60 Years Ago
A Point of Personal Privilege
There’s a lot of heavy stuff I could be writing about today. You know it as well as I do – Charlie Kirk, Poland, Gaza, Qatar, Venezuelan boats, court rulings, Congress. However, today I’m going to write about attending my 60th high school reunion last weekend.
Yes. Annandale High School, class of 1965. My high school was built in the 1950s and had a classic Cold War vibe when I went there. We were the Annandale Atoms. Our yearbook was called The Antenna, the newspaper was The A-Blast, and our literary magazine was The Fall-Out. Would I lie to you?
Our graduating class numbered somewhere around 400, and about 90 attendees (including some spouses) attended the reunion at a hotel near Dulles Airport. This airport opened in November of 1963, during my sophomore year in high school. Here’s the program for the dedication ceremony
Members of our class are scattered all over the country, although the largest number still live in Virginia. Florida runs a close second; many of my classmates have retired there. A large number live in North Carolina and Maryland. A few live in Alaska and Hawaii.
We had all changed A LOT over the past 60 years, as you would expect. There were some walkers and canes in evidence, although I imagine that people with serious mobility problems simply didn’t attend. Lots of white hair – although some of the women have chosen to color their hair. That’s fine.
One person told me that I hadn’t changed a bit. I hope he was lying — it’s terrifying to think that I looked like ***this*** in high school.
Everyone seemed pretty spry (a term that is used only for old people who can still walk), reasonably successful, and eager to interact. Of course, there’s a self-selection process at work. People who are severely ill or disabled or whose lives have gone sideways are unlikely to attend a reunion. No one who hated high school comes to a reunion unless they plan Carrie-at-the-prom style mayhem. We didn’t have anyone like that.
I had some lively conversations with people I hadn’t seen for decades; I enjoyed the people who still had a sparkle in their eyes (although the spring in their steps had sprung). I thoroughly enjoyed the scattered memories and stories that we had shared (although there was a lot of “I don’t remember that.”).
After one particularly uproarious memory resurrected by someone at my table – a memory that we all embroidered on – one man at my table looked me dead in the eye and said “I don’t remember you being this much fun.” I didn’t know what to do about that and still don’t know how to take it.
My cute and flirtatious high school debate partner was still pretty cute (all things considered) and still flirtatious – which was a bit annoying in high school but not so annoying now because, well, it was all a bit silly and we were all in on the joke.
I spent time with my college roommate (we decided to room together when we both got into William and Mary) and we reminisced about a few late-night escapades that involved us sneaking out of her house to go wander the neighborhood when I spent the night with her. I talked a bit to the man whose house we visited when we snuck out.
My “date” was a woman I didn’t really know very well in high school, but I have come to know her because she reads this newsletter. (HI!!!). We had a great time – laughed a lot – and decided that we might have been good friends in high school. But alas – she was a drama/chorus chick and I was not, so we weren’t involved in the same activities. We did move in the same broad circles, however, so we knew each other and knew a lot of the same people.
On September 12, 1965 – 60 years ago today and just a few months after we all graduated from Annandale – I arrived at William and Mary to start my freshman year. Eleven other members of our graduating class came to William and Mary on that date as well. I roomed with one of them, and two of them joined the same fraternity as Tim. I saw others in the dorms, dining hall, library, classrooms, and around the campus over the years we shared at William and Mary. One additional class member transferred in during our sophomore year. I think they all graduated on time, although I could be wrong about that.
It's pretty meaningless to assert (as some social scientists do) that high school impacts the rest of our lives. To which I say “duh.” But it was in high school that I first confronted some of the challenges that I faced later in life. Dealing with these challenges helped me develop coping skills that impacted the rest of my life.
It was in high school that:
I realized that you can’t always get what you want. I tried out for cheerleading all four years in high school and never made the squad. I continued the “trying out” part at William and Mary, and – much to my surprise – made the squad. I only cheered for one year before realizing this was not really what I wanted to do.
I first realized that I was kinda smart – and, more importantly, that there are people smarter than me.
I realized that I was attractive enough not to scare the horses. I pined to be on the homecoming court – Just once! Come on! – but it was never to be.
I had my first serious boyfriend – and my first heartbreak — followed by other serious and not-so-serious boyfriends. I began to refine what I was looking for in a boyfriend. When I found the right guy in college, I was able to recognize it.
I realized that choices have some long-term consequences. I took four years of French and three years of German in high school (that was a lot) and discovered I had an affinity for languages. I planned to pursue that in college, but in my first year at William and Mary, I had a lousy French professor, so that was that.
I learned that you sometimes have to do stuff you really don’t want to do. Like take required classes and do math homework.
I learned that I was responsible for my own success. My parents played almost no role in the decisions I made in high school. They played almost no role in my college application process. They never took me on a trip to visit colleges; the first time I set foot on the campus at William and Mary was on September 12, 1965.
So if you’ve stuck with me until this point in the essay, thanks. I’m not sure what the point of all of this is – I’m just musing about a pretty significant milestone.
The program for the event included a list of the people who had passed away; that list was longer than that of the people attending the reunion. That’s to be expected, I guess; according to the Social Security Administration, the life expectancy of someone born in 1947 who survived to adulthood (thus escaping the elevated infant mortality rates of the 1940s) was 76-79 years, depending on their sex. The women lived slightly longer than the men. Every graduate of the class of 1965 is 78 years old (give or take a few months), so the attrition rate is not surprising.
I also took four years of French and three years of German in high school. Weird, huh?
That was fun…I needed some fun!