
Maybe.
I stayed young at heart, so don't want to be around old friends that have grown old at heart. I want to remember my old friends the way they were, not see what they are. In their youth, people's dreams lay before them like an open horizon. They are fit, energetic, idealistic, believe in the world. Twenty years later, dreams lay by the wayside, and people are fatter, more jaded, withering. In high school most everyone has some bold dream, and is pursuing it, no matter how improbable. In high school, anyone you know might still become an NFL QB, model, singer, or the next Donald Trump. Then you see them at their reunion, married but rarely in love, drowning in debt, with two average kids who they consider prodigies.
Less than 1% of people truly accomplish something extraordinary. By definition, something extraordinary can't be accomplished by many, or it would be typical. Less than 1%. Yet 100% of parents would tell you that their kid is destined for extraordinariness. Is there anyone who is realistic about their kids anymore? Who could just say, "I think my kid's going to work at McDonald's, and if he plays his cards right, maybe he'll be a manager." Or how about, "the truth is, my kid just ain't that bright. Or beautiful. That's the way the cookie crumbles."
Am I just bitter or jaded? No. And even if I was, that doesn't mean I'm wrong. I hope life is a big ice cream sundae for all my high school classmates, but I don't want to see the sundae, or them. Sometimes there is dignity in turning away from a pitiful sight, or never looking at it in the first place. Sometimes it is much more satisfying to leave the past where it belongs. Which is while I'll be staying at home on the couch and scratching my balls instead of attending my high school reunion.
End of rant. Sort of.
I know what most people think a high school reunion is. They consider it a chance to see people you care about but haven't talked to in a decade or more. Let's be real here. You kept in touch with the people you truly, truly are concerned for. You've hung out with them many times since high school.
The more optimistic would argue that it is impossible to keep in touch with everyone, and that there are people they care about that they just didn't have time to keep in touch with.
Maybe.
I stayed young at heart, so don't want to be around old friends that have grown old at heart. I want to remember my old friends the way they were, not see what they are. In their youth, people's dreams lay before them like an open horizon. They are fit, energetic, idealistic, believe in the world. Twenty years later, dreams lay by the wayside, and people are fatter, more jaded, withering. In high school most everyone has some bold dream, and is pursuing it, no matter how improbable. In high school, anyone you know might still become an NFL QB, model, singer, or the next Donald Trump. Then you see them at their reunion, married but rarely in love, drowning in debt, with two average kids who they consider prodigies.
Less than 1% of people truly accomplish something extraordinary. By definition, something extraordinary can't be accomplished by many, or it would be typical. Less than 1%. Yet 100% of parents would tell you that their kid is destined for extraordinariness. Is there anyone who is realistic about their kids anymore? Who could just say, "I think my kid's going to work at McDonald's, and if he plays his cards right, maybe he'll be a manager." Or how about, "the truth is, my kid just ain't that bright. Or beautiful. That's the way the cookie crumbles."
Am I just bitter or jaded? No. And even if I was, that doesn't mean I'm wrong. I hope life is a big ice cream sundae for all my high school classmates, but I don't want to see the sundae, or them. Sometimes there is dignity in turning away from a pitiful sight, or never looking at it in the first place. Sometimes it is much more satisfying to leave the past where it belongs. Which is while I'll be staying at home on the couch and scratching my balls instead of attending my high school reunion.
Source...