It’s that time of year again…I’m being pelted with emails announcing my high school reunion. So many Spartans (yes, we chose some strange warriors with kitchen brushes on their helmets as our forever-logo) have been “located” and now is the time to sign up for the Re-aquaintance Cocktail Party to be followed by The Big Dinner the next night.
No, no, no and mmmmm I don’t think so. I have never attended a reunion and I’m not about to start now. I have kept in touch with…lemme count now…oh yes, two people from high school; one of which I really don’t even care about for personal reasons I can’t discuss on this blog. The other was my very best friend, Janie, and I FaceBook with her. That’s it. No one else. Why would I want to go back and revisit four of the worst years of my life? Teen angst surfaces even as I write this post. Eww…gym class with those horried blue uniforms and the slightly off kilter gym teacher (’nuff said). Quick showers and Right Guard spray. It makes my brain ache.
High school….boys…I dated a guy named Ronnie. I just had the best time with him and what did he do? He went all gay on me. Can you imagine how that made me feel? Oh I got over it. And we remained friends for many years up until he became ill and died from AIDS. Then there was a guy, Greg, who actually gave me a ring and asked me to “go steady” with him. What an antiquated term…”going steady.” We lasted 3 days and I returned the ring. I was horrible at dating and relationships. I actually dated a boy named Maynard. Maynard!!! He was a nice guy, too. But the name killed me. High school….it’s why therapists get rich.
I almost flunked out of Home Economics. How does anyone do that you ask? I couldn’t sew a zipper — I couldn’t do it. Finally, on my 12th or 13th try, the stepmonster did it for me and we just put the entire ugly experience behind us. I truly wanted to go to Shop and learn how to do neat things to a car engine but at that time girls had to cook and sew and boys got the fun stuff. I complained loudly and constantly ended up in either the Principal or Vice Principal’s office for making such a fuss. The big mouth I have today? Yeah, it was in evidence back then, too.
My Biology teacher was the strangest woman I have ever met. She used to stand up in front of the class and sing the theme to the Mickey Mouse Club to us and she had this jar on her desk with heaven knows what in it. The day came for me to dissect the frog and I flat-out refused. Nope – not gonna do it. Back to the Vice Principal’s office and his only remark to me was…”Oh God, not you again?” Got through that class with a C-. Then there was Algebra where I was given a D just so the teacher didn’t have to see me the following year.
I loathed high school. I was not a cheerleader. I hated studying. I wasn’t really a “joiner.” I did not hang out with the cool kids. I did have boys on my brain, though. I had a crush on a guy named Luc who used to sit behind me in History class . And then this surfer guy from California moved into town – his name was (I kid you not) Woody and he also showed up in my History class. I barely passed History that year. I wasn’t the studious type — I think you see the trend here.
Actually, I had a few friends I hung out with but I was somewhat of a daredevil and a clown and that simply led to my always being in trouble for one thing or another. As I recall, I was not a member of any of the little cliques – I ended up in Glee Club and the Spanish Club for gawd’s sake — and the Spanish teacher had a thing for me. Yes I was able to read what he wrote in my yearbook even if it WAS in Espanol — he wanted to go to la playa (the beach) with me. Talk about your nightmares…
I was forced by the father and the stepmonster to take typing and shorthand. Oh puhleeze – what a miserable thing to do to a young girl. I sat in that class while this bug-eyed little woman yelled at me because I kept the cap on my “real” fountain pen. She actually stabbed me in the arm one day with her own pen. Scarred me for life in more ways than one. I could take dictation at 120 words a minute, though, so I guess she was an adequate teacher. Nasty human being.
There was only one class in which I excelled — can you guess? Yup – English. All four years English was my favorite, especially English Lit. One English teacher opened the class with that old standby “I Am.” “Now write.” I had so much fun with that one; creative writing was my only love. That’s my one good memory of high school. Pitiful.
And you think I want to go see these people after all these years? Not on your life. Not even after I have lost 40 pounds and look absolutely stunning would I pay the exorbitant price to walk into those rooms and face people I don’t even remember and who will not remember me. I actually pulled out the yearbooks the other day and went through them. Out of an entire class I recognized maybe 20??
I refuse to put Devoted Spouse through the tedium as a group of 50-somethings sit around and reminisce about who was Prom Queen and Prom King. Crap on a crutch, I went to my Junior year prom with a loser who reeked of cigarettes and he ditched ME there! I wasn’t asked to Senior Prom. (Here’s where my 12 faithful readers all say…awww poor baby…) snort.
I sound like a broken Amy Winehouse song…Wanna Make Me Go To Reunion and I say no, no, no.
Besides…someone might tell Devoted Spouse some of the crap I used to pull and he has such a high opinion of me. I would hate to topple off my pedestal in front of him with my tiara hanging around my knees somewhere. I’ll just remember that high school was simply a part of life I had to go through and leave it at that.
I truly wish my fellow West Springfield High Schoolers a fabulous time as they stroll down memory lane – I’ll stay here and suck a Diet Pepsi through my nose for kicks…sigh…
