So we did survive the epic 205 people 50 year high school reunion virtually unscathed. Attendees seemed to be pleased with the evening. We earned enough money to donate back to the high school for furniture to go toward an outside student lounge AND to an organization that helps the homeless in my old school's hometown. I was against using the reunion as a money-making activity, but it seems I'm the only one who felt it was a money grab, and the results have proved me wrong.
I caught up with a LOT of old friends, but because I was on the planning committee, it seemed I spent more time hosting the party than enjoying it. There's talk that this was so much fun that we should hold a grand 70th birthday bash for our class in two years' time. I wholeheartedly concurred when asked, with the caveat that I wouldn't be on the committee for this one. Not my forte.
I had an old beau in high school, one who became quite serious in senior year. It ended badly at the seven year mark, and he (of course) attended. Reader's Digest version is that he became controlling, to the point of telling me where I could go to college, what car I could purchase to commute to college, and that I was not allowed to join a sorority. After he broke things off and came back two or three times, I broke things off permanently. The experience molded me in some unfortunate ways, a few of which I outgrew or overcame and some issues that I continue to deal with to this day. I was bound and determined to avoid him and his wife (who ironically was my sorority president, for I did indeed eventually join a sorority). For five and three-quarters hours I was quite successful in never being in the same place he was.
And then, as things were breaking up, he cornered me on his way out, saying he wanted to make sure he at least said "hi" to me before he left. It was my moment to sparkle, my moment to show that I had grown a backbone, my moment to prove that without him holding me down I had made something of myself. He asked me things about myself that he obviously already knew (that I was a veterinarian, where I went to vet school, that sort of thing), so he must have been pumping others for info before tackling me. Like a fool I kept my face in neutral and answered as succinctly as possible. I asked nothing about his life.
Three o'clock in the morning I started kicking myself for not being a little spunkier. What I should have done, when he said that he at least wanted to say "hi" to me before he left was to ask "Why"? I'm going to be annoyed with myself over that for a long time.
Well, it doesn't matter. It's all over, including the curtain calls.
