Why My 20th High School Reunion Matters to Me

I'm going to be honest, I didn't love high school.

My birthday is at the end of October (but I was reading at a high school level as a first grader, so they started me in first grade when I was probably too young), so I was significantly younger than most of my classmates and never really felt like I fit in.  In fact, my closest friends in school were not in my class at all.

I always felt like my sense of humor, my sweet nature, and my ravishing beauty were lost on many of the people in my graduating class.  In large part, it's because I went through a pretty traumatic time in 6-8 grade when my parents were going through an extremely acrimonious divorce and I burned a lot of bridges and had a terrible attitude.

Anyway, I had no interest in reunions before this one.  I put on a lot of weight as a coping mechanism to a trauma that happened when I was twenty-one (my life has apparently been trauma-ridden ... I'm rarely bored, though ;-)), none of the people I wanted to hang out with would be there anyway, I was only a teacher and not some international world traveler or working for a Fortune 500 company, I didn't fit in with "those people", and blah blah blah. (Evidently my bad attitude followed me into adulthood)  

I kept waiting for someone to do something about the 20 year reunion, one of those people who seemed so on top of it in high school, who things seemed to come to so effortlessly.

A couple of things happened to me, you see, that have changed my attitude, my life, my priorities, and so on.

First, I almost died giving birth to Gabrielle in December.  In fact, technically I died twice.  That sort of experience changes a person.

Secondly, I am in the process of being diagnosed with a "progressive" disease.  It's a disease people die from, but they usually suffer a lot first.  Over a long period of time.  Yeah, I'm not super excited.  What I am, though, is ready to enjoy life while I can.  I'm ready to make up for the lost time I missed due to bad attitude and traumas.

I've found through Facebook that many, many people in my graduating class are kind, funny, caring people.  I was foolish to think otherwise.  And once you've become friends through Facebook, it seems stupid not to carpe the freaking diem when an opportunity like a twenty-year reunion comes up.

Finally, I am out of work until the next school year.  In addition to being destitute and stressing about mortgage payments and doctor co-pays, I am starting to become bored.  This reunion has given me something to focus my energies on during Gabrielle's naps and my puppy Howard's walks.

It has been fantastic therapy.

I believe in the power of positive thinking, although I didn't always.  I am excited about this reunion and hope that everybody goes.  It would mean a lot to me personally, and I think the friendships I have seen develop on Facebook speak to how wonderful it would be to get together.

Each day is a gift, after all.

I am not writing this for pity, by the way.  I have three wonderful children that I will brag lots about at the reunion, a kind and loving husband, a puppy that keeps me busy, a career that I love, a mother/siblings/nephews that I see all the time, and an appreciation for the small things in life that I never before possessed.

Also, I write a lot.  Being a writer has always been my dream, and this blog goes back to 2009 (and I've gotten to write for some other people and places as well, which is a treat).

I just wanted everyone to know why I, who was never exactly "involved", am spearheading this reunion (with lots of help!), and why I very much want everyone to try to come.  If you were on the fence about going and this played a role in swaying you, it was certainly worth writing.

For those of you not in my graduating class ("the intended 'audience' of this piece," says the English teacher in my head), what are your thoughts on reunions?  Good, bad, or ugly?  Necessary evil?  Why do some people choose to go, and some people choose to "sit it out"? 

Mourning the Loss of Stephen King's "Rage"

When you throw a rock into the ocean, it creates ripples.  If you skim it, a skill my brother Adam possesses like you can't imagine (he gets eight or ten skips on a single rock sometimes), there are lots of small, fast indentations in the water.  

If you heave a huge boulder in, the splash--and possible impacts--are larger.

Both rock-skipping and boulder-hurling are kind of cool to look at, to contemplate, to consider the possible effects on the oceanic ecosystem beneath.

Which leads me to Stephen King's short novel Rage, which he wrote as his malevolent pseudonym, Richard Bachman ... and which is now out of print at his request.

I read Rage a long time ago, and rereading it had been on my agenda literally for years, but it was one of those things I never got around to doing.  Then, it was out of print--the other works in that omnibus known as The Bachman Books--The Long Walk, Roadwork, and The Running Man--have been republished as individual books under King's own moniker, but Rage was slightly more elusive.

