high school

Reunited and It Feels So Good

/ Tim

Following a month-long buildup on Facebook, I met up with seven high school friends at a suburban sports bar last night. Throughout the day leading up to the get-together, I was excited, nervous and anxious to see how the event would play out. Would it be awkward? Would we run out of things to say? Would we no longer have anything in common?

I was the first to arrive. I promptly grabbed a seat at the bar and ordered a tall vodka and soda. I knew I’d relax after a couple drinks. A few minutes later, the others began to arrive. For 10 minutes, there was a steady stream of hugs and handshakes, smiles and small talk. 

It didn’t take long for my nerves to subside, although I couldn’t help but exclaim at least five times, “This is fucking weird.” Looking around the table at the faces of the people with whom I spent the better part of four years so long ago was a tad surreal. 

For five hours, we reminisced, talked about major events from the past 18 years and passed around family photos. Drinks flowed, as did stories. I haven’t laughed so much in a long time. 

My only regret of the evening was that it took so long to get back together. As the evening wound down, we began making tentative plans to get together again—much much sooner than 18 years from now. 

During the drive home, I smiled with the realization that I still really like these people. I’m glad they were my friends way back in the ’80s, and I’m even happier they’re my friends today.

Who Knew I Was So Angsty?

/ Tim

A few weeks ago, I got an e-mail from my high school alumni office requesting permission to give my contact information to a classmate. This triggered a chain of events that has pushed me into full-on reminiscing mode like you wouldn’t believe. Suddenly, for the first time in 15+ years, I’m in contact with several people with whom I spent the better part of four years. I’ve exchanged e-mails and Facebook posts with all of them and even had dinner with one. In just three weeks, the whole crew is getting together for drinks and dinner.

As a result of all of these voices from the past, I’ve found myself revisiting The Box, a collection of items I can never bring myself to toss—photos, notebooks containing bad poetry and other mementos. The most insightful glimpse into my past has come from a shoebox full of notes. As I comb through these gems I’m realizing my memory of high school is way different from the reality I was dealing with at the time.

Overall, I look back at high school fondly. I remember having some of the best friends a guy could ask for and enjoying the experience. Maybe it’s all relative. I have mostly bad memories of grade school, and although college started off OK, the last two years were a nightmare. So compared to the 13 years that made up kindergarten through eighth grade plus college, my four years of high school were a pleasant stroll through a field of daisies.

Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t want to relive my high school years, and I’ve never referred to them as the best years of my life. I’m not that guy. But I’m also not one to dismiss high school as a tragic, painful time. Maybe I’ve been kidding myself.

As I’ve been pulling random notes out of the shoebox, I’m finding that my friends and I were absolutely miserable. Many of the notes paint a picture of tortured boyfriend/girlfriend relationships (or lack of, in my case), petty disagreements with other friends and the agony of every tiny aspect of our lives. Holy shit! We were typical, overdramatic teenagers. 

Despite all of this drama and misery, I still remember the high school experience positively. I think it’s because for the first time my friendships were based on emotional connections. We weren’t friends because we lived near each other, liked the same baseball team or needed someone to play catch with. We were friends because we understood each other. We cared about each other. We would have done anything for each other. My relationships with my best friends were built on endless hours on the telephone late at night, therapy via notes written in purple ink, and a shoulder to cry on whenever one of us needed one. I had never felt loved like that and had never cared so deeply for anyone before. 

I guess having really close friends who meant the world to me supersedes all of the overdramatic teen angst because most of the bad stuff is confined to an old shoebox and has long since vanished from my mind.