I don’t know how I didn’t see this coming: the bubble-gum cliché reminiscent of a John Hughes film. First, there’s the opening montage of a clumsy two-step through adolescence and my fancy footwork that followed into adulthood. Then there’s a quick glimpse of the succession of “turning points” and a thoughtful reflection of my life thus far. The glorious promise. Stellar trajectory. Flame-licked crashes. Raw humility and awkward recoveries.
All that’s missing is an aging Molly Ringwald, bulimic Ally Sheedy, and the bringing-sexy-back Anthony Michael Hall.
I’m going back to high school.
Well, not the actual building; those hallowed halls are halfway around the world. Rather, I’m in charge of our class reunion. The 20th. Right. Suddenly, that membership to Curves doesn’t seem like such an unmanageable expense.
But I’m not nervous at all. I’m actually excited to the point of being giddy. Yes, I loved high school. Better: I loved my high school. Alexander M. Patch American High School in Stuttgart, Germany. Yep, I’m an Army brat. But that’s an adventure-filled diversion for another day. Since we’re scattered across the country, I chose Memphis as the midpoint for hosting our 10-year reunion. Something about the been-there-done-that of old age (the onset of old age, anyway) that makes it easier to go for … easier.
So I’m bringing the Patch H.S. Panthers to Milwaukee this fall.
And, already, just as in ’97, our class reunion has quickly become an all-school celebration. I get a tickle of glee with every email dot that connects in my inbox. As much as I try not to feed the Hughes-inspired film reel playing in my head, I can’t seem to ward off the cliché curiosities this go ‘round. Who’s doubled their weight? Or doubled their self-confidence? Will there be a millionaire inventor or a corrupt politician? How many baby showers and divorce proceedings among us? Broken spirits? Fiercely faithful? Certifiably insane? Tragically mundane? And who hasn’t changed a bit?
I recall being too busy revisiting my Class President duties to actually find out any of these things 10 years ago. There was the welcome cocktail party, the steamboat ride, the group photos, the basketball and volleyball challenge, the city tours, the banquet, the songs and cheers and speeches, the guest book …
…what? There were people from my high school here? People who, on graduation night, I was sure I’d never see again in life (the downside of being a military kid and going to school in a foreign country)? Drat! I was so busy being busy, I missed them all. I’ll have to be sure and catch them next time.
Well, “next time” is almost here and Madame President is keeping it simple this go ‘round: food, music, photos, booze and plenty of conversation. I’m sure we’ll all travel with our own versions of "Sixteen Bueller Pretty Some Kind of Weird Wonderful Science Breakfast Club," but I’m gonna do my best to keep the plot simple. Share victories. Rekindle comraderies. Gain new perspectives. Sketch new, grown-up batch of memories while celebrating the old ones.
Yeah, that should be enough delicious cheesiness to last us another decade. Roll credits.
