A week ago my younger daughter brought home a permission slip from school. Her Family and Consumer Science class (FACS), the modern-day equivalent of Home Ec, was offering a take-home activity for interested students. The chance to have a baby! Not a real one, of course, this would be pretend. But unlike the flour sacks or eggs of yore, these kids would be getting something better. A 21st century SIM BABY!
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20 Years Later…
Weeks ago I blogged about whether or not to attend my upcoming 20 year high school reunion. I detailed the specifics and asked readers to weigh in on the issue (via the post SHOULD I STAY or SHOULD I GO?) Thanks to many of you for offering your opinions and encouragement (and even bigger thanks to my folks for getting me a free hotel room), I made the decision to – GO FOR IT!
I spent Thanksgiving Day in Maine with my family, cooking and feasting, and the rest of the weekend traveling to & from Philadelphia for this “once in a lifetime” event. And as promised, I’m BACK to blog all about it! WOOT! I’ll try not to dwell on the drive – which for a normal person would have been grueling but for someone like me (with Meniere’s) was just shy of hellish, and instead focus on the PARTY. My 20 year high school reunion in a nutshell? CRAZY FUN. Truly one of the most unforgettable and surreal experiences of my life (drive included).
Picture yourself traveling back in time… 5 years.. 10 years.. 15, 20… You step into a room filled with former classmates, and…
From the moment I arrived at the reunion, I was transported – not just back to high school, but all the way to childhood. Greeting me at check-in was a friend I’d known since I was 5, who’d slipped a Van Halen poster into my 6th grade desk to impress me. There stood friends I’d known for YEARS, people who’d played with me as children, laughed with me as adolescents, and Yes, even dated me as teenagers. Most of my very best friends were in attendance, all of us reunited under one roof. And seeing each of their faces, changed after so many years, and yet so fundamentally the same, was worth every bit of the travel agony I had endured.
My 20 year high school reunion was amazing, not just because of the memories it brought back, but because of our collective present. Teenage insecurity, awkwardness and fear be damned! Each of us returned to this reunion armed with 20 years of personal growth. Regardless of career choice, whether married or not, childless or not, rich /poor/ or in between, all of us are now (thankfully) adults. And at age 38/39, most of us seem to like ourselves.
And you know what? It shows. From the get-go I was astounded by just how great everyone looks! Sure, we’ve all aged, but on the whole we’re far more attractive now than we were in high school. Why? Because 20 years later… we’ve grown up. And not just up; we’ve grown INTO ourselves. As teens we thought we knew everything, but we spent more time wondering what others were thinking than ever truly thinking. We worried, we picked, we agonized over minutia. Time has erased many of those petty concerns, replacing them with understanding and PRIORITIES. We’ve faced challenges, we’ve made accomplishments and we didn’t need to waste the night trying to prove anything.
Instead we enjoyed each other, and ourselves. We made chit-chat with those we recognized, we delved deep with those we’d truly known, and I for one came away changed. That’s what happens when you reunite. You can close a chapter on your life with a smile, and without regret. Whether you’ve told someone they were special, or said you were sorry for a past wrong, reunions are an opportunity to explore another side of yourself. A former side, finally at peace with the present. It was a wonderful night.
Huge thanks to the reunion committee for all their hard work, and to the many people whose photographs I’ve reprinted here — thanks for the memories!
Photos courtesy of Amy Eisman Kaplan, Jill Katz, Shawn Kwon-Chang, and Brian Miller, Chorus Media.
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5 months of hellos & goodbyes.
I know some of you are feeling abandoned, and for this I apologize. But moving is neither pretty nor particularly interesting. It’s much closer to mourning, in fact, for those undertaking it. Over the course of the past 5 months, I have weeded through the sum total of my possessions, twice. Assessing, analyzing, weighing the merits of each physical fragment of my existence. And with each object – whatever it is – deciding whether it will have a place in my new life. Much of the accumulation has been easy to part with, because it never meant much to me. But the most difficult parting has been with the place itself.
We left Philly on March 21st; my older daughter’s ninth birthday. We said goodbye to our home and everything we’d ever known, the comfort and support of community, and the love of family and friends. We moved to Portland looking for a better life, seeking a place where our children could grow without fear. It has been both easy and hard. The first month was exhilarating, but it was also the loneliest I’ve ever known. Now – 5 months later, I find myself moving with dexterity through once unfamiliar streets, the longing that gripped me months ago blurred to an often distant haze. But sometimes, it just can’t be helped.
Last month we sold our house in Philadelphia. It’s been a very mixed bag of emotions for us all, but especially for me. I get really attached to places. Almost as much as if they were people. I recall times as a child, when we would travel, feeling an almost palpable sense of sadness after leaving not just loved ones – but locations. I still feel that same acute sorrow when we leave our dear friends cabin in Vermont. So you can imagine how difficult it was for me, having to say goodbye forever to our first home. We went back to Philly over the 4th of July weekend, to pack up everything we’d left behind; all the bits that were too big or too trivial to make the initial trek north. We spent the days hauling ASS. And the nights I spent sobbing. While fireworks flashed in the distance, my husband and I toasted our last Independence Day the way we had the previous 7. On the roof of our home. Now a lovely couple are hanging their clothes in what used to be our closets, and showering in what used to be our bathroom, perhaps even cleaning the mildew off the tile I never wanted to clean. And I wish them all the best. But now that they’re on the mortgage, it is time to move on – literally.
In three days, we move into our new house. OUR NEW HOME!!!! And I cannot even begin to tell you all about it. How elated we all are!! To have found something so lovely, so unique, so historic, to call home – is truly beyond description. This new home, this piece of – America. Finally, to plant our roots in the soil, to nourish, to grow and thrive in our new environment, perhaps even to seed…. TO BE HOME. Those three words bring tears to my eyes. So long awaited, so tenderly missed. I love Portland. I love Maine. As much as any place I have ever known. The beauty, the salty kiss of the ocean, the feeling I get in my heart each time I gaze around.. the feeling of finally being Home.