I went to my ten-year reunion this weekend. I went only because I promised my Dad I'd go. It was strange. Very strange. I (don't laugh) wrote Daddy an email, as I've been doing for a while now when I have things I'd like to tell him. We talked a lot about my going to the reunion. He made me promise I'd go, and every time we talked, he'd ask me if I was ready. Every time I answered no. His response was always that "It'll be okay because I'll be wide awake when you get home. You can scratch my back and we can watch a movie or two - and maybe have some ice cream." Well... there was no movie and no ice cream.
Damn near everyone there was of the group that wouldn't have anything to do with me when I was in school. 99% of those who attended are still in the area, or within a 20 minute drive. Most, if not all, knew about Dad, knew that he'd died unexpectedly after a four-month battle with cancer, knew, in our small town, that hundreds of people came to his funeral to pay their respects. And any time someone walked up to me to say hi, they gave condolences and asked about the three of us. They all remarked that graduation felt like yesterday. It didn't, not to me. It felt like eons. I smoked a lot. I drank a whole lot. A girl who rarely spoke to me throughout HS came up to me with a bottle of rum and a six of Coke and mixed me rum and cokes all night long. She said it was her version of a condolence card. I cried most of the way home and in the shower. We didn't leave until late yesterday, stopping at the cemetery on our way out. It took forever to come home.When I got back, after eight hours on the road, all I could think about was that I couldn't tell Dad how things were. I've picked up the phone and almost called his number several times since his death. This time, I just ache inside with an empty sadness that feels horribly, horribly wrong. I did the only thing I could... I told Dad all about it.
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Okay, Dad. I went. I was there. I saw folks I haven't seen in ten years and a handful of people I last saw when I was home for your funeral. After all the weeks of procrastinating, of hoping it wouldn't come or I'd have an excuse not to go, I got in the car and drove south. I didn't have anything to wear, and I collared Brit into spending Saturday morning helping me find something more appropriate than those really dark holey jeans you didn't like, flip flops, and a t-shirt. She did. Momma went too, and of course, they both did a really good job, and you'd be proud - it was a steal. I know how much you like bright colors, so sorry - it was black. But it was flattering and pretty and about as girly as I could stand to be for one night of my life. I know you would have hugged me and kissed me on the cheek and I'd like to think you would've been proud of me.
So many people asked about you. Asked quietly, asked a little uneasily... they asked because when I walked by it was the elephant in the room. That's part of the reason I didn't want to go... not that I didn't want to talk about you, but because I couldn't stop thinking about you and wishing you would be at home when I got there. Nine times out of ten, I brought you up... not to be a bummer, but just because you were on my mind with such persistence. I know people probably wondered why I wouldn't stop talking about you... but everywhere I turned, I saw people that reminded me... of you, of those years when I had you with me, because you were at everything I ever did with these people.
I wanted to tell you about everything - and everyone. We've got some movers and shakers in our class, Dad. Robyn's going to be an MD. Joani's got a BSN and is an ER nurse (and told a story about a lady going into labor in an elevator that would have made you double over in laughter.) Brock and his wife live in Birmingham now - and he looks exactly the same. Remember Tina? She's in the Army... as are a handful of others that couldn't be there. Nick is on the coast, like I told you back in January - and he leaves for Afghanistan soon.
Thomas did well... as well as could be expected, since he knew exactly two people there: me and Brant... and Brant didn't remember him because Thomas hadn't started shaving his head and wearing the goatee when he taught at Southern. Once Brant realized who Thomas was, it was funny - like he was trying to figure out the math in his head but didn't want to ask his former teacher's age. Thomas was tired from the drive and felt a little uncomfortable... which was okay, I guess, because I felt the same way. He knew I was nervous and sad and could tell I was thinking about you, so I know he tried very hard to be supportive and look like he was having fun. He also knew how uneasy I was about dressing up and wearing makeup... it's not me, and never has been. That's Brit's kind of fun. He must've told me a hundred times that I was the most beautiful girl in the room, and that you would think so, too. I told him his "reward" for being a good sport and flattering me all evening was steak. A big hunk of cow with gravy and potatoes. He enjoyed it, but my veggies and pasta were much better. I couldn't finish it all and thought of you when I didn't have anyone to share it with.
A lot of people didn't come... folks that sort of surprised me. I wanted to see Derrick and Brianna. I would've loved to see Regina and Jenny and her gorgeous kids. I wish Erica would've come over from Texas, and Paula and Jason. I was excited about seeing Brad and Jaclyn... but they weren't there. I don't know why so many people didn't come.
Well, in a way, I guess I do. We talked about it that last weekend we had together. Regardless of the door prizes for "most changed" and "least changed," some people change on the inside and some don't. And, more importantly, a lot of us develop a much thicker skin as we get older than the easily bruised ones we carried in high school. When it comes right down to it, Dad, ten years is just a drop in the bucket... and if you don't believe me, all I have to say is that it's been 58 days since the last time I talked to you, and still doesn't feel real. My friends who didn't come because "they didn't like anyone," or "no one liked them," did themselves a disservice. 10 year reunions aren't organized to reopen old wounds and remind us of the immature vagaries of high school. They're to remind us easier, more carefree times and help us through the tough times that we never anticipated facing when we were 18. Hopefully, in the end, they help us take ourselves a little less seriously when we see how far we've come and how far we have left to go.
There's group of people I would've called acquaintances in high school – that group that I wanted so badly to be a part of but never could make it into because of my quiet, bookish, and musical inclinations and my not-quite-preppy-enough clothes – the people I always felt guarded around ten years ago. Those were the people who put an arm around me this weekend and helped dry my tears with laughter. Those were the people who gave me a hug and told me they were glad to see me there, even though they knew it must be hard. Those were the people who reminded me of you and your kindness – and your inability to ever say anything bad about anyone. In one of the harder moments of the evening, these people who I never really knew in high school looked at me and said they were astounded to see me happy-go-lucky and cheerful that night. They said they didn't know how I did it or why. Maybe it was pity. Maybe it wasn't. They seemed to respect me for my strength... something I didn't have or didn't know I had, or perhaps something they didn't see a decade ago. They were truer friends than I ever realized I had, and I'm glad I discovered them now.
I know full well that I wouldn't be doing my decade's worth of post-graduation-growth much credit if I chalked it up to anything less than compassionate friendship. In spite of the fact that I still felt like I was on the outside looking in, I don't think it was as much about the vague sort of cliquish nature that somehow persisted through ten years. It was because there are times that I still don't know how to think of you without crying, or to remember you without breaking down. I had you with me this weekend, Dad, and I think I finally did a little better job of being true to myself and not worrying about what people thought about me. Thanks for teaching me that, Dad. I only wish I could've told you in person, over a movie and some ice cream.