Apparently this month marks twenty years since I graduated from high school. This fact didn’t affect me at all until someone created a Facebook group for the class of ’96.
Let me back up and say that my class hasn’t been too great at getting reunions together. The ones they did manage to throw together, I did not attend. It’s not because I don’t like my class or because I was too busy to go. I just didn’t want to. Five years seemed to close to graduation. I was just out of college and not at all ready to go back to high school. Ten years found me only a year into a marriage with no kids yet and nothing of note–other than my teaching gig–to report back with. I don’t think a fifteen year reunion even happened.
So here we are at twenty. As far as I know, there is no reunion being planned, but maybe. There is a Facebook group. And there are pictures that have been added (some by me). I am suddenly reminded that since our senior year there have been marriages and babies and divorces. There have been those who have moved away not to be heard from. There are many who are still living in our small town.
It’s hard not to think of my classmates the way I saw them when I was in high school. This makes me wonder how people saw me in high school. I never really thought about it while actually in high school, though. In fact, I saw myself as someone who could find a buddy anywhere. I was never concerned about whether or not I had friends in a class with me because I knew that whoever was in the class would be cool.
I had three close girlfriends in my grade, two of whom are still my best friends. Freshman year I started dating a junior, so I hung out mostly with older kids. Junior year he went off to an out-of-state college and I started hanging out more with a group of guys the year behind me since my best friend’s brother was in that group and we all pretty much hung out at their house. I was in marching band, but I dated varsity athletes. One of my best friends was a partier; I didn’t drink but I was usually hanging out willing to give her a ride. I was friendly with pretty much everyone, but I didn’t really belong in any one clique. Unless my friends were a clique and I just didn’t know it.
My grades were good–I was always on the honor roll–but I wasn’t top of my class or anything. Math and science tended to elude me and I had to study pretty hard for those B’s (sometimes C+’s). I liked to goof off in class and make people laugh, but I didn’t push the line of disrespect with teachers. I was chronically late to first hour once I had my own car, but I managed to avoid detention. Most teachers seemed to like me, but not because I was a brown-nose. I don’t think. I didn’t play any sports, but my friends did and I was always at their games.
The first time I was ever aware that my name came up in groups when I wasn’t around was when I was a sophomore. A group of girls was gossiping about who had gone how far with their boyfriends. Everyone looked at me. My boyfriend was a senior and in that moment I found out that “everyone” assumed he and I were…well…doing something we mostly certainly were not. I remember laughing my head off at these girls who were so sure they knew my personal life. They laughed too once I told them the truth, although I never was sure if they believed me. It struck me as incredibly odd that anyone would talk about me while I wasn’t there. That people had opinions of me separate from being around me or talking to me.
So I look back on that and think about my assumptions about other people that may or may not have been true.
I think about the cliques people were in; I notice that a lot of them still hang out with those people (thanks, Facebook).
I think about those who I didn’t really get to know very well back then other than possibly sitting by them in math or doing a government project with them. Are they essentially still the same? Have they changed?
And what about me? Am I the same?
In some ways, I know I am not. I know I am about twice the size I was back then–something that is very sensitive for me. Something I want to immediately bring up and explain. “Hi! So yeah, I am like TWO of the Katie’s you used to know, right? I had five pregnancies, two miscarriages, and a pile of mental illness, so you know, my body hasn’t been my first priority. No, I don’t want your shakes or work out plans. Not right now. I’m just letting you know I am aware that I look different.”
My worldview is also much different. I went to a pretty insular high school and depended on my parents to let me know what my views were. They didn’t actually say much, but I knew they leaned to the right, so I copied that. Since those days I have straightened up and pretty much fell over to the left. I have become an loud voice for social justice and human rights, rather than just being loud.
I used to tell myself I didn’t go to reunions because I hadn’t done enough yet. I wanted to come back accomplished. But I am not sure what I mean by that anymore. Since graduating, I have earned two degrees, been published in print books, academic journals, and large online publications like the Washington Post. I have spoken at conferences. I have fought mental illness and become an advocate. I have raised thousands of dollars in books for my classroom library to promote literacy in my at-risk school. I’ve created this blog and shared my story. I have a wonderful marriage to one of my best friends and we have three pretty awesome kids. We own our own home. Cortney is a part-owner of a business. I’m planning on getting my PhD.
How much more accomplished can I get?
So maybe I don’t go because I am scared. I am scared that I don’t matter. I’m scared that people still see me as someone nice, but not in any group. I’m afraid of being excluded.
And really, I feel that as an adult, I shouldn’t have to feel nervous and inadequate and self-conscious anymore, so I hide and tell myself lies.