I was over at Henry's a few weeks ago, and he was going through his vast collection of books (one of the things that I love about Henry is that he might possibly own more books than I do, a feat which takes skill).  My urge to read Rage returned and, when I mentioned it, Henry whipped out a copy of The Bachman Books.

Needless to say, I was pretty pumped.

If you don't know the basic premise to Rage, it involves a clearly disturbed high school senior named Charlie Decker who takes his Algebra II class hostage, killing two teachers in the process and keeping his classmates subdued (at least at first ...) with the gun he smuggled in.  

Yeah, it's disturbing.  Yeah, I get why King felt some guilt following the association of the book with a number of school shootings, most notably the 1997 shooting at Kentucky's Heath High School when senior Michael Carneal fired a .22 pistol at a youth prayer group, killing three girls and injuring five others.  A copy of Rage was apparently found in Carneal's locker.

Here's the thing, though ...

There are some deranged people out there.  A lot of them.  You can blame music, video games, books, Ted Bundy even infamously blamed porn for his murderous streak ... but it only goes so far.

I can't imagine that I'm making some sort of  negative judgment on Stephen King, who I think is pretty much one of the most amazing human beings on the planet, but ... well, yeah.

Because Rage is an incredible book.

King will go down in history as a literary master of characterization.  He doesn't pull punches, which is one of the reasons he's such a genius.  His characters are not always nice people, and they always--ALWAYS--have flaws.  They're real, people we can all imagine knowing in reality.

Yeah, Charlie Decker is off his rocker.  

However, he didn't get there by accident.  

His abusive father, who mistreated him physically throughout his childhood and went after him with a hatchet with murderous intent, who made a comment on a hunting trip that Charlie overheard about cutting off his mother's nose if he ever caught her with another man, unquestionably played a role.

As did his mother, who took him into her sewing room and comforted him with hot chocolate to mitigate his father throwing him to the ground with all his strength after he broke a bunch of storm windows (which seemed like a good idea to a three-year-old Charlie), who forced him to wear a formal suit to the birthday party of a girl he was crushing on because she wanted to make a good impression on the young lady's mother.

And let's not forget the science teacher that Charlie almost killed with a socket wrench shortly before the hostage-taking incident.  Yeah, that's the teacher that forced Charlie to the blackboard to solve a complicated chemical equation then yelled at the young man repeatedly when he couldn't get it right, who berated him in front of the class ...

Charlie had just returned to school following his suspension for the horrible beating which nearly resulted in the death of the science teacher when the events of the story begin.

Now, I'm not defending Charlie Decker, nor am I trying to portray him in any sort of heroic terms.  The kid was totally off the deep end.

However, consider the life lessons inherent in the totally unhealthy relationships between Charlie and his parents, the reminder of how valuable sensitivity is for teachers, not to mention others in positions of power.  It's ... well, just striking.

I was also stricken almost to the point of tears at moments of beauty that showed through very early in the book.

A girl I didn't know passed me on the second-floor landing, a pimply, ugly girl wearing big horn-rimmed glasses and carrying a clutch of secretarial-type books.  On impulse I turned around and looked after her.  Yes; yes.  From the back she might have been Miss America.  It was wonderful.

Tell me that's not brilliant writing, a truly remarkable sentiment that can really make you think about things differently.  The book is full of gems like that, and it's a shame that the stigma that surrounds school shootings has taken away a work of literature that contains not just brilliant writing but also an in-depth look into a disturbed mind and seeing that, like all of us, it is still capable of seeing good in the world.

I don't want to spoil the story overmuch, but the gist is that Charlie somehow gets his classmates to spill their souls, to come to terms with their own personal demons in the public forum he's somehow created inside the classroom he's co-opted.  Surely his ability to make a safe environment for his classmates while holding a gun--albeit loosely--on them is amazing.  

Obviously, there's more than a bit of Stockholm Syndrome alluded to throughout the course of the novel, not to mention Charlie gaining the upper hand in figures of authority ranging from school officials to the police getting him hard-core points with this classmates.

Consider these stories, though, that come to light in a kind of warped impromptu group therapy session that springs up while the body of a teacher goes into rigor mortis on the floor ...

* A girl publicly admits that her mother is a whore ... and she loves her in spite of it.

* A young man nicknamed "Pig Pen" shares the pain of being raised by a coupon-clipping cheapskate whose penny-pinching proclivities contribute to his one new shirt a year ... and hence his nickname

* The quintessential "nice girl" losing her virginity to the Big Man On Campus, finding it wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and making it right by hooking up with a dirty, dangerous hoodlum at a local roller skating rink

And so on.

