1998 - 2008

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Ten years ago this year I graduated from high school.

My next door neighbor "K" is a senior at my alma mata.  Ironically her aunt is the music/choir instructor there - thanks in part to my mom who told her about the opening during my freshman year when the janky instructor at the time was being a bit of a scatter brain.

Lately I've been taking a special notice in K.  It's hard to believe she is the same "girl" who would stick up under her aunt during our choir rehearsals. This is same chic that would get a kick out of my father's antics and would bring him a small token back from her family vacation. In a way I've unspokenly called her my little sis, especially since her schooling sorta followed in my foot steps.  Aside from  high school, she also attended the same elementary/jr high I attended.

Nevertheless, I've taken some joy or delight in watching K grow up before my eyes. I've figured this must be what it felt like for my long time neighbors to watch me grow in front of them. Proud and filled with a sense of pride. I'm even more excited for K as prom time is coming up. By my calculations (and if the school still runs on the same "graduation schedule") prom should either be this weekend or next. Graduation should be three weeks away.

In silently traveling the senior year journey with K, I can't help but to revisit some of my own feelings about my high school experience, especially as my class reunion is set for July. A couple of inquires have been sent to me via email or MySpace asking if I will be in attendance. I answered an old friend back via MySpace by telling her that most likely not. I hope to be doing some traveling around that time.  Another old friend, who I was close with back then and reconnected with via the internet, is a part of the committee. She's been keeping me informed of what's what - not to mention the postcard mailer and the reunion package sent to my house.  Then just the other day, a third friend sent me an email asking would I be there. I haven't responded.

My feelings about high school are very indifferent. Yes, there are a few people I would love to see again - mainly the few folks that survived high school with me. However, I really didn't like high school.  It was a Catholic institution with a diverse group of students but majority Black. We were probably considered the most (or perhaps one of the) ghetto schools in the Archdiocese. I say that in light of some of the "upper crust Catholic schools" I battled with on the tennis court during my time on the varsity tennis team. A lot of us (students) came from a decent background or home life and yet I still didn't like the school. For a while I use to think it was because of the people in the school. Something about everyone urk'd my very nature. I use to think "this one" was too childish or "that one" was spoiled beyond belief. I hated the cliques that presented itself during freshman and sophomore year and believe me by junior year I found myself shaking my head at a lot of dissovled friendships. 

No. I wasn't any kind of outcast or some reject that everyone ignored. No, I wasn't popular, but I had friends and I got along with most.  I stayed quite, only trusting a couple, and even then I wasn't all that telling. I was active in choir, tennis and was delighted when I did the photography class and helped out with the year book. Being an aspiring writer, I even helped to come up with something (a passage) to be painted on the school's shed (it's a senior tradition to paint the shed reflecting the school and class spirit of the current senior class)

Still I couldn't stomach high school. I now realize I was expriencing a (perhaps) pre mature growing pain... or maybe not. I blame my Aquarius nature - the wise beyond years "fluff" - because I was soooooooo ready to move on to the next phase of my life. By then I was working part-time in the federal government and I was looking forward to college..more so the (so-called) going away part of college. High school, though it had its excitement, bored me and frustrated me.  Also, I was partially "home-sick," meaning I was missing my "REAL" classmates that I had literally grown up with from Pre-k to 8th grade and desperately tried to stay in contact with. I managed to hold onto one, who after to all these years she still calls me her best friend and I do the same - even in our time of open space as we grew into adulthood.  

It was eneivitable. I was growing up. No turning back.

By my senior year I was in my own world. I still managed to function in school, but slightly talking less to my friends, which prompted some of them to wonder what was up with me and even lightly tease me for being so... "aloof."

After the research paper, finals, prom and graduation I was rid of "them." The class of 1998.

Every once in a while I would bump into someone. On my college campus. At my old OBGYN. At a grocery store. At Ben's Chilli Bowl @ 4 am after a night of clubbing. At the club. Online. On the subway train to work. At the mall.

Then MySpace happened.

(Curse Tom for creating such a daft site)

I won't lie. I was curious to know who turned out to be what and doing what close to ten years later. I sent  a couple of request. Virtually befriended some. Some sent a request to me. Perhaps a few I was shocked that they remembered me. I approved their request. Then some time later I began to get a funny feeling.  It was almost as if I were back in high school again. However, that feeling wasn't just contained to my old classmates, it was really for the whole site.

Then 2008 rolled in with announcements on the reunion.

When the talks first developed about the reunion, for a minute (just a minute) I contemplated on my attendance. Would I really care to see these folks again? In all honesty, no. Other than the couple of friendships from high school that managed to maintain after, I have no connection to my old classmates.

I feel "aloof" again as the excitement around the reunion builds.

I'm sure it will be a swell time for those involved, but I wish to do other things.

High school is so past tense in my book.