It has been 20 years since I graduated. This is a fact I probably would have overlooked if I didn’t already know about a reunion for our graduating class coming up in May. Tickets have to be bought by the end of February, and while Bruce and I have discussed going, there is a part of me that wonders why I should. I have fond memories of Junior High in BC. But my last two years of high school in Saskatchewan don’t particularly bring the warm fuzzies to my heart or cause me to wish I could go back to that time in my life. I am content where I am and have no desire to jump into the tangled mess of teenage hormones and insecurities.
I realize that we have all grown up. Most of us have probably changed quite a bit. I mean, admittedly, while we all thought we are amazingly smart at that age, we really had no working brain cells. Going to the reunion would most likely mean being embarrassed by how few people I’d really remember. It was a graduating class of 300. I was incredibly insecure and self-focused. I’m glad I came out of the high school years remembering my name, let alone anything else.
People change. We grow up. Life moves on. The past is the past.
I had someone strongly suggest that I make sure I go. Twenty years is a long time. Maybe I’ll be like my husband when we went to his reunion last summer. He’s looking around for all the young people and realized that he needed to start looking for the greying, balding, middle-aged guys instead. Some people may say I’m still young. I’m fairly sure going to a 20-year reunion will confirm to me that I am most definitely getting old.
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