What a long Strange Trip it’s been:
On not seeing someone in 20 years:
Dear reader, it was the weekend of my 20th class reunion. Yes, that time when we take stock of who we have become since high school. It was an opportunity to reinforce and completely shatter these dreams of youth.
Let me pant a picture. The event was held down town at the community and visitor’s center on the river, my home town often being called the “Venice of the Wabash”. It was held on the last night of what is called Street Fair. This street fair is a big deal, eagerly awaited all year, a chance to see and be seen.
The city fathers block off the whole town and invite the carnies to rule for a week and every night children, youth and adults pack the humble streets in search of the best fish sandwich and deep fried treat while window shopping for swords and trucker wallets, or perhaps testing their skill at one of the many games of chance.
The more daring stand in line for amusement rides, that are torn down and put back together by toothless men and women with known drug problems and un-executed felony warrants. This was the back drop to my class reunion.
Now a little know fact that men go thought the same emotions as women when it comes to these things. I started off the week saying "fuck it I am not going, I have not missed any of these fuckers in 20 years why the fuck do I want to go". The kind and insistent Mrs. JQP addressed that by saying “I already sent in the money so damn it we are going”. Then I found myself the day of the event, asking “what the hell should I wear”. I went with a Brooks Brothers meets Miami Vice look. Hey, it works for me.
Here is the surprise part, I was nervous just like a job interview. But, I remembered what a wise person told me not to long ago, you don’t have a fucking thing to be ashamed of, you were white trash and now you have made a career out of helping others, when all those pricks made a career out of helping themselves. Good point, but still I was a bit uncomfortable at the out set.
My pretty bride and I arrived on time for the meet and greet. It was odd; I truthfully had not thought of many of those people since we walked across the stage and got our high school diplomas. Perhaps I should add that only 70 or us graduated form this school, I should of known more than I did, but I found myself looking at the little picture ID tags, trying to remember them (perhaps to much LSD in the 80's I asked myself, or is it that these people really dont matter in my life). At one point I thought I was in the wrong class reunion.
I quickly adapted the “Field of Dreams” approach. I found the beer and a table close by it and sat my ass down. “If you build it they will come”. And come they did. I had old high school buddies soon locate at my place of temporary residence. Sadly, it was at this time my pretty (and yes, she looked hot) bride found the box of cheap wine.
Some things I noticed; if you were an ass hole in school, there is about a 90% chance you became an asshole in adulthood. If you were a rich kid, there is a good chance that you’re a doctor or a lawyer and are in fact yourself rich. Very few have been successful in that American of all dreams of climbing up out of poverty and making something big out of yourself. Some people, it seems waited to become who they are, others (myself included) always seemed to know.
Its hard to trade life stories with a bunch of people the only thing you have in common with is the place and years you went to high school, I have done a lot of living since then.
A point about small towns, these folks knew an awful lot about a little world, but not a lot about the big world, outside of vacation spots. Where as myself and my current friends seem to be the opposite. Not saying one is better, just noticing the difference.
Toward the end of the evening, it was like hanging out with a large group of frat-boys. I did make good connections with two old friends from my childhood, both of them can be proud of the men they have become, we will just have to wait and see if those “lets get together for dinner” plans come to fruition.
However, I might add that my flower really impressed everyone, with her command of the English language and her acute personality assessment (i.e. she got drunk and started picking people at random saying things like “I bet your were a real fucking pick in high school” and “did my husband kick your little punk ass in school, because if he didn’t, I think he should tonight” . Yes, I think a few of them might remember my flower. However for the most part, I think once again quite a few of them will slip into obscurity in my own recollections.
Back to work:
JQP esq.
Dear reader, it was the weekend of my 20th class reunion. Yes, that time when we take stock of who we have become since high school. It was an opportunity to reinforce and completely shatter these dreams of youth.
Let me pant a picture. The event was held down town at the community and visitor’s center on the river, my home town often being called the “Venice of the Wabash”. It was held on the last night of what is called Street Fair. This street fair is a big deal, eagerly awaited all year, a chance to see and be seen.
The city fathers block off the whole town and invite the carnies to rule for a week and every night children, youth and adults pack the humble streets in search of the best fish sandwich and deep fried treat while window shopping for swords and trucker wallets, or perhaps testing their skill at one of the many games of chance.
The more daring stand in line for amusement rides, that are torn down and put back together by toothless men and women with known drug problems and un-executed felony warrants. This was the back drop to my class reunion.
Now a little know fact that men go thought the same emotions as women when it comes to these things. I started off the week saying "fuck it I am not going, I have not missed any of these fuckers in 20 years why the fuck do I want to go". The kind and insistent Mrs. JQP addressed that by saying “I already sent in the money so damn it we are going”. Then I found myself the day of the event, asking “what the hell should I wear”. I went with a Brooks Brothers meets Miami Vice look. Hey, it works for me.
Here is the surprise part, I was nervous just like a job interview. But, I remembered what a wise person told me not to long ago, you don’t have a fucking thing to be ashamed of, you were white trash and now you have made a career out of helping others, when all those pricks made a career out of helping themselves. Good point, but still I was a bit uncomfortable at the out set.
My pretty bride and I arrived on time for the meet and greet. It was odd; I truthfully had not thought of many of those people since we walked across the stage and got our high school diplomas. Perhaps I should add that only 70 or us graduated form this school, I should of known more than I did, but I found myself looking at the little picture ID tags, trying to remember them (perhaps to much LSD in the 80's I asked myself, or is it that these people really dont matter in my life). At one point I thought I was in the wrong class reunion.
I quickly adapted the “Field of Dreams” approach. I found the beer and a table close by it and sat my ass down. “If you build it they will come”. And come they did. I had old high school buddies soon locate at my place of temporary residence. Sadly, it was at this time my pretty (and yes, she looked hot) bride found the box of cheap wine.
Some things I noticed; if you were an ass hole in school, there is about a 90% chance you became an asshole in adulthood. If you were a rich kid, there is a good chance that you’re a doctor or a lawyer and are in fact yourself rich. Very few have been successful in that American of all dreams of climbing up out of poverty and making something big out of yourself. Some people, it seems waited to become who they are, others (myself included) always seemed to know.
Its hard to trade life stories with a bunch of people the only thing you have in common with is the place and years you went to high school, I have done a lot of living since then.
A point about small towns, these folks knew an awful lot about a little world, but not a lot about the big world, outside of vacation spots. Where as myself and my current friends seem to be the opposite. Not saying one is better, just noticing the difference.
Toward the end of the evening, it was like hanging out with a large group of frat-boys. I did make good connections with two old friends from my childhood, both of them can be proud of the men they have become, we will just have to wait and see if those “lets get together for dinner” plans come to fruition.
However, I might add that my flower really impressed everyone, with her command of the English language and her acute personality assessment (i.e. she got drunk and started picking people at random saying things like “I bet your were a real fucking pick in high school” and “did my husband kick your little punk ass in school, because if he didn’t, I think he should tonight” . Yes, I think a few of them might remember my flower. However for the most part, I think once again quite a few of them will slip into obscurity in my own recollections.
Back to work:
JQP esq.
posted by John Q. Public esq. at 2:20 AM
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