High School Reunions and Lost Liberties
I attended my 50th high school reunion last Saturday. The turnout for the Class of 1974 was predictably underwhelming. Approximately 35 out of a graduating class of over 400. Even it was actually 40, that’s 10 percent. Well, I don’t know, maybe that’s a good percentage for these things. Or at least average. I’m no expert on reunions.
It just seems like a 50th year reunion is a really big deal. Almost like a 50th wedding anniversary. But in 1974, we’d reached the height of apathy in America. The class of ‘74 was the most apathetic class imaginable. We actually lost pep rallies to the lower classes, something unheard of. It was actually “cool” to not be active in any school activities. I didn’t go to the prom, although I almost asked a lovely girl, but chickened out. I chickened out a lot in those days. I didn’t go to homecoming either, so I missed out on the crowning of the “queen,” who was a big, popular football player. That was our class; not taking anything seriously, no sense of decorum. I guess we were pathfinders; as today, at America 2.0 homecoming dances and proms, you can see biological males crowned as “queens” regularly. The “queen” of the dance was actually at the 50th reunion. I didn’t talk to him. He wouldn’t have remembered me.
Actually, what I found out to my displeasure was that no one seemed to remember me. At least the ones who came to the 50th reunion. I had looked at the list of those who’d RSVP’d “Yes,” and was interested in seeing some of them. Unfortunately, none of them showed up. I questioned why I had decided to go there. It was a long drive, and since it was at a brewery, it would have been natural to try some of their products. But as I said, it was a long drive, and I didn’t want to get my second DWI. I still bitterly recall the first, in 1978, when I was forced to pay the uninsured motorists fee because I couldn’t afford the increased cost of insurance. I can still see the demented ladies of MADD, who sat in the courtroom to pressure the judge to throw the book at all the young, blue collar drunk drivers like me. They have yet to frequent a courtroom where an NFL player, or an illegal immigrant, is charged with drunk driving.
I don’t know what I expected. I just went through the motions in high school. For the only time in my life, I was somewhat of an introvert. I found it incredibly dull, and struggled to stay awake in my classes. The social hierarchy made such an impression on me that it was a major influence in my writing Bullyocracy. Oddly, none of the really
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