Issues for the ages, seriously.  These were worthy of conversation when the book was originally published in 1977 (when, by the way, I was not even a year old), and they are still relevant today ... perhaps even more so when you put the very fact of their longevity into the conversation.

Even the induced breakdown of the aforementioned BMOC by his classmates is an opportunity for discussions of huge portent by a huge population, young and old alike--this is a bridge-gapper if I've ever seen one ... and, as a high school English teacher, I've seen a lot.

I love books, which any regular reader of this blog knows.  I love to lose myself in books, and I love to discuss them.  If those discussions were kept to "safe" topics, it would be limiting.  

The best conversations are never based in mundane topics.  

You talk about why the Komen Foundation tried to stop their annual $600,000 donation to Planned Parenthood that was used exclusively for breast cancer screening just because 8% of Planned Parenthood's overall service involve abortions.  You talk about the banning of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn or To Kill a Mockingbird .  You debate the so-called Ground Zero Mosque.  

I mean, that's how you learn.  That's how you grow.  If all of my friends agreed with everything I say, I'd be pretty bored.  

And that's how I feel about books.  The best books are the ones that bring out a visceral reaction in me, ones that make me think and want to engage in discourse with others to explore the human condition.

Rage was a perfect book for opening up the doors to conversations that are in the "let's not talk about it" zone, and that makes me both sad and scared.

As a final note, Marilyn Manson was interviewed by Michael Moore during filming of Bowling for Columbine.  Manson, who was tangentially blamed for influencing the unspeakable actions of Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold, had this to say when asked what he would say to the Columbine kids and community if given the chance.

"I wouldn't say a single word to them--I would listen to what they have to say, and that's what no one did." 

Conversations about school shootings are a veritable minefield, and I don't envy artists ranging from Marilyn Manson to Stephen King for feeling the pain.

I just think it's a shame that the opportunities afforded by Rage have been taken off the table ... because not talking about it, not thinking about it, avoiding the fact that there are potential Charlie Deckers in schools all over the country is definitely a step backward.

Tears in ... a Gymnasium?

I am a crier. I cry when I'm happy, I cry when I'm sad, I cry when I'm angry, I cry sometimes for no reason at all.

Ergo, it should come as no surprise that I cried like a baby at today's graduation, when my school's Class of 2011 flipped their tassels and became school alumni and students no longer.

While I was wiping away the tears for a group of kids that I know pretty well (it's a small school, so everyone knows everybody else ... but I've never been their teacher), it occurred to me what a mess I'm going to be this time next year. Why? Well, there are two reasons ...

First, and most importantly, Addie will be graduating. Fortunately (well, fortunately for her), her school is large, so the commencement is held in a large stadium at UNH. Addie will not be witness to me bawling like a baby as she passes what might be the last childhood rite of passage.

Members of the Class of 2012 at my school will not be so lucky.

I have been co-Advisor of these kids for two years now, and I taught them all Freshman English the one year I wasn't formally their Advisor. They are an incredible group of kiddos, and because of the nature of my school (I can't really express how small it is, and consequently how tight-knit), they are almost like surrogate children to many of us.

Addie's concert band played "Pomp and Circumstance" at her school's graduation last week, and she came home rolling her eyes at how people were crying (she may have given me a warning look at this moment in time ;-)). "Isn't it supposed to be a happy time?" my practical child asked. "Why cry?"

I tried to explain the whole rite of passage, the leaving childhood goodbye, last time a group that's been united for a long time thing, but she didn't get it.

One of her good friends graduated that night, and I tried to point out that watching Bob graduate must have been at least a little sad for her.

Nope.

For Addie, playing in her last school band concert with Bob was far more upsetting to her. She explained that picturing a band event without Bob was tear-inducing ... going through a school day without him, not so much.

So while I appreciate Addie's practicality, her ability to put things into a perspective that belies her age, I have personally cried at every single graduation I've attended ... and I can't seem to articulate why.

Do you cry at graduations, weddings, concerts, military ceremonies, and any sort of other formal event like that?

If so, why? If not ... why?

Oh, and congrats again to the Class of 2011 :-)

Sunday Stealing: "You Can't Be Missed" (Part 3)

Here's the third part to "You Can't Be Missed" Meme. Go, Sunday Stealing :-)


Sunday Stealing: The "You Can't Be Missed" Meme, Part 3

31. What is your absolute favorite dessert?
I love cupcakes (which is a little strange since I don't like cake at all ...) and my mother's apple pie (commence with the jokes, but let me tell you, that stuff is amazing!)

32. What can someone do to make you smile, no matter what?
I was going to put, "I'm pretty easy" but then thought better of it. Regarding smiles, it's true, though. I laugh very easily, and smiling is just a precursor to laughter, right?

33. What do the hip people think of you?
I can't answer a question that uses the word "hip", one of the many reasons being that I now have a certain Huey Lewis song stuck in my head ...

34. What was the last gift you bought someone?
Well, I bought my kids take-out from Applebee's for dinner last night and candy bars the night before (they really are well-nourished ... it's just been one of those lazy weekends), but the last, like, legit gift I bought someone was my mommy for Mother's Day.

35. What was your favorite class in high school?
English is the obvious answer, but actually the best class I took was the second part of American History and Government. The teacher was amazing, plus he was on to me. He was the first person to ever say, "You can't write your way out of this one." He refused to accept one of my research papers because it wasn't "good enough". I pointed out that it was better than a couple of others I'd read, and he agreed ... then said, "It isn't good enough for you." That was a lesson that stayed with me.

36. How many spouses would be about right?
I'd be happy with one, as long as he was normal.

37. What would you say was the most embarrassing moment of your life?
You know, this is a hard one to answer. I'm extremely accident-prone, so walking out of the bathroom with my dress tucked into my underwear or tripping while getting from Point A to Point B is pretty much a daily occurrence. I guess the one that comes to mind is when I fell down the stairs at a friend's wedding. Yes, I had a dress on. Yes, it went flying up. The worst part was that it was right before the ceremony started, so everybody was there, and I couldn't even blame it on alcohol.

38. Have you ever donated money to charity?
Yes, most often in the form of lunch money given to kids who need it or paying for a student to go on a field trip or for them to have a yearbook or something like that.

39. Has porn ever had a positive place in a current or recent relationship?
I am completely ambivalent about porn. It doesn't do much for me, but I don't have a problem with people who are into it.

40. Would you ever dump the one you're with for someone who makes an obvious play and is MUCH hotter?
Not at this stage of my life. Right now, "hot" has ceased to be a deciding factor ... I'd settle for nice and normal ... anybody have any nice single friends ;-)?

41. Have you ever disowned one of your relatives?
Not officially ;-) Seriously, I've gone through times when it was healthier not to talk with certain family members because I've been afraid of what I would say. It's always worked out eventually.

42. Would you think it's OK to cheat on someone if they've already cheated on you?
Cheating is never okay. EVER. If you're a swinger or a polygamist or something, that's a different conversation, but the idea of betraying someone's trust by cheating? Not cool.

43. Did you ever consider becoming a teacher?
Nope, never :-) Actually, I've always wanted to be a writer ... teaching kind of came up when I realized that majoring in English isn't good for much else.

44. Would you ever give a hitch-hiker a ride somewhere?
It's so funny that this question is here since I was just telling someone this story recently. Okay, so I was with my friend Chuck and we were on our way back to college (about an hour and a half on the highway) when the car died. This was before the days of everyone having a cell phone, and we weren't able to reach anybody via pay phone, so ... we started walking.

After a couple of hours, we started walking with our thumbs out. After another hour or so, we made a pact that, if we got picked up, we would thereafter always pick up any hitchhiker we saw. Eventually, someone gave us a ride, and life went on.

A few weeks later, Chuck and I were going somewhere (in my car this time), and we started approaching a hitchhiker. I felt an obligation to fulfill my pact (plus, Chuck was a really big guy), so I pulled over. The guy looked pretty sketchy, and I muttered to Chuck that he looked like he'd just gotten out of jail.

The guy gets in closes the door, tells us where he wants to go, and then says, "Just got out of county," gesturing to the county jail we'd just driven past.

I was torn between trying not to laugh and being scared to death.

Well, it worked out fine and we gave him a ride to the next main road, but Chuck and I agreed to dissolve our pact.

45. Would you ever try fasting for a whole week?
Well, only if there was a very compelling reason. I wouldn't try it just to try it.