Today: the day after turkey day. The day of my mom’s annual Day After Thanksgiving Dinner. The day before I stuff myself into my Spanx and pretend to like the people with whom I graduated high school. That’s right, folks, tomorrow is my high school reunion. I’ll pause a moment while you take pity on
my Spanx me.
I honestly liked most of my graduating class. I was basically friends with everyone, regardless of tier. You remember those tiers, don’t you?! In our school, it was the Preps, Jocks, Scrubs, and Techers. Not necessarily in that order especially since the Techers were known for bringing out the big guns on Homecoming and electing one of their own as queen. I loved it. Watching all of the argyle sweaters and high pony tails gasp in unison really entertained me.
Speaking of me, where did I fit in? I have no idea. I never quite felt like there was a tier for me, until I met my friend Adam. It was 8th grade Spanish class and Adam, who worshiped Bob Dylan and grew his hair into a curly ‘fro to prove it, started messing with me. I don’t remember what he did, but I do remember my reaction: I flipped him off. Even in middle school I was the epitome of classy.
Adam was a true individual; he made us a new tier. A tier where it was cool to have a sense of humor and a good GPA. When so many others were dying to blend in and be accepted, he was busy being himself and accepting everyone. The hilarious irony is that Adam became wildly popular for being different, especially among those who wanted nothing more than to be a carbon copy of someone else. The fact that he could make a person laugh until she wet herself in study hall (I never said it was me) coupled with his refusal to fall into the I Am Teenager, Therefore I Judge cliché put him at the top of every tier, which is why he became our senior class president. Adam was great at a lot of things, but planning anything was not included on his extensive list of accolades. Our fifth year reunion came and went, as did our tenth. Adam was nowhere to be found, or planning. That is why, tomorrow night, courtesy of two gals and their commitment to the class of 1999, we are celebrating our…13th High School Reunion.
Life has a way of leveling the playing field. I like that. Do I hope that karma had her way with the two-faced, Grinch-hearted 1999 graduates? Kind of. Do I hope that there are some awesome rags to riches stories of high school underdogs becoming top dogs? Heck yeah. What I hope more than anything, though, is that tomorrow night, we can all be tier-less and kind, because life isn’t always.