Putting Yesterday to Rest
I love reunions; the word itself and its very meaning. Whether or not this has anything to do with my life long adoration of the song “Reunited,” I cannot say. Even typing this, the image of side by side frames of Peaches and Herb raising their individual microphones and singing about how good it feels to be reunited conjures up in my mind. I viewed this serenade, as often as the networks would air it, on the television that had been relegated to the basement. It was a sad set with a twelve inch screen and quite clearly not worthy for the place of pride and sitcom/sports/news viewing in the main living room. With a hairbrush in my hand and visions of beads in my hair, I sang that song with escalated emotion every chance I got. There were no faint disco lights to accompany me, no cheesecloth for mood, nor a thoughtful, supportive, quiet studio audience. Most ironically- there wasn’t anyone, or anything, for which I could become reunited, no matter how good it might feel.
When “Reunited” was climbing the charts, and being awkwardly danced to on Solid Gold, my years had not reached double digits. Little did I know beyond my family and we had no cause to be separated. I would add- and school- to the above statement, yet I went to as many schools as there are years in a school career as we moved every year and hence, furthering reunions to being nonexistent in my life. It would take me until age 13* to feel my first reunion, and yes that felt good. My next would come at 17**, complete with exposure to the bitter sweet reality that from then on every time there was a reunion, there is someone who was left behind.
Traveling, exploring, moving, running away and geographical fixes were the mainstays of my existence. Being of a social persuasion, I made friends at every stop, twist and turn, so you can imagine how many reunions I have faced over the now three and half decades of my life. Connecting and reconnecting with all of my friends and extensive family has not ever ceased to delight me. I attended the 10 Year Reunion of my Arts High School^ and had a wonderful time. For the most part we all looked the same and our personalities rang true with our memories.
By the time, or rather one year shy of the time, our 20 Year Reunion came around- the alumni planned a joint reunion of all the classes that graduated in the 80’s. This made our 20th Reunion take place on the 19th year after we graduated. Coincidentally, the same year my life really started to take a tail spin financially, rendering me unable to attend. (I may have also been bitter about losing a year on the milestone, yet we do not want to go into that deluge of bitterness, trust me.)
A few weeks ago, my regular High School, whose alumni is comprised of the people I went to junior high with and have recently reconnected with by way of social networking, hosted our 20th Reunion. This happened a week after my love and I moved to Texas. We moved rather reluctantly as victims of the economy, which should clearly illustrate how we did not have the money to go to the Reunion.
Little by little, over these past few years, I have started to feel like that second class television set whose antenna is nowhere near strong enough to get a proper signal from the basement level. I have had an overwhelming feeling of being removed, set aside, and passed over. Everything and everyone was beyond some barrier I couldn’t cross. It wasn’t anything anyone else did or said or shared, I fell into this gloom all on my own. I somehow stumbled into the land of no reunions, not even little ones. If I was Peaches, Herb was too far away.
If this in and of itself is not pathetic enough, a few days ago John Hughes, the man who made facing my teen years slightly more bearable and set an unmatchable standard for the expression of certain aspects of my generation, passed away from a heart attack. I began to wonder- How can our spirit thrive if his heart is no longer beating? It all felt connected. My irrational grieving from alienating myself united with sincere grieving over a symbol of my youth and therefore, my youth itself.
There it was- the mirror I needed. It was my youth and the ridiculous list of things I had not accomplished that I was grieving. I couldn’t express any of this eloquently or even in a languid fashion. I believe I was facing my mortality and for me that meant renouncing, alienating, and not understanding why. Now, that I can see my state of mind somewhat less cluttered, I can begin to reestablish a reunion of myself, compile all of my pieces to move forward. I can let go of what doesn’t serve and embrace the tools I have acquired along the way that shield me when I need it and illuminate when they can.
I further examined how Reunions are all about celebrating the past. I love my past for it has brought me to my present, which I wouldn’t trade for anything. It is hard and uncertain and mine all mine. I think it is time to put yesterday to rest, so that tomorrow can shine. How exciting to face the world armed with the: what ifs, maybes and why nots- to once again be reunited with the future. And yes, oh yes, it feels so good.
*We moved several towns away and I found myself the new kid at school, yet again, in Junior High and fast became the spit wad target on the bus even though I wore my bi-level haircut proud, missed a day of school to recover from the Jackson’s Victory Tour and everyone else had acne too. After I penned a tear stained note to my mom that may have mentioned running away- I was reunited with my friends at the first Junior High I had attended and astonishingly was allowed to matriculate from the very same Junior High when it was time to move on to High School.
**After one year of High School, I moved with my mom to California, got into Art school and during winter break- went back to visit my dad and friends in Colorado. It was great, yet I missed my new friends in CA and then when I got home I missed my older friends in CO again- hence my first lesson in this perpetual emotion. Yes that was a throw back to the Nylons- big points if you got it before I mentioned it!
^ I do not think my regular High School had a clue as to where I was at that point. Also, as I didn’t graduate among the class with whom I started, I am probably not officially considered one of them; though I am in my heart, most sincerely.