I must say, I walked into the reunion expecting to count the facelifts and bad boob jobs (this is still Miami, kids). But as I got there, I ran into a dear friend who reminded me that she kinda disappeared in twelfth grade...left her dad...and was working on her own. In high school. The next person I bumped into was fighting (and thankfully winning) a bout with cancer. At that point, all the high school highschoolness went away and I was back to remembering how lucky I am to have had the high school experience I did. I so loved seeing every person there — even the one woman who told me I yelled at her while we were playing baseball years ago (especially surprising because I shied from the sports). But man, I felt an inch tall, apologizing and apologizing. I really was a bastard loudmouth when I was little.
Also ran into the very first person I ever met in Florida. I had no friends when we moved from Brooklyn, so my Grandmother set up a “playdate” for this other 8th grader to come over to her apartment. That way, when I started junior high, I’d know at least one person in the hallways. When I saw Danny Goldberg on Saturday (after 20 years), I told him, “Thank you for being nice to me all those years ago.” Owe him forever for that.
And by midnight, we had the Rob Bass pumping and I was doing the running man with my high school girlfriend and no one was calling us old and all was right in the suburbs.
If you’re thinking about going to your reunion...go. Go go go. People grow up. They don’t change. But some do grow up.