I received a most distressing piece of mail last week, the invitation to my 25th high school class reunion. I knew the reunion was coming up and while I am not a math genius, I can look at the year and easily figure out it has been 25 years. However, seeing those numbers burned into a piece of paper really threw me for a loop. I mean really, who knew 25 years could pass so quickly? The invitation also included a survey and central among the questions was, “Do you have any grandchildren?”, and again I say, ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I am 7 months pregnant with my second child, how in the world could I possibly have grandchildren? My mom just got her first grandchild and she’s been out of high school almost 50 years! My husband lovingly reminded me of my advanced maternal age, that he has a 20 year old son in college and it was possible. Clearly, he missed the chapter in the husband’s handbook that pointing this kind of fact out to any woman, let alone a hormonal, pregnant woman of advanced maternal age is dangerous to his health. My husband and I are nearly the same age, although he is a bit older, by 10 weeks, so I guess technically I am old enough to have a grandchild, but honestly, isn’t it just a tad insensitive to ask the question? This is the kind of question that sends people my age to the Corvette dealership with checkbook in hand.
However unbelievable the number is, the invitation got me thinking about high school and memories began to surface of things I hadn’t thought of in years. For example, in high school I knew all the words to Rapper’s Delight by the Sugar Hill Gang but for some reason I can’t remember where I put my keys yesterday or for that matter, where I put my car.
It reminded me of my fashion sense and the fact that I use to curl my hair so I had a perfectly straight “butt crack” down the back of my head. You know exactly what I am talking about, feathering your hair so it meets in perfect symmetry from the crown of your head to the nape of your neck and is sprayed so heavily with White Rain hairspray it doesn’t move in gale force winds. It was like the female version of the mullet; it existed but no one really wants to admit to having one.
I remembered going to parties in high school where they had beer, holding one until no one was looking and then dumping it in the nearest plant or flower bed or animal feed trough. We lived in a farm community so many parties were held on farms, often in hog or cow barns. To this day, I can’t help but relate the smell of manure to beer and wondering what the blood alcohol level was in dairy cows the morning after a party.
I remember listening to Journey Escape around the clock and racing the local train schedule so as not to violate my curfew. My mother’s favorite saying in our train riddled town, “If you can be here at 12:05 you can be here at 12 Midnight, plan for trains!” My punishment if I didn’t plan well was being grounded one week for every minute after midnight I showed up. Needless to say, I planned for trains.
I remember when John Mellencamp was John Cougar and I remember thinking his career was definitely over when he changed his name.
I remember when Michael Jackson’s Thriller was the end all be all of music videos and I remember my first rock concert at the Univesity of Illinois Assembly Hall in Champaign, IL. It was the RUSH Signals tour. I have been a huge fan since.
I remember going to see Joan Jett and the Black Hearts open for Billy Squire and wishing upon wishing I could get tickets to see the Police. I would eventually see them but not until college.
I remember faithfully watching Cheers, Family Ties and the A-Team. I also remember watching with millions of other people the final episode of M*A*S*H and feeling like there would never be anything good on TV again.
I remember when the St. Louis Cardinals went to the World Series and my high school boyfriend called at 4 p.m. the day of Game 7 with tickets. This is by the way the game where the St. Louis Cardinals won their first World Series since before I was born. My parents had already left for the game so there was no way for me to get permission to go due the fact cell phones had not yet been invented. So I opted not to go in lieu of getting grounded. The irony was I almost got grounded for not going. My mother scolded me and said, “What were you thinking? It was Game 7 you don’t need permission!”
I remember the day I graduated from high school, May 31st, 1983. I was so excited in my pink gingham dress from the Limited, a new store they only had in St. Louis. It was also my 18th birthday and I remember feeling so grown up. I was leaving for college in a few months but not before I spent a very carefree, memorable summer with my best friend at Lake of the Ozarks in Missouri. My parents trusted me, probably because of things like “Game 7″ and I tried hard not to disappoint them or at least not get caught!
I just cannot believe it has been 25 years and I really can’t believe I will be 43 this coming Saturday. I also can’t believe I am due to deliver my second son in August of this year and that it is possible for someone old enough to be a grandmother, to still be a new mother. I honestly don’t feel much older than 25 let alone be invited to my 25th high school class reunion.
Time flies by so fast and before I know it I will be applying for Medicare that undoubtedly will be non-existent. I find it completely ironic since Medicare was started the year I was born, but I digress.
I honestly wish I could go my reunion. The next one will be in 5 years and life will no doubt be different yet again. But today I am blessed with very good health, a beautiful family and great memories.
And if anyone from my graduating class happens to read this post, have a great time and drink a beer for me. I am going all summer long without one!
Cheers to the class of 1983!
