phone in the hole

Who needs kids when you can drop your own cell phone in the toilet?

tractor boy

Growing up in the city, spending more time inside with sketchbooks than outside with shovels–who would have thunk it? I am a tractor boy. I love manuevering the riding mower, much like the Autopia car ride at amusement parks, over the rural acreage. I love being outdoors smelling the fresh cut grass. And perched on top of a noisy machine, with gears and grease, I love embracing the sometimes overshadowed part of my still rugged soul.

back to school

I was a little amazed when I was asked to help with my 20 year high school reunion. Although I spent years with these folks–the cheerleaders, the jocks, the scholars, the stoners–I always felt like an outsider. In my own personal version of "The Breakfast Club," I suppose I would have been the geeky "Brian" character...perhaps a little more arty than brainy, but I definitely would have been the one stuck with writing the report while the rest of the group hooked up. Back then, I think I could have called all 370+ of my classmates by name, but could not with confidence have counted even a handful as close friends.

As a result of the house fire a few years ago, I literally have no physical evidence of those formative years...no dance pictures, yearbooks, report cards or awards. And over the years, many of the memories have also dissipated like smoke. But, being a loyal Highland Ram, I got over my social anxiety and agreed to assist with the reunion. I emailed and telephoned my fair share of names on the missing classmates list. I gathered items, printed and planned. I drove 3 hours roundtrip to weekly meetings at our class president's house. And the more we met, the more I seriously contemplated the possibility that I must have been home-schooled. Other than walking the same locker lined hallways, I didn't have the same memories of High School that all of those moms and dads in the room did.

At 7:00 sharp, on the Alumni night of the reunion, all of the popular kids walked in, pressed and poised–even smelling expensive. Stinky and sweaty, dirty and dreary from schlepping tables, chairs, food and memorabilia out into the courtyard, for hours in the August afternoon sun...Lisa (my one social confidant) and I faded into the back. Distant hugs reminded us we were a little out of place, back then, and now again, 20 years later.

But, more than dwelling on the feelings of my introverted misfit past, I found that I was sincerely interested in these familiar strangers. Many had been dealt some difficult hands in life. All were interesting, and I was sincerely happy to see each and every one. I got "out of my 16-year-old head" and as a result, was able to see who these people were for me. Collectively, we provided the background, the context, for all of us stepping out into the world. We prepared each other with skills to deal with life's adventures. And amazingly, produced some incredibly accomplished and resilient souls. So, to that I say, more than thanks for the memories–thanks for the experience. High School really was the training ground for life.

good times never expire

The most expected and dreaded part of a high school reunion, by tradition, has to be addressed–the awards for who "traveled the farthest," has the "most children," is the "most" or "least changed"...you know the list. After hearing horror stories of reunion-going classmates being re-traumatized in front of their eternal peers, and how awkward the moment of judgement can be, we carefully considered how to approach this part of the evening when planning our 20th year get-together.

For us, the solution was a presentation of a series of beautiful gift certificates to our favorite high school haunts. The joke was that all of the featured places have closed since our glory days. So, the premise of the presentation was something like, "How embarrassing. We had some great prizes to award tonight, but just realized that all of these certificates expired in 1988! But just so you know what you could have won for having the Most Tattoos, you would have received..." It kept that part of the evening nostalgic and light-hearted, without forcing people in or out of the spotlight. I think it worked well. There were passes to Xenon dance club, and gift certificates to places like Snelgrove's ice cream parlor, Castleton's department store, Granite Furniture in Sugarhouse, the food court at Crossroads Plaza, and Bill and Nada's Cafe.

When the event was over, one classmate asked if she could take home the gift certificate to the 7-Eleven on 21st and 21st. She said that whenever she drives by that location with her kids in the car and points out that building as being her favorite high school hang out, her kids reply, "Mom, you are so lame. You hung out at the dry cleaners?"

Life moves on, but good times never expire.

class of 1988

Twenty. Years. Ouch.