Reunion

A school reunion is such a cliched event, it's impossible for me to say anything about the experience that hasn't already been better said by many others.

But when has that ever stopped me before?

As a rule, I do not attend reunions. As one who strives to live in the present, I avoid any attempt to resurrect the past. Socially, I see little to be gained from the affair: if I haven't seen or spoken to you in the past 20 years, there's usually a good reason. Why on earth would I care what you're doing today? I'd like to think I'm secure enough with myself that I don't need to boost my self-esteem by surveying the wreckage you've made of your life. But I'm human and all-too vulnerable to such temptations, so I avoid reunions.

Despite this resolve, I did attend my high school's 10-year reunion, guilted into it by a classmate who'd flown in from Bombay for the occasion. It was a sordid affair, organized by a classmate who's now a life insurance salesman. He designed the evening with two ends in mind: ply us with drink then pry out our contact information. Once I realized that I was a "lead" he was trying to "generate," I made a beeline for the door, the life insurance salesman nipping at my heels, and vowed "never again."

My wife has a healthier attitude towards her reunions and I, being a dutiful husband and an avid observer of humans, especially when they're under the stress of extreme social discomfort, leaped at the chance to accompany her to her 20th high school reunion.  Also, her large coed high school throws reunion bashes that put my small single-sex school's reunion/life insurance seminars to shame.

Each alum wore a nametag emblazoned with his or her high school picture. The contrast between their high school pictures, taken in the full flower of youth, and their current pushing-40 faces created an interesting reverse Dorian Gray effect, with their immortal youthful faces staring out at me while their all-too mortal faces talked to me. I studied this effect assiduously, testing various hypotheses that would explain why some alums aged markedly while others still appeared youthful. My best guess is that it has something to do with children: those who've never had children looked the best, those with the oldest children looked the worst, and those with the youngest children were somewhere in between.  My working hypothesis is that parents age at a constant rate determined by the age of their children: we'll all look like 60 when our kids enter high school. If our kids enter high school when we're 40, we've prematurely aged, and if our kids enter high school when we're 60, we'll have aged much more gracefully. This might not be the best argument against teen pregnancy, but I expect it's exactly the sort of warning those feckless teenage parents-to-be would heed.

I had also attended my wife's 10th high school reunion, so when I wasn't testing the aging issue, I was comparing and contrasting the mood of the 20th with the 10th. The 10th was a feverish affair, a hot, sweaty and loud room bursting with the barely contained ambitions of late twentysomethings. Everyone had a patter, a story, a deal, a plan to discuss. The 20th was a subdued affair, a barely-filled small room, isolated clusters of people murmuring to each other. So many faces betrayed the beaten-down look of those who've realized that life had passed them by, their youthful dreams discarded sometime during the past decade. The few with something to brag about didn't, and the many with nothing to brag about didn't, so apart from stray commiserating, there wasn't much for anyone to say to those they hadn't seen or spoken to since the 10th reunion.

As we left early, my wife having spoken to every friend and acquaintance in the room before dinner was served, I turned to one forlorn-looking alum and cheerfully told him "same time, next decade" as we headed out the door.

Comments

[The Misspent Life]

I have been dreading the approach of my 10th reunion for one simple reason: fear. I was voted "most likely to succeed" which at the time I thought was ridiculous and still do. Given the fact that I have no drive I always knew that there would be people who would be more "successful" than me, and I don't want to be embarrssed by saying "I make $15,000 a year and study political theory." ZZzzzzz.

[Eddie Thomas]

Schopenhauer cited these kinds of exchanges as evidence for his philosophical pessimism.

I, on the other hand, had a very nice time at my 20 year reunion weekend this past spring. I didn't attend the reunion itself -- which might explain my satisfaction -- but I did meet with my old chums a couple of times. I was amazed by how little we had changed in spirit. I should say that my high school years were quite good for me, which seems to put me in the minority. I wonder if the misery of high school helps explain the misery so many people feel at these events.