My name is not Crayon 

So you all know I went to my 40th High School reunion two weeks ago. And as my 6 loyal followers also know I was a little ambiguous. And ya know what?  I had a great time. There were a lot of people I knew, and although we either grew apart by high school, or weren’t that close, we enjoyed the hell out of seeing each other and catching up. A woman I went all the way from kindergarten through high school was among the first to greet me. She told me that she always thought my name was Crayon. See, her name is Karen and her little 5 year old self couldn’t understand how we could have the same name but spell it differently. And she felt bad for me. Being named Crayon and all. We all spent a lot of time staring at each other’s chests where our name tags and yearbook pictures lived. I was stunned at how many times I heard, “You look exactly the same!!” People who I thought didn’t even know I existed. I realized how many people knew who I was even if we never said a word to each other in high school. And how enjoyable it was getting to know them a little better now. Don’t get me wrong. There was still the Uber-cool kids, now the uber-cool adults who didn’t really mingle. They stayed in their tight little group and let the tier 2 cool but slightly less cool kids come to them.  Although I’m still awed and intimidated, and they were either still gorgeous, or had so much plastic surgery they could’ve been anyone of a certain age, I really didn’t care that much. I spent time with a lot of people that I wouldn’t have in high school. We were all older, chubbier, balder. We didn’t really give a #%^* how cool or uncool we were back then. We were happy to be alive and well for this milestone. So many of our classmates aren’t. Age is the great leveler. It’s one thing to lose a parent, to see how close mortality is. It’s another thing all together when contemporaries start dropping. Classmates. Ex-husbands. Friends. Having borne no children of my own, I never felt quite like a grown up. Still don’t. And being as self-absorbed as I am, I cannot wrap my head around a world that I am no longer in. It just doesn’t make sense. And maybe that’s not a bad thing. I feel young. Inside. Maybe that will keep the outside young for just a little longer. Maybe I’ll still dance and laugh and cause eye-rolling mortification in my neices. Maybe at my 50th high school reunion, I will still hear, “OMG, you look exactly the same!” One can only hopeWoman Praying


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If a High School Student Falls in the Cafeteria, and No One is Paying Attention, Does She Make a Sound?

I have a ticket to my high school reunion on Saturday. My 40th high school reunion. And 5 days before, I’m still undecided about actually going….Fast forward. It is now the day of the reunion and I’m still undecided about going. The question is why. On the flip side, the question is why did I get a ticket in the first place? There is something compelling about seeing old friends 40 years later when we are actually, well, old.  Or older. The thing is, out of a class of  731, I was close to about 10 of them. As far as I know, none of them will be there. And if the Facebook posts for the last year are to be believed, the 100 or so who will be there are all close and so looking forward to seeing each other, and this is going to be the best reunion, ever!! There are a few Facebook friends who will be there, and it will be nice to see them in person, but for the most part, I have no idea who these people are! How is that possible? Did I make myself so invisible, that even I couldn’t see myself? Did I really believe that it would be better to not be remembered at all then to be remembered as nerdy, unpopular, funny-looking, the girl who peed her pants in 7th grade math class, because Mrs. McGirt wouldn’t let her out of class?  And 40 some odd years later, why is it only now, that I can look at that kid, and see that she was no better or worse than any one else. Why did it take me 40 years to realize that I don’t know most of my classmates because I chose that path. That I was as popular and well-liked as I believed myself to be. Self-esteem is a tricky thing. Where it comes from, how one has it, or doesn’t, whether it can be learned, or you have to be born with it. I don’t have the answers…yet. I hope it can be learned  because my adult life is colored by the girl I perceived my self to be. The shy, invisible, not quite pretty-enough girl who can’t remember the faces of her classmates because she was always looking down. So, I guess I’ll go to the reunion. And I’ll smile and greet people I know and meet people I don’t. And maybe it will be the best reunion, ever!

Looking Back