1984 Redux

19 Aug 2004

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5 Min

Table of Content

I made it to my 20-year high school reunion and back in one piece. I was quite nervous going in, with my little speech clutched in one sweaty hand and █████'s hand in the other, but almost immediately I started running into perfectly delightful people I hadn't thought about for, in some cases, two decades. Even people who intimidated the hell out of me in high school shook my hand and seemed genuinely pleased to be catching up.

Hell, I'll say it. It was fun.

Some people looked exactly as they had in high school. Some people had changed so much as to be virtually unrecognizable without the little yearbook-picture tags we all wore. But almost everyone I saw looked better now than they had in high school. It was a nice thing to see.

█████ disappeared almost right off with my good friend Darin Goff's wife Lani to secure a good table for the banquet. They had never met before, but hit it right off. Together they snagged a perfect location—close to the front, but right next to a door in case any of us needed to slip out. Another good friend, Brett Clay, joined us at the table with his wife Therese, and I was pleased to see we were all drinking. Yes, there was a bar at the banquet—supplemented by the Talisker I had smuggled inside in my Scottish hip flask, and which we not-so-furtively shared around the table. (Well, actually, I elected to hold off until after my speech, seeing no point in overlubricating my tongue.)

I was preceded on the program by another good friend, who spoke at some length about the liberal-media bias in America and the need to promote democracy around the world by preemptive ass-kicking. Oh, wait, I'm sorry, he was speaking on behalf of the Davis High alumni who have served in the military. A few of the folks at our table slipped out that side door during this bit of the program. I couldn't—I didn't know for sure when I would be speaking. His tirade was to have been followed by the screening of a Restless Heart video extolling the virtues of said indiscriminate military ass-kicking, "Torch of Freedom," but fortunately technical difficulties precluded this.

This pro-war pep rally, which seemed to leave a notable tension in the room, was followed by another classmate strumming acoustic guitar and singing "God Bless the U.S.A." Then it was my turn, and while what I really wanted to say by way of opening remarks was, "I'm grateful to all our brave classmates who have served our country in the military, but as a New Yorker who saw the Twin Towers burn with his eyes, all I want is for us to get the motherfuckers who really did it," what I really said can be found here:

A Tribute to the Class of '84

The laughter was gratifying. I noted a distinct lessening of the tension in the room as I spoke, though not as much in my own nervous system.

I spoke off-the-cuff at our 5-year reunion, and on that occasion I went on a little too long and encountered a small spot of heckling. Accordingly, and with the help of a few worthy LJers, this time I had brought with me to the lectern a short list of emergency heckling responses, written down in ascending order of severity of need:

Ah, I love my fans. You guys keep me going. Keep it up.
I'm sorry, there seems to be some confusion. The alumni cheerleading tryouts are tomorrow, after the golf tournament.
Don't be fooled. They were trying to talk me into a threesome before dinner.
I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask your fellow classmates to turn on you and eat you.

Of course, I didn't need any of them—it's been twenty years since high school, for God's sake—but I felt more prepared having them just in case.

After my speech, the Restless Heart video played, technical difficulties having been overcome. I felt free to polish off the Talisker as war pornography played on the screen. I'd never drunk with most of my high school friends before. An unexpected pleasure marred by the images of fighter jets shooting like ejaculate from the decks of aircraft carriers.

We milled about, catching up with more folks, for another forty-five minutes or so after the program was over. Then █████ touched my arm and suggested, in that wise way she has, that we not be the last ones out of the banquet hall. I looked around, and the crowd had indeed thinned noticeably. We began working our way toward the exit, but there were still enough people stopping us to say hello that we didn't make it outside for another hour.

Oh, one important thing not to overlook: There were a lot of hot women there, but my wife was the hottest of all—even if she mildly resented the two old friends of mine who gushed to her about how pretty she was. ("Don't I have a personality? A brain?" Yes, of course, but these were the kids I knew in high school, and they were complimenting me as much as you.)

A small selection of photos from the evening: