My highschool is having its 50th anniversary in a couple of weeks. I wouldn't know anything about it, but the institution in question must still believe I live at home, because mum thought it was of great importance, and called to tell me I "just HAD to go."
Well, I'm having bad feelings. I haven't seen any of these people since 1995. Some of them never left the hometown. One or two of my classmates are actually teaching at my old highschool. Most of them have their act together. Job. Career. Pets. Regular sex. House. VW. Me? If I wanted to, I could attend this wee get-together wearing a T-shirt, socks, and jeans that I actually owned in 1994, driving the same car, same hair, same glasses. same... etc. etc.
I suppose this is how John Cusack feels in Grosse Pointe Blank. What the hell do you say to people you used to get high with? Used to have sex with? Used to steal notes from? Used to get beat up by?
I was a shitty student. But I had high hopes, and I was a hell of a dreamer. Wanted to be an actor. It was all I did for the four years I was there. Up Up Up. Always looking ahead to the next project, the next part, the next adventure. Know what happened? I saw my limitations first-hand. Took a part that scared the shit out of me. So much that I haven't been back on-stage since. So, what do I say to all these 'former acquaintances' who knew who I was ten years ago? Yeah, I work in the print room of a shitty newspaper in Hamilton, how have the last ten years been for you?
I see the whole ordeal as a massive mirror, reminding me of failures long since buried, and old hopes and dreams crushed under the doc marten boot heels I wore back then.
Know what I remember most about highschool? At the senior prom, it all came crashing down. Until THAT POINT, I thought I was playing the highschool game like a champion. I was popular enough, I had lots of friends, in all the little cliques that I hated highscool for. I got by in classes. blah blah. Anyhoo. The student council and the teachers were giving out mock 'awards,' as a laugh. I was dancing away, not really listening. But my name was called. I know it took around fifteen or twenty seconds until I finally heard my name. Pretended I didn't want to go. A group of 'pals' shove me up on-stage to recieve my award. "For most latenesses or absences in the senior year." I will always remember that moment. The student council president, my peer, laughing his fool, drunken head off; the staff supervisor in the corner of my eye: snickering; the whole gymnasium, clapping good-naturedly as I boldly recieve my prize; my 'buddies' joking and laughing and slapping me on the back for stickin it to the man.
I was such an idiot.
So that's what I remember about highschool. My defining moment. And I've spent ten years living down to that piece of paper.
I wish I was John Cusack. No, maybe I wish I was Martin Blank: hitman, lone gunman.
"Hi, I'm Martin Blank. Remember me? I killed the president of Paraguay with a fork--what have you been up to all these years?"
I hate where I am. I sometimes hate who I am. Where did my life take the turn to where it is now?
But I'm intrigued at the same time. So, do I break out the old yearbook, and get all my former friends to sign? Do I try to hook up with the girl I pined over for four years? Or do I fax Brock Highschool a picture of my middle finger?
k
Well, I'm having bad feelings. I haven't seen any of these people since 1995. Some of them never left the hometown. One or two of my classmates are actually teaching at my old highschool. Most of them have their act together. Job. Career. Pets. Regular sex. House. VW. Me? If I wanted to, I could attend this wee get-together wearing a T-shirt, socks, and jeans that I actually owned in 1994, driving the same car, same hair, same glasses. same... etc. etc.
I suppose this is how John Cusack feels in Grosse Pointe Blank. What the hell do you say to people you used to get high with? Used to have sex with? Used to steal notes from? Used to get beat up by?
I was a shitty student. But I had high hopes, and I was a hell of a dreamer. Wanted to be an actor. It was all I did for the four years I was there. Up Up Up. Always looking ahead to the next project, the next part, the next adventure. Know what happened? I saw my limitations first-hand. Took a part that scared the shit out of me. So much that I haven't been back on-stage since. So, what do I say to all these 'former acquaintances' who knew who I was ten years ago? Yeah, I work in the print room of a shitty newspaper in Hamilton, how have the last ten years been for you?
I see the whole ordeal as a massive mirror, reminding me of failures long since buried, and old hopes and dreams crushed under the doc marten boot heels I wore back then.
Know what I remember most about highschool? At the senior prom, it all came crashing down. Until THAT POINT, I thought I was playing the highschool game like a champion. I was popular enough, I had lots of friends, in all the little cliques that I hated highscool for. I got by in classes. blah blah. Anyhoo. The student council and the teachers were giving out mock 'awards,' as a laugh. I was dancing away, not really listening. But my name was called. I know it took around fifteen or twenty seconds until I finally heard my name. Pretended I didn't want to go. A group of 'pals' shove me up on-stage to recieve my award. "For most latenesses or absences in the senior year." I will always remember that moment. The student council president, my peer, laughing his fool, drunken head off; the staff supervisor in the corner of my eye: snickering; the whole gymnasium, clapping good-naturedly as I boldly recieve my prize; my 'buddies' joking and laughing and slapping me on the back for stickin it to the man.
I was such an idiot.
So that's what I remember about highschool. My defining moment. And I've spent ten years living down to that piece of paper.
I wish I was John Cusack. No, maybe I wish I was Martin Blank: hitman, lone gunman.
"Hi, I'm Martin Blank. Remember me? I killed the president of Paraguay with a fork--what have you been up to all these years?"
I hate where I am. I sometimes hate who I am. Where did my life take the turn to where it is now?
But I'm intrigued at the same time. So, do I break out the old yearbook, and get all my former friends to sign? Do I try to hook up with the girl I pined over for four years? Or do I fax Brock Highschool a picture of my middle finger?
k
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You have to figure out what makes you happy, and try not to worry about what other people think.
Sending you a big hug.