Reunited, Part 1: Riding the Wave (Of Nostalgia)
It was 1991. The year I graduated from high school.
I don't remember too much about it, actually. Oh wait. I do remember that I got my hair cut about two days before graduation, and the woman with the clippers accidentally shaved two thin bald lines into the sides of my head before I knew what had happened. She claimed that I asked for them. I think I would have a memory of such a request, but perhaps I blacked out in the barber chair or something. Who knows. She soothed me by saying that this particular hairstyle was the "in thing", as everyone wanted to look like the rapper Vanilla Ice in 1991 (or so she half-heartedly attempted to convince me).
Rather than shave my head completely bald to correct this gaffe, I went with the lines instead, to the horror of my mother, who even proposed coloring in the bald streaks with her eyeliner pencil. Nobody would ever know, she insisted. Riggghhhht. Thankfully, that never happened. So there, in the graduation photos, immortalized forever, was Paul looking a little like Vanilla Ice with a graduation cap.
"Ice Ice Baby, too coldddddd...."
What else do I remember about that golden era? I recall our senior slide show, which took place a few weeks before graduation. I was feeling completely elated to get out of high school and start college, and yet somehow I remember trying to hide my tears during that presentation. I suppose it was finally sinking in. It was over. The time had come to say goodbye, and it seemed logical that I would never see many of my surrounding classmates again. But what lied ahead? It was anyone's guess. Yikes. Kinda scary. Maybe in retrospect, my tears were nostalgic and sentimental, also mixed with a healthy dose of holy crap!.
Truth was, probably as much as anyone else sitting in that auditorium on that day, I was ready to bolt. I even remember a letter of recommendation written by my 11th grade social studies teacher, Mrs. Cavan, wherein she said she would miss me but would not worry too much about me because it was clear that I was ready to get on with it already. Which was sort of her way of saying that she was tired of hearing me complain about feeling trapped at Lewiston-Porter. Can't blame her. At least she said it nicely. Heck, even I was tired of hearing me complain.
There is one other memory that is especially relevant now. I remember promising myself never to attend any class reunion, at any time in the future. The way I felt way back when, it seemed as though this would be an easy promise to keep for myself. I did not especially enjoy my high school years. Alright, maybe I kinda hated them, especially when compared to the college ones that followed. But a funny thing happened on the way to forever. Two decades have softened me.
Translation: I grew up.
Over the years, I managed to stay in touch (on my own) with a few of my closest friends from high school. Then came Facebook. I think this is what really convinced me that going back to commemorate 20 years of being out ofprison high school was going to be a positive experience. There I was about two years ago, becoming Facebook friends with everyone from those early years of my life, and doing it with a curious smile. Reunions began to take on a very different meaning, at least in my eyes.
No more guessing what people will look like, or (for the most part) what has been going on in their lives for the past, say, twenty years or so. Not with Facebook around. It is all there in living color. I really like that the guessing games are diminished now. In fact, it is even more appealing to go back and catch up with old friends now that some of these games are gone.
Most of us have already communicated with one another via the social networking giant by now. This whole reunion was set up on Facebook, in fact. Besides, who cares what anyone looks like, or how successful anyone is? None of that stuff matters the way it did so many years ago. We have each taken our own life path. None are better or worse. All are perfectly acceptable.
These are things I could never have said twenty years ago, at least not with a straight face. Funny how things change.
Most importantly, the old negative feelings I had about my entire high school experience are just not there anymore. Now I think about the boy who walked across that stage with his Vanilla Ice haircut, and I want to give him a big hug. I want to tell him that high school was only the beginning, and to stand up straight and just enjoy what lies ahead. He looked so innocent, so tender, so young. So fresh-faced. And yet, I would never want to be 18 again. No way.
That is what high school reunions are for: to spend a day or two revisiting that age, at least on a superficial level. The music, the memories, the faces, all of it will undoubtedly be quite a blast from the past. We also get to reintroduce ourselves to one another in our latest grown-up costumes, to see how far we have all come. To laugh about old times, compare notes about life during the past 20 years, and relax into who we are today.
Couple all of this with the fact that I live over 4000 miles away and rarely get back to that part of the world, and suddenly I have no idea why I would ever have wanted to avoid this scene in the first place.
