Fear the Crab

I attended my high school’s alumni dinner.  It’s not quite a class reunion per se, but rather an aggregation of former students from the school’s storied past.  It is, from what I understand, an annual affair, drawing people from outside the state and from generations far removed from my realm of understanding.  I think this type of gathering is one of the few where a 1953 graduate can chat with a 2005 over drinks and food.

This was my first time attending such a function.  I had known of its existence from years past, but it was always the excuse of a prior commitment, or a lack of time, that publicly shielded my serious lack of desire in attending.  I don’t know why I felt that way, and I doubt I could put it properly into words.

Perhaps it was just a hesitation of “reliving” the moments of long ago.  I was not the most social of butterflies, nor was I the most gifted.  And high school generally was an awkward time of discovery, trying to learn what it took to be a person in this world, whilst living in relative shelter away from the stark realities of truth.  I think there isn’t a month or a year during my tenure at the high school where I was not a grade-A jerk, and those days still overwhelm me in a wash of embarrassment.

One of my coworkers at The Office convinced me to go.  He is also an alum from the same high school, though a bit older than me.  He made it sound fun, and perhaps this time I was more inclined to give it serious consideration. Perhaps, too, I was more mature in having accepted the actions of my past.  Plus I doubted that anyone in attendance would remember if I did anything bad to them.

The day came and Maile and I attended the alumni dinner.  It was terrific fun, and I met some former classmates who gave me the up-to-dates on other people.  I met some older and younger alumni, met some of the former teachers, and walked away with a bonus CD of music (coincidentally, my classmate’s).  There was a lot of food and drink, and despite the lack of air-conditioning or anything resembling a stiff breeze, the atmosphere was very comfortable.

What I found intriguing was that I could not remember anybody, except for a select few.  My classmates, I could definitely remember, and the former professors, but some of the other people were not anywhere near my radar.  Yet the intrigue was that they all remembered me.  Whether it was because of a past misdeed, they would not say.

Perhaps, it was because of a good deed.  Maybe my actions during the Time of Troubles weren’t so dishonorable.  Maybe I wasn’t that much of a jerk, maybe a grace-C jerk who had enough redemption that people could see the good inherent within.

Or maybe it was my name and year on that darn Hello sticker on my chest.

I’ll have to attend next year.  Maybe this time I’ll bring something.