High School…20 years later

I keep telling myself it has to be done.  To allow my 20 year High School Reunion to go “un-told” about…just doesn’t seem right.  We have been planning it for so long…I can’t believe it has actually come and gone.  I wasn’t a class officer in high school.  I wasn’t much of anyone.  That’s what I thought back then, anyway.  And if there is one thing that I could change about my life…the fact that I actually believed that would be at the top of the list.  It’s so wrong.  I was so wrong.

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The reunion weekend started long before this past Friday night.  It started with a chain of e-mails about needing people to help out with the planning.  As time went on…and word got out…a Clear Lake High School (class of 93) Reunion Facebook page was created.  And slowly…but surely…we found people.  We found lost friends.  We found our class.  When the calendar turned August, people began posting old pictures.  We began digging out our letter jackets and pom poms from our attics.  And the memories that were buried deep came flooding to the surface.

I began telling my children stories. And I realized that I had to start at the beginning.  I began telling them about how Jr. High was such a shock…coming from my unconditionally loving home.  I told them about the time in 6th when grade when someone told me that I “could” be popular if I just dressed better.  And I told them about when a group of girls (who I wanted to like me and accept me soooooo badly) had a party and didn’t invite me.  I didn’t know about the party…until they called me and told me that I wasn’t invited…and that I would NEVER be invited.  I didn’t know that I wasn’t worth it…that I wasn’t good enough…until they told me so.  And sadly…I believed them.  Yet…I still longed for their favor.

I told my children about how I grew taller than everyone else and was super skinny and lanky and how I would wear long, full skirts so that I could walk with my knees bent to appear shorter.  I told them how girls passed a really mean note about me around History class.  I told them about how the football guys made up nicknames for all the popular girls…and that if I could just earn a nickname…that I would be worth something.  And then I told them about the day that they gave me a really mean nickname.  I told them how I went home crying.  I told them that I wanted to be a cheerleader really bad and that I tried out in 8th grade and didn’t make it.  I told them how I felt like I wasn’t good enough.  I told them that I believed that I wasn’t worth anything…because I listened to the world.  The fact of the matter is…that I was listening to the wrong voices.

I told them that I wouldn’t go back and change what happened to me…but how I allowed it to shake my understanding of my worthiness…and steal my focus.  Because while I was busy worrying and trying to be accepted…there were others hurting too.

As I told them my stories…I saw the sadness in their eyes.  I saw them feel compassion for their fun-loving momma…who throws kitchen dance parties and makes them laugh.  I saw them feel a justified anger.  Because their momma…the girl who they thought hung the moon…was treated that way.  I listened to my 8 year old daughter say in a hurt voice, “But I don’t understand!!!  I think you’re beautiful.”  And I listened to my sons tell me that they would never treat anyone like that…because they saw how much it hurt.  And if my stories of Jr. High can teach them to care more about including the kid in the corner…or standing up for the one being laughed at…or sitting with the lonely…than they care about what people think about them, then what I went through is worth it.

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High School went better, thankfully.  I came into my own.  I figured out who I was.  The boys finally got taller than me.  I made the dance team.   The only guy I really cared about noticed me.  And some of those people from Jr. High even became some of my friends.  But I never forgot.  And that’s the problem.  Those old wounds may have thick scars over them…but you always know they were there.  And I would be lying if I said that some of those scars weren’t poked at a little…while remembering these old memories.  I decided that for me…this reunion wasn’t going to be about me…or what people thought about me.  It was going to be about people.  It was going to be a chance to love people…and build them up.  It was going to be about kindness.  It was going to be about friendship.

And it was.

I’m ashamed at my lack of pictures from the weekend.

Friday night:  Dempsey’s

Sweet, sweet Claire.

That cute man on the left…well…that’s Chuck.  He was my very first date.  Freshman year…Homecoming.  Jennifer and Dea became two of my closest friends freshman year.  And the tall one…he went on to marry Tracy…my best friend from childhood and fellow NKOTB fan.

The “reunion committee” at the pool party on Saturday.

My daughter loved playing in my cap and gown.

Annslee helped me with the decorations.

    

That’s all my stuff on the “memorabilia” table.

This is the memorial table.  It was so important to honor those whom we have sadly lost.  11 candles for 11 souls.

I adore this couple.  One of my favorite friends from college years.

Claire was still getting ready.  Typical.  And Leigh was MIA.  But…we are getting ready for our fellow graduates to begin trickling through the door.

One of my favorite people on this Earth…and my Maid of Honor.  She never did anything but make me feel good about who I was.  A true friend.

Dea and Chuck.  This just makes me happy.

My camera may not have been clickin’…but the dancin’ was.

    

    

My baby in my old dance team stuff:

    

No.  I wasn’t a class officer.  I wasn’t a cheerleader.  I was never on the Homecoming court…or the class favorite list.  But…BUT!!!  My principal did award me with a character trait award.  I was chosen to go to the elementary schools and talk about the pressures of Jr. High and High School and tell those kids that they are worth it…and to not let anybody tell them different.  I did get to stand firm in who I was…a follower and child of Jesus Christ.  And although I wish I had done a better job of it…I got to love people.

I’m not sure how I got to be lucky enough to help plan this reunion…but it was a privilege and an honor to be able to see all of these people again.  I hope they know how much I care about them.  I hope they know how much I care about them all.