I'm off to pack. Maybe I should bring a surfboard. Looks like the waves of nostalgia are rising back in good 'ole Lewiston, New York.
Surf's up, everyone.
I don't remember too much about it, actually. Oh wait. I do remember that I got my hair cut about two days before graduation, and the woman with the clippers accidentally shaved two thin bald lines into the sides of my head before I knew what had happened. She claimed that I asked for them. I think I would have a memory of such a request, but perhaps I blacked out in the barber chair or something. Who knows. She soothed me by saying that this particular hairstyle was the "in thing", as everyone wanted to look like the rapper Vanilla Ice in 1991 (or so she half-heartedly attempted to convince me).
Rather than shave my head completely bald to correct this gaffe, I went with the lines instead, to the horror of my mother, who even proposed coloring in the bald streaks with her eyeliner pencil. Nobody would ever know, she insisted. Riggghhhht. Thankfully, that never happened. So there, in the graduation photos, immortalized forever, was Paul looking a little like Vanilla Ice with a graduation cap.
"Ice Ice Baby, too coldddddd...."
What else do I remember about that golden era? I recall our senior slide show, which took place a few weeks before graduation. I was feeling completely elated to get out of high school and start college, and yet somehow I remember trying to hide my tears during that presentation. I suppose it was finally sinking in. It was over. The time had come to say goodbye, and it seemed logical that I would never see many of my surrounding classmates again. But what lied ahead? It was anyone's guess. Yikes. Kinda scary. Maybe in retrospect, my tears were nostalgic and sentimental, also mixed with a healthy dose of holy crap!.
Truth was, probably as much as anyone else sitting in that auditorium on that day, I was ready to bolt. I even remember a letter of recommendation written by my 11th grade social studies teacher, Mrs. Cavan, wherein she said she would miss me but would not worry too much about me because it was clear that I was ready to get on with it already. Which was sort of her way of saying that she was tired of hearing me complain about feeling trapped at Lewiston-Porter. Can't blame her. At least she said it nicely. Heck, even I was tired of hearing me complain.
There is one other memory that is especially relevant now. I remember promising myself never to attend any class reunion, at any time in the future. The way I felt way back when, it seemed as though this would be an easy promise to keep for myself. I did not especially enjoy my high school years. Alright, maybe I kinda hated them, especially when compared to the college ones that followed. But a funny thing happened on the way to forever. Two decades have softened me.
Translation: I grew up.
Over the years, I managed to stay in touch (on my own) with a few of my closest friends from high school. Then came Facebook. I think this is what really convinced me that going back to commemorate 20 years of being out of
No more guessing what people will look like, or (for the most part) what has been going on in their lives for the past, say, twenty years or so. Not with Facebook around. It is all there in living color. I really like that the guessing games are diminished now. In fact, it is even more appealing to go back and catch up with old friends now that some of these games are gone.
Most of us have already communicated with one another via the social networking giant by now. This whole reunion was set up on Facebook, in fact. Besides, who cares what anyone looks like, or how successful anyone is? None of that stuff matters the way it did so many years ago. We have each taken our own life path. None are better or worse. All are perfectly acceptable.
These are things I could never have said twenty years ago, at least not with a straight face. Funny how things change.
Most importantly, the old negative feelings I had about my entire high school experience are just not there anymore. Now I think about the boy who walked across that stage with his Vanilla Ice haircut, and I want to give him a big hug. I want to tell him that high school was only the beginning, and to stand up straight and just enjoy what lies ahead. He looked so innocent, so tender, so young. So fresh-faced. And yet, I would never want to be 18 again. No way.
That is what high school reunions are for: to spend a day or two revisiting that age, at least on a superficial level. The music, the memories, the faces, all of it will undoubtedly be quite a blast from the past. We also get to reintroduce ourselves to one another in our latest grown-up costumes, to see how far we have all come. To laugh about old times, compare notes about life during the past 20 years, and relax into who we are today.
Couple all of this with the fact that I live over 4000 miles away and rarely get back to that part of the world, and suddenly I have no idea why I would ever have wanted to avoid this scene in the first place.
I'm off to pack. Maybe I should bring a surfboard. Looks like the waves of nostalgia are rising back in good 'ole Lewiston, New York.
Surf's up, everyone.
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