My 8th grade graduating class is organizing a 30-year reunion this summer. That may seem like a weird generation to reunite, but we went to a small, private, Episcopal school, and many of us had been classmates since kindergarten. Additionally, the majority of us ended up going to public school for 9th through 12th grade, so 8th was the last time we were all together.
It also seems weird to ascribe any kind of nostalgia to my middle school years, since I was a big nerd and was picked on fairly relentlessly. I suspect seeing these people now is going to be a lot like those talk shows where adults confront their childhood bullies, in that the bullies can’t recall any of the tortures they inflicted on their peers, while their victims are seething with lifelong resentments. Long story short, they’re probably not going to remember what a colossal dork I was, and as such, there is no reason to seethe.
So rest easy, Class of 89. All is forgiven.
According to Facebook, pretty much everyone else in the group grew up to be a Republican and/or captain of industry, whereas I grew up to be a gay, Pagan leatherman, so a big part of me is convinced this whole thing is an epic bashing waiting to happen. At the same time, I will have just returned from IML and a spanking convention, so there’s also a very good chance I’ll have run out of fucks to give by the time the reunion rolls around. Plus, if I panic at the last minute and don’t want to attend by myself, I can always bribe my trainer to come along. I mean, he once offered to stand in the doorway of the Forge and bark at customers to keep them away from me, so I figure pretending to be my life partner for one night only is well within his repertoire.