My 40th High School Reunion

Last week my husband and I flew to California.  I feel comfortable there.  It's home.  We stayed at a hotel pretty close to where I grew up.  Everything was familiar, I knew the neighborhood, could point out the houses where my old friends had lived, and even where certain businesses used to be--old coffee shops, theaters, and grocery stores that no longer existed, except in my memories.

I woke up that morning feeling giddy, yes giddy.  My first thought was that today was the day.  The day of my 40th high school reunion.  True, I had seen a lot of the girls just a mere 16 months ago, but this was different.  This was the real deal.  40 years!  I laid there in my hotel bed completely amazed.  Yes, I thought, I am that old.  Old enough to have a 40th high school reunion.

There is no way, that way back then as a senior in high school I could have even imagined what my future self would look like.  Oh, I figured I'd be about the same height, but what I couldn't envision was my face, or skin, or shape.  It's probably a good thing though, I would have collapsed in sheer terror had I known!

So the morning of my reunion, as I looked into the mirror I found that I was not happy with the person who looked back at me.  There she stood--fat, middle aged and frumpy looking--yep I felt frumpy, lumpy, ugly and not one bit 17.  I looked over at my husband and said--I feel puffy.  To which he replied--you look kind of puffy.  I then sat down on the end of the bed to see if I'd pass out from the tightness of the waistband on my pants.  Almost.  Not comfy, that's for sure.  But man, these new pants of mine sure were cute, kind of Aztec looking.  I wanted to wear them so badly but knew that I'd feel like a sausage, so I decided to just (once again) be myself.  Jeans, a cotton shirt, and flip flops--the real me.  Who cares!

I wonder now if I had worn the sausage pants--would I have fooled anyone?  I don't think so.  We all know each other too well.  Which is kind of comforting if I think about it.  They didn't care what I wore, any more than I cared about what they wore.  I just wanted them there--at our reunion.  I, in fact, felt that I needed to be there.  I needed to reconnect with my old friends whom I had spent my high school years with.  I needed to see them, hear their laughter, and know that they were OK.

We had a great turnout.  Not as many as I would have liked (which means every single person) but enough so that we all and I do mean all had a wonderful time.  Once again though, I hid behind my camera.  It's my way of connecting.  I'll smile and take a picture of you, you smile back and I'll feel accepted.  That's just how I am.  It's a safe place for me to be--behind the camera.  I know myself.  I'm just that way.

However, I did ask one favor of my husband.  I asked him to come back later in the afternoon, take my camera and get a few shots of me--for I was there too you know!  So he did.  He came, took some pictures, and also helped with the party teardown.  He's good at that.  He's a helper through and through.

It's taken me a week to come to terms with what exactly I experienced during those few short hours with my old high school buddies.  I think I've come to a conclusion.  I think I'm now able to put into words what I've been processing.  I feel kind of sad--writing about it.  And yet, I also feel that I should share it.  Oh, these deep thoughts of mine.  The thoughts, feelings, and emotions of one who feels that somehow, way back then, all those many years ago--I missed it.  I failed them.  Yes, I know that I was just a teenager, wrapped up in my own little life.  However, I still hold myself accountable.  And I am now wondering--why, didn't I know?

I know I am sounding vague.  A little crazier than usual, and yes, this will be very hard for me to explain, but it's truly what is rattling around in this atrophied brain of mine.  This is my question--why didn't I know way back then that some of my friends lived in very unacceptable and dire circumstances?  Dysfunctional homes, divorce situations, sexual abuse--the list goes on and on.  Oh, I was clued into some of it.  Certainly though not most of it.  I was too selfish.  Or maybe they just hid it too well.  I did.  I hid it.  No one truly knew what type of childhood I lived.  And what I wanted hidden--I hid well.  I was good at that.  Hiding.  I still am.

There we were that afternoon in little clusters--gabbing away, we were excited to see one another, we asked the appropriate questions--where are you living now, any children?  But never the deep questions--the how are you really?  But then--something happened.  Someone spoke up, someone shared the truth, someone came out of hiding, and as she and I sat talking outside in that beautiful backyard with all our high school friends talking around us, she shared her heart with me.  She shared the secrets of her childhood, and I was stunned, I didn't know.  How would I have ever known?  And that is what made me sad.  Sad that 40 years ago I was a typical teenager caught up in myself, trying hard to make sure my secrets were hidden and not even thinking about trying to help them with theirs.  I found myself looking out over that sea of women thinking, what else don't I know?  And then, is there any way I can help?  And that my friends are why I went into psychology.  That is why I have always been involved in crisis counseling.  We need each other.  We are told to bear one another's burdens.  But do we?  Do I?  

I spent more than a few moments swallowing back tears.  I found myself more than once making my way back into the restroom where I would compose myself and head out into the crowd again with my camera in tow.  You see, with my years of training, I could easily spot the hurting ones, the ones that said--I still have secrets.  Won't anybody listen?  I stood there, camera ready, but secretly praying over each and every woman there.  I prayed that God would heal their broken hearts, that I would be a good friend, and I prayed that over the next several years--well, maybe we could share with each other our needs, our secrets, our hurts, and our hearts.  We have a history.  We have a past.  And we are friends.  I don't know about you, but I am the type of person that makes a friend for life.  That means you'll never be able to shake me.  I'll always be here for you.  You call, I listen.  You ask--I pray.  I won't judge you.  I am your friend.

As I mentioned earlier, I have secrets too.  I've shared a lot of them in this blog.  Over the last couple of years, I have cried rivers of tears and spent many hours praying over just what to share.  When God shows something to me--when He exposes my heart, I feel the need, no the responsibility to share.  For I also lived in a dysfunctional home, with a bipolar father, and enabling mother, and a heart full of childhood fears.  Yes, I had secrets too.  I think I hid them pretty well though.  For example--when we were all gathering in groups to take pictures of our elementary and jr. high school years--that was hard for me.  I went to 8 elementary schools, 3 junior high schools, and 2 high schools, so which group should I have stood with?  I felt uncomfortable,  to say the least.  I wanted that time to be over quickly. Really, I wanted to crawl under a rock.  It might seem silly, but it brought up issues from my childhood due to my father's illness, that I still deal with to this day.  That old feeling of not truly belonging in one specific group--it's a lonely place to be.  Secrets.  Did you know that about me?  Probably not.  I hid it well.  However, I'm done hiding now.  I want to share my stories so that I can help others share theirs.  Why?  So that we can begin the healing process, the healing of our hearts.  And because that's how God made me.  For me, that's what life is all about, it's about helping others, not judging them, helping them.  Listening, loving, accepting, teaching, and just plain old being a friend.

So that was how my 40th high school reunion went.  It was awesome, it was fantastic, it was fun, and I loved it.  It was also a time when I finally felt that I could just relax and be myself.  I don't care how much money you have, or what kind of car you drive.  I don't care about college degrees or world travels, I don't care.  I just want all of us to be ourselves, women who feel safe, and loved, and accepted--even when they feel puffy.