I recently attended my twenty year high school reunion. I won’t get sidetracked by telling you how downright scary it is that twenty years has gone by. But seriously. It is.
As a small history lesson, I went to my senior prom solo. I didn’t have a boyfriend at the time, and I wanted to prove I didn’t need one to have fun. I don’t remember too much about that night, but I remember a two things. Number one, it was nice not worrying about whether or not a date was having a good time. Number two, I showed up wearing the same dress as another girl. Her date told me I looked better in the dress *grin*.
Fast forward ten years. I attended my ten year high school and had a great time. I attended that event solo, fresh off the divorce roller coaster.
Fast forward another *gulp* ten years. I attended my twenty year high school reunion solo. I am happily married, but my husband hated high school and wanted no part of a reunion, even if it wasn’t his. I couldn’t blame him.
Our reunion was located near West End in Downtown Dallas. I entered the venue’s address into my car’s GPS system and arrived to have the know-it-all GPS tell me that the location of my reunion was a piece of concrete beneath the highway called Woodall Rogers.
Since I was surrounded by highways, I figured the building couldn’t be too far away. I parked and asked a street vendor if she knew where the venue for my reunion was located. She pointed across the piece of concrete my car had identified as the venue to the other side of Woodall Rogers. In my nice black dress and new high heels, I walked two blocks across the concrete slab in one hundred degree heat.
No reunion venue in sight.
I stopped in the Hooters and asked the hostess if she knew where the venue was located. The young woman - cool behind her air conditioned hostess stand wearing her skimpy outfit - looked at me like I was crazy and said no.
I walked back across the two blocks. By then, I had blisters forming on my toes, and I was dripping with sweat.
I stopped and asked a wonderful man - I say wonderful because he said I didn’t look old enough to be attending a twenty year reunion and gave me an ice cold bottle of water for free - if he, by chance, knew where the venue was located. He didn’t, but he offered to walk with me to find it. We circled the block.
I will refrain from using any expletives to describe how my toes felt.
Finally, we found a man who knew where my mysterious venue was located. He pointed me across another parking lot, so I walked back to my car and drove to the building. Bingo.
I attended my high school reunion with badly blistered toes. Twenty years ago I would have been mortified by my late, lost, sweaty self. At this age I’m mature enough to know that my worth is so much more than what others think of me. This me didn’t care. There’s a wonderful freedom in that maturity.
I’d love to hear your reunion story. Had anything changed for you? What hadn’t?